Jim Beam Quotes

Take it from me, there's nothing like a job well done. Except the quiet enveloping darkness at the bottom of a bottle of Jim Beam after a job done any way at all.

Kate makes good sausage," Jim said. Six pairs of eyes stared at me. Thank you, Mr. Wonderful. Just what I needed. "Oh yeah," Andrea snapped her fingers. "The links? The ones we had the beginning of the month? I didn't know you made those. I thought they were bought. They were so good." Her smile was positively cherubic. Of all the times not to be able to shoot laser beams out of my eyes... "What do you put into your sausage, Kate?" Raphael wanted to know, giving me a perfectly innocent look. Werejaguars with big mouths with a pinch of werehyena thrown in. "Venison and rabbit." "That sounds like some fine sausage," Doolittle said. "Will you share the recipe?" "Sure." "I had no idea you were a sausage expert," Curran said with a completely straight face. Die, die, die, die... Even Derek cracked a smile. Raphael put his head down on the table and jerked a little. "Is he choking?" Dali asked, wrinkling her forehead. "No, he just needs a moment," Curran said. "Young bouda males. Easily excitable.

Take it from me, there's nothing like a job well done. Except the quiet enveloping darkness at the bottom of a bottle of Jim Beam after a job done any way at all.

Stop," Kincaid said in a calm voice. "Unclench." "Unclench what?" Murphy demanded. "Unclench your ass." "Excuse me?" "You're going to trip the beam. You need another quarter inch. Relax." "I am relaxed," Murphy growled. "Oh," Kincaid said. "Damn, great ass then.

Let her alone,' said the enkanto, 'or I will curse you blind, lame, and worse.' The old man laughed. 'I'm a curse breaker, fool.' The elf grabbed one of the Jim Beam bottles from the table and slammed it down, so that he was holding a jagged glass neck. The elf smiled a very thin smile. 'Then I won't bother with magic.

Johnnie Walker in the tea, Jim Beam in the coffee

Jesus, Martin, what the hell do I pay you for?” “My good looks, the occasional blow job, and my constant supply of Jim Beam.” “You’ve never given me a blow job.” “True, but you’ve fantasized about it.

Booya!" I shouted in pure triumph, the adrenaline turning my manly baritone into a rather terrified-sounding shriek. "What have you got for fiery beams of death, huh? You got nothing for fiery beam of death! Might as well go back to Atari, bug-boy, 'cause you don't got game enough for me!

Then, at the woman’s flicker of disappointment, he realized he was turning down a date with a pretty lady because he wanted to play yet another game of solitaire with Jim Beam.  I’m getting to be an old man, he thought, with a start. 

How to make her run? No problem there. For a fearful shadow lies constantly over the residents of Uneasy Street. It casts itself through the ostensibly friendly handshake, or the gorgeously wrapped package. It beams out from the baby's carriage, the barber's chair, the beauty parlor. Every neighbor is suspect, every outsider, every period; even one's own husband or wife of sweetheart. There is no ease on Uneasy Street. The longer one's tenancy, the more untenable it becomes.

He had an agent in New York, a tough red-headed woman named Phyllis Sandler who smoked Herbert Tareytons, drank Jim Beam from a paper cup, and thought the literary sun rose and set on Sean O’Casey.

She climbs down and pours half an inch of Jim Beam into a Bengals mug that came free with a tank of gas. Alice would just as soon get her teeth cleaned as watch the Bengals. That's the price of staying around when your heart's not in it, she thinks. You get to be cheerleader for a sport you never chose.

A Jim Beam man. Good taste.

He swallows a soothing mouthful of Jim Beam and rubs at his face, trying to rub away the familiar regret, that he can’t take back words that are already history, that have found their mark and already done their damage.

The label for Knob Creek bourbon might state “Distilled and Bottled by Knob Creek Distillery, Clermont, Kentucky,” making it seem like a freestanding outfit, but it is made at the same plant as many other brands made by Jim Beam. “Knob Creek Distillery” is simply what’s called an assumed business name, otherwise known as a DBA, which is the legal shorthand for “doing business as,” and is a method that can be used to make one company seem like many. But drinkers who sleuth out the origins of most brands will find their whiskey traced back to one of just a few places.

she wrapped her head in a towel and croaked." That sounded reasonable to me … except for the paring knife with blood and pieces of hair stuck to it. Lula bent at the waist and examined the towel, wrapped turban style. "Must have been a good clonk she took. Lots of blood." Usually when people die their bodies evacuate and the smell gets bad fast. Mrs. Nowicki didn't smell dead. Mrs. Nowicki smelled like Jim Beam. Carl and I were both registering this oddity, looking at each other sideways when Mrs. Nowicki opened one eye and fixed it on Lula. "YOW!" Lula yelled, jumping back a foot, knocking into Sally. "Her eye popped open!" "The better

Jim Beam is made with rye, barley and a while 75 per cent of maize which gives bourbon the sweet, round taste that marks it out from straight whisky. The water in Jim Beam comes from a source near the distillery in Clermont, Kentucky, where they also make the special yeast that some people maintain is taken from the same recipe Jacob Bean used in 1795.

Come on,” he said, reaching for her. ” Leave me alone,” she managed to say, stumbling back. The enkanto caught her before she fell, supporting her with his good arm. ” Let her alone,” said the enkanto, “or I will curse you blind, lame, and worse." The old man laughed. “I'm a curse breaker, fool." The elf grabbed one of the Jim Beam bottles from the table and slammed it down, so that he was holding a jagged glass neck. The elf smiled a very thin smile. “Then I won't bother with magic.

You’d better. If you make my daughter fall in love with you and then you leave her behind, I will find you and smother you in your sleep.” I chuckled. Not many people challenged me. I liked that Thea didn’t back down. She met me with full force when we were fighting and when we’d had sex. I loved that she was especially scrappy when it came to our daughter. “I think you’d better hand over that vodka. You’re getting violent.” She answered by grabbing the bottle and gulping down another shot. “You should see me when I drink bourbon. The last time I had Jim Beam, I decided to trim the shrubs along the sidewalk out front.” “What shrubs?” “Exactly.

The most servile Negroes are suspect, and every means is used to impress upon them the power of the White Citizens Councils. Even police brutality can be put to good use. An incident in Ruleville, Sunflower County, birthplace of the Council, will illustrate the point. Preston Johns, Negro renter on Senator Eastland's plantation near Blanc, is a "good nigger who knows his place." One day in May 1955, Preston's wife got into a fight with another Negro woman in the Jim Crow section of the Ruleville theater. The manager threw the women out and notified the police. While the police were questioning the women, Preston's daughter came up to see what was happening to her mother. Without warning, a policeman struck her over the head with the butt of his gun. She fell to the pavement bleeding badly. The police left her there. Someone went for her father. When he came up, the police threatened to kill him. Preston left and called Mr. Scruggs, one of Eastland's cronies. After half an hour, Scruggs came and permitted the girl to be lifted from the street and taken to the hospital. When Scruggs left, he yelled to the Negroes across the street: "You'll see who your friend is. If it wasn't for us Citizens Council members, she'd have near about died." One old Negro answered back, "I been tellin' these niggers Mr. Scruggs and Mr. Eastland is de best friends dey got." A few days later, Senator Eastland came to Ruleville to look the situation over. Many Negroes lined the streets and beamed at their "protector.

Например, на странице вакансий вас встречает обращение, которое в характерном для Zappos шутливом тоне призывает сначала посмотреть список ценностей, а потом думать о работе. А вот как выглядит типичное объявление о вакансии в Zappos: Сегодня семья Zappos предлагает вам сделать карьеру в двух замечательных местах. Первое – “Город греха”. О да, это Лас-Вегас. Второе – вотчина виски Jim Beam и Центра обработки заказов Zappos. Как вы поняли, это Шефердсвилл. Пока мы не можем предложить надомную работу (извините!). Пожалуйста, просмотрите 10 ключевых ценностей Zappos, прежде чем откликнуться на вакансию! В них – душа и сердце нашей культуры и основа нашей бизнес-модели. Если вы “веселый и немного необычный” человек и считаете, что 9 остальных ключевых ценностей тоже вам подходят, пожалуйста, посмотрите вакансии и найдите одну или две, которые лучше всего соответствуют вашим навыкам, опыту и интересам! Почему стоит задуматься о работе у нас? В феврале 2011 года Zappos и дочерние компании заняли 6-е место среди 100 лучших работодателей по версии журнала Fortune. И… сейчас мы ищем сотрудников как ненормальные. В нашу первоклассную, но странноватую команду требуются толковые люди, которые думают на шаг вперед и умеют решать проблемы.

Once, when she’d taken the initiative to rub down the window casings with ammonia, Jim had even complimented her. She’d beamed at him, married one year, already eight months pregnant and as eager as a lapdog for his sparing praise. Later, Lieutenant Difford had explained to her how ammonia was one of the few substances that rid surfaces of fingerprints.

Gabriel invades Bella Blackcoat as the conquistadors, firewater and smallpox rolled into one. Like her ancestors on either side, she never stood a chance. The sound of his Harley is the pounding of the cavalry hooves of horses that forced her people off the plains. His helmet comes off his head like the hide off a slain buffalo. He pushes through the swinging doors to the bar like he is opening up the Oregon Trail. He strides towards her like a wagon train full of Mormons. His smile is the 1860 Henry repeating rifle, called by its victims the Spirit Gun, capable of mowing down 15 darker-skinned humans in even time. His black leather jacket and his mystery are a second and third clip of 44:02 cartridges. He sits down on a stool, a gold prospector staking a claim, and leans his penile forearm on the bar like it is a revoked treaty. He sings his song and it is Wounded Knee ready to bury Bella’s heart. Gabriel Ahrumet is one-man genocide. Behind the bar, a previously unknown chemical reaction takes place inside Bella as her hormones wake from a long afternoon nap, stretch languorously and start an ancient ceremony around a hurriedly erected campfire. The intensity increases with a ferocity that is disconcerting. A glow begins between her legs, melting the bottom half of her body like licorice on a griddle. Her eggs begin to jiggle and then to sizzle, spattering gooey chunks all over the stove. She slides off her stool. Her legs flow along the sawdust floor, slink up over the bar and wrap themselves around Gabe’s waist. He is too busy admiring the tousle of his hair in the Jim Beam mirror that hangs behind the bar to notice.

I imagined that at the end of the line there would be a door that opened into a beam of light. “Welcome to fat-guy heaven. Come on in! There’s always an NFL game on. The beer is free. You don’t have to wake up tomorrow. You have no responsibilities. And you can eat all the barbecue you want in the middle of a gas station.

Benji beamed his childish grin, the one that usually meant he had cornered your most powerful mage or found some new brain-enhancing juice diet involving copious amounts of organic vegetables and vodka.

His doctor wanted to prescribe Prozac. But Goldberg declined, preferring the buzz of Jim Beam any day.

Lacuna adores me!” Toot shrilled. “We are comrades in arms,” Lacuna said. “Then I will kill you.” “It is love!” Toot insisted. “When you’re dead,” Lacuna said, “I get your teeth.” Toot beamed broadly. “See? She loves me for me!

The experts extrapolated the likely growth during this period, and the expected consequences. They then confidently proclaimed that if population growth wasn’t halted, by 1980, New York City would require so many horses to stay viable that every inch of it would be knee-deep in manure. Knee-deep! In horse manure! As someone interested in technology and future trends, I love this story, even if it turns out to be apocryphal, because it does a brilliant job of highlighting the dangers of extrapolating the future, since we aren’t capable of foreseeing game-changing technologies that often appear. Even now. Even at our level of sophistication and expectation of change. But while we can’t know what miracles the future will hold, we’ve now seen too much evidence of exponential progress not to know that Jim Kirk would no longer be relatable to us. Because it seems impossible to me that we will remain as we are. Remain even the least bit recognizable. This assumes, of course, that we avoid self-destruction, a fate that seems more likely every day as WMDs proliferate and fanaticism grows. But post-apocalyptic science fiction has never been my thing, and if we do reach a Star Trek level of technology, we will have avoided self-destruction, by definition. And I prefer to be optimistic, in any case, despite the growing case for pessimism. So if we do ever advance to the point at which we can travel through hyperspace, beam ourselves down to planets, or wage war in great starships, we can be sure we won’t be human anymore

She suggested writing about the 1969 moon landing, so I Googled it, and I found out lots of people didn’t really care that there were men walking on the moon. They all watched Star Trek (the original, old lousy-special-effects Beam Me Up Scotty Star Trek) and they were used to seeing Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock hopping around the universe so real people walking on the real moon wasn’t as exciting. I think that’s funny. Men were walking on the moon for the very first time in history and people preferred watching Dr. McCoy say, “He’s dead, Jim,” for the thousandth time.

Christmases after his death were usually as unpredictable as they were untenable. It depended on how early in the day—or the evening before—her mother decided to start the festivities and who the guests would be—Jim Beam, José Cuervo or Jack Daniel. If the year had been especially successful, Johnnie Walker might replace all the others.

Don't go there, Sean. Not on a Sunday. There's no point making waves,” Crabbie said. He was as impatient as I was but maybe he was right. We drove back to the station. I poured myself a Johnnie Walker which was the general libation used to liven up the office tea. Johnnie Walker in the tea, Jim Beam in the coffee.

Facing the couple, Cardinal Fitzroy said, “My dear friends, you have come together in this place so that the Lord may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the Church’s minister and this gathering of friends. Christ abundantly blesses this love. Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your hands, and declare your consent. Byron, do you take Jean to be your wife, to be true to her in good times and bad, to love and honor her in all the days of your life?” “I do,” he said. Jean made the same promises to Byron. Knowing that standing was still a challenge for the groom, Fitzroy had kept things short and cut to the quick. He said, “You have both declared your consent. May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with His blessings. Frank stepped forward and handed a ring to Byron. In a clear, evenly paced voice, the groom put the ring on Jean’s finger, saying, “Jean, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” Frank gave his sister a second ring. She placed it on her groom’s finger. “Byron, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” Fitzroy concluded, “Lord, grant that those who wear these rings may always have a deep faith in each other. May they always live together in peace, good will and love.” Beaming now, the Cardinal added, “And as we in the Church are wont to say, ‘Amen.’ Kiss your beautiful wife, lad.

Jean, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” Frank gave his sister a second ring. She placed it on her groom’s finger. “Byron, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” Fitzroy concluded, “Lord, grant that those who wear these rings may always have a deep faith in each other. May they always live together in peace, good will and love.” Beaming now, the Cardinal added, “And as we in the Church are wont to say, ‘Amen.’ Kiss your beautiful wife, lad.” Byron

My mom wishes I had a more boring history. She’s been given the role of Family Adult in Charge of Worrying. It’s not a job I’d want, but my mom is pretty good at it. When the job is overwhelming, she goes to Jim Beam for help.

The party store he’d broken into hadn’t provided much cash, so he’d settled for a liter of Jim Beam and a pack of Marlboros.

Let’s try it again,” Merve said as he tugged on the corpse. He pulled and rocked but she didn’t budge. “Okay, hand me the shovel,” he said. Ellen kept her flashlight trained on Merve, and with the shovel under the torso, he rocked her loose from the floor and she rolled over onto the body bag. When the deceased turned, body fluid shot up into the air like a fountain from the abdomen as an odor of feces and smoked burnt flesh filled the air. The face, nose and eyes were burned away and a bright red cooked tongue protruded out of the front teeth. A collective gasp came from the group. The ligature was still intact, and photographed. And Ellen’s flashlight beam suddenly disappeared. Ellen ran for the doorway. She almost made it, too. She projectile vomited before she hit the safety railing and her flashlight fell from her grasp and tumbled down to the courtyard below. “Holy cow!” exclaimed Officer Chimenti as he grabbed a hold of the detective’s left arm to steady her. “Are you all right, Ellen?” “I’ll be fine,” she replied while holding the railing and gasping for air. “Just give me a moment.” “Ellen?” “Not now, Richie.” Richie patted Ellen on her back softly while she continued to spit over the railing. He then leaned over close and whispered into her ear, “The lady standing behind you is Terri Dillon. She’s here to walk the dead dog. Its name was Buddy.” “Fuck me,” Ellen whispered back while continuing to spit. “Richie, please get her info and ask her to wait down in the lobby. Someone will be with her very soon.

La conclusión está clara: llévale tus problemas a Jesús. No los lleves al bar. Jim Beam no puede solucionarlos. No te desquites con otros. Los arrebatos de ira nunca pueden defender una causa. Tan pronto percibas un problema, ya sea grande o pequeño, llévalo a Cristo.

Table Whiskey: The House Bottle I have some whiskeys that I always keep in the house. Blended Scotch: Johnnie Walker Black or Compass Box Great King Street, sometimes Dewar’s. Bourbon: Jim Beam Black, Evan Williams, or some Very Old Barton if I’ve been to Kentucky recently. Irish: usually Powers. Canadian: Canadian Club or VO. And in the summer I’ll pick up a handle — a 1.75-liter big-boy bottle — of Pikesville rye for highballs.

So where are you two headed?” Linc put the kitten down. Tiny tail waving, it sauntered between Truck’s furry legs. The dog didn’t seem to mind. “Oh--out and about,” Kenzie said. She and Linc exchanged a look. “You tell him,” he said. “We stopped by to see Christine first. You were next on the list.” “Beg pardon? What list?” “Friends and family.” Kenzie stretched out her left hand and wiggled her fingers. An oval diamond set in platinum caught the sun. Jim’s eyes widened. “Way to go.” He beamed at both of them. “That’s one hell of a rock. You didn’t waste any time.” He gave Linc a nod of masculine approval. “So when’s the big day?” “We haven’t decided,” Kenzie answered. She didn’t want to say that they were keeping a low profile for as long as possible. The media furor over SKC had died down, but they were helping with the ongoing investigation. Life went on. Love had amazing power to heal. Truck picked up on the excitement and edged between the three of them, blocking the hug about to happen. “Routine stuff, Linc. He has final say,” Jim teased. The black-and-white dog took his time about it. Then he sat down in front of Linc, brushing his tail across the floor in wide waves. “He approves,” Kenzie said. “Never argue with a good dog.” Jim laughed. “All right, you two. Get out of here. I have work to do.” Kenzie got a hug in before he went back to his desk. “Congratulations.” He nodded toward the picture of his wife. “From me and Josie. She’ll be over the moon when she hears.

He drank a quarter of the drink, then topped off the glass with more Jim Beam. Joe was not much of a drinker anymore, although he’d done more than his share in college and when he worked with Vern. But his intake of alcohol always increased proportionately when his mother-in-law was around.

Cujo growled at me in the rearview mirror again, and I beamed at him. Smiling always seems to annoy people more than actually insulting them. Or maybe I just have an annoying smile.

His face had grown dark, except for the reflection of the red fire in his eyes. The house, too, seemed to have filled with shadow, as if a storm was brewing outside. Jim’s eyes beamed red from the shadows. Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he helping his son?