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