Last night was my first foray into the deceptive and crystalline seas of clear rum. I learned that the rum’s clarity serves as an ironic symbol for the dark cloud of fog its tempestuous water will undoubtedly blow over your reeling mind; covering any would-be memory in a thick haze of, “Are these my shoes?” Or something of the like.

And so, it seems ive learned a little lesson. Let us only hope that I remember it.

What at first sip might seem sweet & mellow

Will knock you on your arse, good fellow

And what today might relive your sorrow

Will make you feel like proper shit tomorrow

Just remember this golden rule

If it’s clear, of that ye steer

If it’s brown, let’s have another round