I’ve been known to be able to handle my alcohol (sans, tequila). I mean, I can do work when the time calls for it. Especially mixed drinks. I can pick up and put down rum and cokes all day, e’erday. I have even been known to handle American moonshine, on occasion. But this homemade Georgian cha-cha is going to be the death of me. I really, truly, can not handle it. Surely they must know about adding mixers (other than bread and cheese)? I swear I can’t do one more shot. Half a shot and I’m spinning. More than that, and I’m not liable for my actions. I’m done. Call me a pansy… I don’t care. That stuff is gonna kill me. I’m done.
And I am still researching all of the uses for it. I’ve seen it used to cure hangovers… fail. I’ve seen it put on open wounds, aches, pains, bruises, sprains, and broken bones… ala, Chris Rock’s ‘Tussin’ comedy routine. I think (and this is what I have to confirm) I have seen it injected….with a syringe. For what reason? I don’t know. How much? I don’t know.
…to be continued.
“Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice (beeotch!!)
Laid back (with my mind on my money and my money on my mind)
Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice (beeotch!!)
Laid back (with my mind on my money and my money on my mind)”
Gin and Juice, Snoop Dogg