I just want to get it out there and officially put my opinion on public record:

They Are The Devil’s Work

What could possess a person to itemise the collective liquid, fruit and vegetable content of their cupboards, then allow a heartless, compassionless bartender website to come up with a list of vile concoctions to make…sheer madness.  The website doesn’t care for your liver’s well-being, it doesn’t give a fig about your inability to handle hard liquor, it laughs in the face of your drunken apologies to friends who were unaware that it was ME who all those years ago borrowed your treasured designer skirt without asking, managed to spill a generous slosh of red wine on it, then sneakily returned it (stained beyond recovery) to your wardrobe where you discovered it, weeks later when you removed it from the dust cover specifically to attend a dress-to-impress function and consequently had a screaming fight until 3am with your completely innocent housemate who, although admittedly guilty of borrowing your things without asking, was always a lot more careful than me.  I even earned love points with you by treating you to lunch the next day to cheer you up from your shock, all the while mentally shouting, “Judas Judas Judas,” inside my head.

I’ll grudgingly admit that things tend only really start to go wrong when the bartender recipes aren’t followed exactly and concessions are made: for instance, using squished up watermelon instead of watermelon syrup, or using gin instead of vodka as it ‘kinda sorta looks the same’, BUT ultimately it was the cocktail creator site that lead me to believe that such an ambitious creation was within my grasp, and instilled in me the confidence that the lack of a few key ingredients was a minor setback and could easily be overcome with some out-the-box thinking and a willingness to compromise.  Yuckety yuck.  There is no alternate universe in which gin, insufficiently pulverized watermelon flesh and lime juice is a winning combination.

Just stick to the safe, tried and tested cocktails you know people.  Better yet, crack open a brewski.  Just stay away from internet inspiration when the urge to get creative consumes you.  You want to go mad with cocktails?  Visit your nearest bar and slurp down a fishbowl of filth concocted by someone sufficiently trained in the mystical dark arts of Mixology.

I refuse to spend another weekend morning miserably huddled in a blanket nest with a plastic bowl on standby and an attentive Hublet (who oh so wisely opted for an evening of beer instead of giving in to his wife’s demented mad scientist cackling) on hair holding duty.

Remember kids: always, always process then thoroughly strain your watermelon flesh as otherwise it does not make for an enjoyable return journey experience.

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