Paul Photenhauer

I had food poisoning last week. You know how it is. Chills. Fever. Fatigue. Nausea. Vomiting. Its a miserable experience. But then I recovered.

Reading this book, I flashed back to last week. Chills. Fever. Fatigue. Nausea. I didn't vomit....but it was a near, near thing. Every cocktail had shockingly well-produced, tasteful photos of the drink that made the gagging so, so much worse. I now have a Pavlovian response to the word "frothy." *ugh hyuegh*

Is the book as sincere and genuine as its tone? I have no idea. The distressed voice in the back of my head screams, screams that this has to be a joke, or a troll, or an art piece. I want to believe. But I also know that people eat human toes in cocktails on a regular basis, willingly pay for apple-flavored shots of horse jizz, drink vaginal yeast beer, and do shots with live fish. This doesn't even touch on the booze with random dead animals in it. What I'm trying to say is that I 100% believe there are people that would willingly drink and seek out these cocktails (even seek them out for more than a shock editorial piece). I don't even know. This is beyond Poe's Law. This is....Poe's Constitution. Poe's Government.

Here there be monsters.… (más)