virginia gentleman

Virginia gentleman straight bourbon


Deen the deer



We were on our way to Pennsylvania for a fishing trip. My wife, child and mother. We were driving on a highway through some valleys and woods.

There was wildlife, and woodland creatures that we shouted the breed when we spotted them. ‘deer!’ or ‘woodchuck!’ and we would point hopelessly in some desperate attempt to get the other family member to spot it even though we were passing it at over 100kmh. on a lengthy overpass I saw a deer, dead, lying on the side of a road. Why would a deer be on a long overpass? A bridge? The most unsafe place on earth for a deer to be? I didn’t know, but it bothered me. The overpass was at least a quarter mile long, a distance for a deer to be passing. Was it in distress? Lost? My mind wandered about thinking just how he got to be dead on a high overpass…..

“deen, are you with us pal?’ a soft voice came from a tall young lady in a pharmacists smock.

“huh? Yeah.” Deen the deer had shook his head and snorted out a quick reply to his supervisor. He hadn’t been sleeping for the last couple weeks, he had a guilty conscience. Deen the deer was pushing a broom in a local pharmacy for minimum wage to make ends meet. He had to purchase apples, corn for himself; it was to be a long winter. Deen lived in a patch of forest just behind the strip mall that housed the pharmacy. He would get up in the morning and dress himself in plain clothes and walk over to the pharmacy for a little work. His disguise was him acting as a really, really tall human with poor communicational skills. Nobody seemed to notice.

“I don’t mean to bother you, deen, but I just got word that shelly was found, in the woods behind here. Ill save you the details, but it looked like she was attacked by a couple people who left her for the wolves. Ill never understand people…. Shelly was so kind. How could anybody ever hurt her?” deens supervisor, was explaining the missing coworkers disappearance, fighting back tears. Shelly worked at the pharmacy for years and was a well respected member of the community and a model employee. she just disappeared one night, who knew what happened?

Deen knew what happened; the staff party. Deen and shelly were both drinking heavily and they were walking to the small patch of forest, smoking a joint when shelly started kissing deens neck. Shelly had a crush on deen for some time. They flirted playfully sometimes, but deen never acted on his intentions. How would she react when she discovered he was a deer all along? It turns out Shelly did not react well. The screaming, disbelief, horror in her eyes. Deen couldn’t let the others know his secret. He clubbed her unconscious with a swift hoof kick, he came behind her still body and snapped her neck. He left her in a bed of drying fallen leaves for the coyotes to feed on. Deen had to leave before he was discovered as the murderer.

Deen returned to his bed of leaves and retrieved his cash and a few items he had stowed away from hikers or hunters, all dropped, lost and forgotten. Deen packed up and walked towards the highway to find a new patch of forest, something large. Somewhere he wouldn’t be discovered and he could live his life in peace. Maybe find a mate, food and just live happy and free. After an afternoon of travel, he found himself laying behind a cabin a few miles down the road. He slept the night, uneasy. His dreams were haunted by the memory of watching his wife gunned down by a hunter two years ago.

There was one inhabitant in the cabin, a deer hunter spending the weekend away, drinking and hiking the woods. He would snack on peanut butter sandwiches wrapped in plastic and drink stale black coffee from a nickel thermos. He carried a large rifle and a round bottle of Virginia gentleman bourbon. He took nips from the bottle throughout the day. Deen watched from afar, stalking the hunter though the afternoon, keeping track of him by the smell of peanut butter and cigarettes. The hunter sat on the ground near a fallen tree. He had been drinking and the hunters eyes grew heavy. He passed out with head rested on the trees bark.

‘Kaschink!’ the man sat up wailing a high pitched scream of agonizing pain, surprise and distress. He looked at his leg, a railroad spike had impaled his thigh, spilling dark red blood onto the leaves below. He was pinned to the ground. Although he pulled and turned, he couldn’t. He was bound, tied to the tree. Ropes made of burlap and twine bound the hunters body to the tree. His eyes darted forward and discovered deen the deer standing in front of him, casually unloading his guns shells onto the ground by pulling the bolt on his rifle. The brass clinked as it hit the ground. Deen bent and picked up one shell. The bullet casing was long, thin and tipped with a sharp pointed bullet. Deen examined the bullet quietly amidst the screaming which reached the volume of a gunshot. Without so much as a word, deen had bent over the hunter, holding the bullet in front of the hunters eyes to show him the length, girth and sharpness of the point. He was forced to observe every bit of that bullet. The hunter screams had stopped and became grunts and snorts of desperation. Deen pressed the tip of the bullet into the hunters eyelid, which was slammed shut as if to armor himself. So slowly he added the slightest amount of pressure on the bullet. The hunter was screaming again. Resistance. The eyeball gave resistance. More pressure. More screaming. The eyelids seemed to form a concave sheath of flesh around the penetrating bullet until there was no resistance left. Through the clenched eyelid shot translucent, gelatinous gel and vein, the bullet tip had burst the eyes film open, blinding the man, decimating his left eye. Deen pulled the bullet from the eye socket which was draining out onto the hunters orange vest. Deen reached down and grabbed a handful of leaves, which he stuffed into the hunters mouth, gagging the screams to a muffled blurt of pain. Looking down, he scooped up the circular decanter of Virginia gentleman and beat the hunters balding head with the thick rounded edge of the bottle. Again, again he swung down on the man, raining blow after blow. The bottles gracious portioned glass edges were leaving divots in the man’s skull, one causing a hole exposing swollen, pulsating pink spongy brain.

The eroticism deen felt. Extraordinary, overwhelming ecstasy. Deen soon grew erect. The rush of sexual perversion took over. Deen climbed the hunters body and mounted his face. Deen placed his hooves on the back of the bleeding, punctured skull and thrust, thrust, thrust into the hunters eye socket. The screams, the cries only muffled by rotting leaves, moss and the odd worm making its way in or out of the chaotic ball of foliage, the odd bug working its way down the esophagus of the hunter, letting itself become swallowed and disintegrated by stomach bile. Deen withdrew his blood smeared lipstick like penis and aimed again for the small hole he created by perforating the hunters skull with the bottle. As he inserted the yelling, and painful throat ripping screams stopped altogether as the hunters body stiffened instantly and shook like an epileptic in grand mal seizure during an electric chair execution. Deen once again withdrew his now failing, torn penis, brain tissue barely clinging before falling into the leaves, bullets and spent blood. Out of the hole oozed semen in what looked like donut filling falling out of a warm pocket of pastry.

Deen had revenge. He had reached his vengeance for the death of his wife, gunned down in cold blood. How he remembered the bleating, from his wife as the hunter had taken her life. He watched her flail on the ground, unable to walk, unable to anything other than bleat, beg for death.

This one was not enough. Deen needed to see more pain in human eyes, he craved the satisfaction of shredding his victims. He would carry on a path of killing. He would carry on down the road. He would seek out new victims as he strolled to find personal redemption.

Deen seized the bottle once again from the ground. He swigged, swishing the taste of sweat and blood from his mouth.

‘oh deer.’ Deen said out loud to himself. ‘this is horrible. It does however taste of spearmint, red licorice and some burnt cocoa, this is a very young mixing bourbon.’

Alc. 40%


I drank from a simple plastic 60 oz. bottle with a white label of three colonial looking men in front of a presidential looking house. Gold plastic cap to top the bottle. The label has been changed many times in the past to lose its notoriety as a controversially racist photo of a black servant.


Light, isopropryl, cut grass, hay, corncobs, fudgy toffee. The whole profile is light and ghostly. It lacks character or complexity. Not pleasant.


Hot and peppery through and through. Very simple and straight forward. Cherry cough lozenges and a dusty rye finish. Very sour, spirity. Cocoa and spearmint.


Stay away. Do not purchase. Don’t make eye contact.

Please note:

A sazerac product which was distilled and aged for two years in Kentucky, then moved to Virginia, redistilled and aged for another two years. My assumption is that they can keep this a nas bottle because it has in fact, been aged a total of four years, to American straight bourbon laws.

The label on this is unrecognizable from the original labels that were first put out; the first couple labels depicted a picture of some well to do gentlemen, from a Victorian period being served by a black server, this label has been changed several times due to its unsavoury suggestion.