REVIEW: Olde Rip Von Trappe 10 year, 107 proof

Yesterday night I found me a hot-spot of bourbon antiquity while picking up some sundry items at the local grocer.  Across the way was a liquor store called Raghead's Middle Eastern Liquid Delite.

I'd never been in there before and up until this very moment I assumed that this store was a front for Al Qaeda or some shit like that.  But Praise be to Mohammed for leading me into this secular den of liquid porn.

As my feet flopped through the dirt floor of this far-from-fine establishment, and I began to seize like a Panzer tank through Tripoli's desert sand, I spied before me the coveted Olde Rip Von Trappe 10 year, 107 proof bourbon!  My poker shot its gasket immediately and its contents caused the sand to coagulate unnaturaley on the floor.  Ashook -- the Terrorist Tonic Toter -- wearing a beard on his face, a brown towel on his head, and a backpack full of TNT -- undoubtedly, ready for Martyrdom at a moment's notice -- asked from the counter behind me, "May I do the needful and to help you find good liquors today evening?"

I told him, "No," as I slowly walked to the shelf that Old Rip called its tenement.  As much as I wanted to sprint across the desert sand inside this liquor store straight out of Dante's Inferno, I figured any quick movement would alarm Ashook to the point where he may detonate himself and me along with him!

Slowly grabbing Olde Rip Von Trappe, I laborously made my way to the counter and checked out.  As I paid Ashook, I gave him a wink and said, "Why don't you come to my car where I have a can of Crisco and a gaping hole that needs mending."  Full of anger, Ashook began to shake violently as his cold heart began to burn with hatred toward my guise of gay advances. 
Oh how the Sandys hate Gay people.

Winded as I began my treck through the thick sand toward the exit, I figured I best role out of here quick before possible detonation.  The bell atop the door dinged as I opened the door and just before it closed behind me I heard Ashook say, "Oh, you white devil, you no more come into my liquors store with your gay penises!!!!!"

Once I reached my care safely, I chucked to myself as I thought what a steal this bourbon was.  After all, it only cost me a leg of lamb, a loaf of flat bread, and a bushel of chic peas!


Now onto the review:

REVIEW:  Olde Rip Von Trappe 10 year, 107 proof

This is a new one for me but it's something that I've shot many a nuts to.  I have searched high and low for this bourbon to end up finding it in, of all places, a middle-eastern liquor store.

ORVT is often talked about in the small dork circles of online bourbon heaven.  Anyhow, the price was right and I can't wait to try it.

I open the bottle and let it breathe for 37 hours in the freezer right beside my frozen lamb carcus sans the 4th leg.  On the 37th hours which was last night at 10:31 Post Meridien, I pulle it from the freezer and quickly put it in the microwave on high power for 1 hour.  After rubbing my freshly swabbed nads on the bottle neck (an ancient ritual of my African Indian Ancestors), I poured 5 1/2 dolups into a chardonay leaded-glass.

At precisely 11:42 Post Meridien, I took my first sniff.  As I snorkle my nose deep into this brown liquid, I pick up the faint sent of must (could have been from my nads), fig, nutmeg, 2-cycle motor oil, Viagra, a porn-store bathroom (again, possibly the nut rub thing), lamb skin, poker chips, broccoli rab, and the armpit of a male spear-chucker after a hard day's work of napping on the outdoor easy chair, in the heart of the projects, fantasing about his EBT card soon to arrive by mail carrier.

Upon swirling the glass, I notice luscious chunks of corn at the ends of each arm while this thick liquid languidly slips back down into the pool of bourbon.  I bring the glass to my mouth, apply my lips to the glass and tilt the glass.  Once it passed my tongue and teased my tonsils, I took my first swallow and...what the fuck is this?  I taste buttery caramel, pecan pie, dark chocolate and brown sugar with a hint of corn and alcohol!  This is total shit!  Where's the motor oil?!  The spear-chucker's armpit?!  The broccoli rab?!  The poker chips?!

This is total crap!  An absolute turn-coat!  A sheep in wolf's clothing!  An imposter!

If this is how this bourbon typically tastes (and I'm assuming it is), then I want no part of this ever again.  I will most certainly forever bypass this shit that the Von Trappe family attempts to pass off as bourbon!

Rating Scale
50+ putrid
40-50 below average
30-40 average
20-30 good
10-20 very good
0-10 excellent

My Score: 98