Written by George Gad Economou
that first sip of good gin (Plymouth, in this instance)
is more superlative than getting an acceptance note from New Yorker;
it makes the world appear bright, even in the dead of the night
you feel alive, like you can beat the rigged game—twenty beers
couldn’t do what one sip of magnificent gin could—hot damn, you could
unload deep in a supermodel and it still would feet insignificant—that first
nip of gin is orgasmic, come in your pants kind of orgasmic—and wait
till you have your second sip, then a good pull—superlative doesn’t
even come close to describe the euphoria that floods the bloodstream—
combine it with some good music, songs that remind of some old love affair,
or of good times that things seemed like they’d work out—have another
hefty swallow—you’ll feel more alive than when you proposed to your spouse,
or than when
you graduated college. gin’s not just a medicine; it’s the solution
to all our problems. it could save the world—and it did, when it flooded
Churchill’s bloodstream—let’s drink up, because
we sure as fuck need some rescuing.
Text © George Gad Economou
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