In high school, to be “whisky drunk” was to be ready for a fight.
It was a quick shorthand to say someone drunk was easily riled or ornery, and it meant to steer clear or be prepared to throw fists.
Whisky’s predisposition to incite violence in my high school stemmed largely from the over consumption of Canadian Club, a drink that was easily procured from the LCBO thanks to its slim glass mickey bottles that fit easily inside a coat or a cargo pocket and thanks largely to one intrepid individual’s — let’s call him Tank — proclivity for stealing these bottles and selling them cheaply to the student body. Tank was essentially the embodiment of “whisky drunk” and if you weren’t in the market for a bottle of CC or a fight, you had little reason to interact with him.
These days, of course, I understand more clearly that what we called whisky drunk then was in fact “rye drunk,” a distinct and mean state of intoxication unlike any other.
And unless of course you’ve been Rye Drunk, you might think I’m being facetious to suggest the consumption of whisky can result in a unique state of drunkenness, but it’s true. To drink a glass of whisky is of course a fine thing. At the end of a long day, pouring oneself a glass of something smooth, deep, and brown is a reliable and soothing —if not altogether healthy — balm for what ails. A glass of whisky is indeed a thing to savour, ponder, and enjoy.
But to be drunk exclusively on whisky is another thing altogether.
It’s an irresponsible and dangerous endeavour and each strain of whisky comes with its own distinct hazards.
As already mentioned, rye is a mean drunk. It lights a fire in the belly that can only be extinguished by lashing out at others. At best, rye will have you cursing at family and friends and maybe putting your foot through an aquarium. At worst it’ll have you waking up on a boulevard to the sound of 5am garbage trucks, knuckles bloodied and face swollen.
But a Bourbon Drunk is something else. A man who enjoys the odd glass of bourbon is a relatively common and harmless thing, but a man drunk off bourbon exclusively is a lecherous, handsy, terror. Too much bourbon — collected, catalogued and fawned over — is the stuff of braggadocios business men. And a Bourbon Drunk lends itself to a sort of dangerously amorous and boastful confidence; the stuff of glassy-eyed men in synthetic polos making a pass at a much-too-young waitress after a day at the trade show. It’s something in the corn, they say.
And Scotch Drunk isn’t any better. Even more so than bourbon, scotch is fetishized and hunted like big game; the exorbitant price tag just another part of the experience to brag about. And so someone willing to imbibe a good Islay single malt to the point of intoxication is essentially a sociopath and is to be avoided at all costs. To consume to excess this expensive and rare thing designed to savour is to truly not give a fuck. As a result, Scotch Drunk lends itself to feeling entitled and untouchable and so a wanton disregard for decorum and laws is inevitable. Scotch Drunk leads to things like running over a cyclist on the way home from the tennis club, telling a cashier you could have them killed, or tearing up a neighbour’s garden and then screaming that it’s fine because your cousin is a judge. Scotch Drunk is arguably the scariest of them all, but to be fair, it’s usually the best dressed so it can be tough to spot.
As for Irish Whiskey, it’s best to just steer clear of it altogether. Even trace amounts of Irish whiskey can lead to Donegal tweed, gentle weeping and satirical poetry.
So enjoy your whisky, by all means. Just be careful.
This post originally appeared in the October 2025 edition of Spent Grains, “A little zine about beer and stuff in Toronto.” You can access current and past web and print versions of the zine here.
