A black hole is born when a star feels the need to be the center of the universe’s attention. Essentially, the star explodes into a fantastical supernova. In due course, the self-centered nature of this spectacular event overcomes the star’s ability to exist at all, ultimately signaling its doom. Soon thereafter, the once glorious celestial collapses in on itself, becoming a thing of negative nothingness.

I just finished reading several studies proving, I think, humanity’s similar trajectory.

Considering the astrophysical theme, one particular study revealed that an alarming 25% of adults believe the sun orbits the earth. These people make babies, drive cars, and vote. They’re the kind of people in government who work to control urban sprawl in some regions of Puerto Rico out of concern that the island might one day become too heavy on one side and flip over.

Another study aimed to determine what the average American citizen believes about his or her own intelligence. The results showed that most believe they are significantly brighter than everyone else. In other words, the average citizen believes he or she is more intelligent than the average citizen.

Societal implosion into negative nothingness.

And lest you think the ethereal realm of academia would provide comfort, a recent poll of college students proved no small number’s inability to do rudimentary math, spell basic words, write an elementary sentence and punctuate it correctly, iterate simpler facts of science, or recall easy history—such as naming the warring parties in the American Civil War. I think it’s pretty likely these same students also make up 100% of the ten people who are killed by vending machines each year. I’m guessing they also comprise a large percentage of the 100 people who choke to death on ballpoint pens and the annual 6,000 pillow-related injuries requiring ER attention.

Again, negative nothingness.

With that, thank the Lord for whisky and the people who’ve successfully handed along its creation to the generations that followed. As the world continues spinning into self-consuming ridiculousness, we’ll need a lot more of it. And not just whisky in general, but the good stuff—stuff like the Compass Box No Name No. 3.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen a few negative reviews of the No. 3. A handful jabbed at it with disdain, calling it their least favorite from Compass Box. One in particular compared it to a sweaty sock. Interestingly, poor grammar and bad punctuation were standard among everyone who despised it. Still, there are plenty who adore it. I’m one of them. Well, maybe adore is too strong of a word. I like it. It’s calming, offering plenty to keep one distracted. I certainly wouldn’t say no to anyone offering it as we sit together watching a planet-killing asteroid plummeting toward earth. It could serve as one’s last dram.

With a peaty nose of ashen pineapple and blood oranges, the No. 3 primes one’s senses for the oncoming tidal wash of apocalyptic fire. A swig’s warmth foretells the super-heated saltwater and charred tropical fruits carried inland on the asteroid’s impact wave. Again, the pineapple and citrus float by, and they’re incredibly singed but not beyond recognition.

The whisky’s finish maintains the nose’s sincerity and the palate’s reality, promising a lengthy recovery to whoever remains for more.

I read another brief article about how one-third of adults still sleep with a comfort object such as a stuffed animal or favorite blanket from childhood. In that same study, one-third of those adults admitted to sucking their thumbs on occasion.

Again, we’re in trouble, folks. And yet, we don’t need to endure it joylessly. While countless in our world just can’t seem to climb out of adolescence—many of whom appear to be in charge—the rest of us have whisky to keep us comfortable until the implosion… or impact… whichever comes first. My guess is you’ll know those who understand this by scanning their shelves for a bottle of the No. 3. Its presence is a sure sign they know the sun does not circle the earth, Puerto Rico won’t become lopsided and tip over, and keeping a good whisky on hand for the apocalypse is one of the wisest things any of us can do.