An Experiment in Scotch

Seen for sale in the deli down­stairs: Cougar Energy — No Calo­ries. No Carbs. No Sugar. Just Cocaine. Guar­an­teed to make you roar. Energy for women

OK, I made that cocaine part up. But rest of it is for real, yo. Who comes up with this stuff? Cougar Energy? Seriously?

And on related, more inter­est­ing note, who buys it? Can’t you just see a 45 year old cougar wannabe pick­ing up a bot­tle at lunch before an after­noon ren­dezvous with Fabio the 23 year old pool boy, down­ing it before enter­ing the cabana, only to kick the bucket mid­way through the hot, sweaty act because her body couldn’t han­dle the tau­rine or guara or Noni or what­ever else they put in it as Fabio qui­etly sneaks out the back door and begins the long, ardu­ous jour­ney home to Nicaragua by swim­ming from oil plat­form to oil plat­form dur­ing a hur­ri­cane? That’s a Michael Bay movie I’d go see. Or a John Grisham book I’d read.

Also tan­gen­tially related: over­heard at a fan­tasy foot­ball draft Wednes­day night: Sarah Palin is def­i­nitely a VPILF (pro­nounced exactly like it’s spelled). Genius. I’m think­ing of mak­ing a t-shirt at Cafe­Press with that on it. I[m pos­i­tive peo­ple would buy it.

Read in Bill Sim­mons col­umn this week: “Tak­ing the Browns to the Super Bowl” replaces “Back­ing the brown Cadil­lac out of the garage” as fave euphemism for doing a num­ber 2. Hey, it’s foot­ball sea­son baby.