It was pure gasoline, tasted like cough syrup. This drink is making me question the universe and existence and why God would let this monstrosity live. May the Lord Almighty strike down the person who invented this drink and make him or her suffer for eternity in the deepest, darkness sulfur-filled circles of hell. I legitimately do not care that I spit this poison all over the table and that I will eventually have to encounter it again in order to clean it up. I do not want it in my mouth or my body or the very soul of my being. Why did I do this again? Morbid curiosity and a lack of good judgement, I guess.
She laughed hysterically at my reaction. “Doesn’t it taste terrible?!” she cackled and howled.
Sangria flavored vodka. Never. Again.