Driving Me To Drink

As I plunge headfirst into the Hemingway segment of my life, less the marlin fishing, rhino hunting and shotgun, I have rekindled my interest in booze. Of course, it didn’t help that I befriended a wine expert or that Lexapro has so many damned side effects that hootch is the preferred choice for self-medication, though not the top beverage on the liver’s list. Nevertheless, after a long day of hacking it out, a sherry seems in order and is evocative of the Euroelite of old, thus enhancing the illusion of assumed class rather than marginal alcoholism.

What to do, then? My regular spirits purveyor is of little help and, although there are a surprising number of Crown subjects in my rurally immediate area, they rather seem to avoid me and so, are of even comparably lesser value in terms of discovering, selecting and acquiring a nutty, yet bright aperitif able to exceed Harvey’s pedestrian offering.

Therefore, I turned to my best friend, the Internet, to seek out a proper guide to tasty drunkeness. I have discovered that Amazon understands my need to imbibe better than I do and like a good friend, wants to help. The screenshot above proves it.

Damn. I need more ice. Maybe I should turn to Port. Hmmm. It would take some time, considering the hodgepodge of imbibables I have built up. Yes, by Jove, I shall. Bottoms up!