If You're Not Drinking Heavily, You're Not Paying Attention

Well, kittens, it's been too long. Frankly, so much has happened that I've been overwhelmed. I find myself every flipping day staring at stories coming across the computer screen, mouth open, eyes bugged  out, choking back a full-throated, "What the FUCKING hell!" This happens every single day, kittens. Imagine how frail I've become. By the time I fall limply into my bed at night, I've exhausted myself trying to keep up with Project Veritas videos or WikiLeaks dumps, or Hillary's lastest campaign screed against "dark, divisive, and dangerous Trump supporters." You know, the irredeemable deplorables. So, despite my best intentions, blogging has been simply impossible.

BUT! I could not let the election come and go without blogging to admit that I am going to vote for Trump. Yes, moi. The one who said this, and  said this...and said this...about Trump. And I haven't changed my mind about any of it. But the possibility of a Hillary presidency, assuming she can set up an Oval Office in prison, is simply too hideous for me to contemplate. And voting turd party is just that...a shitty alternative. So yes, I have decided hissy fits in a time of national crisis are unbecoming. 

But what I have discovered is a fabulous cocktail that is worthy of apocalyptic end times shenanigans. I mean, honestly, if the whole thing is going to burn down, then having a fabulous drink to sip while watching the show is almost an imperative. I call it, The Montpelier, which I find enormously clever because it is ALMOST a Manhattan, only with maple syrup instead of vermouth. It's also a little tip of the hat to our dear Sanders who got his pathetic little ass handed to him by a much better player at the whole socialist corruption thing.

Montpelier

2 oz bourbon. (Make it good. It's the soul of the drink. I like Four Roses.)
1 tsp. maple syrup
Dash bitters
Mix together over a few ice cubes, to open the flavors.
Serve with a couple of maraschino cherries, if desired.

That's it. Smooth as a prom queen's thighs, as my husband says. Lovely drink to sip while all hell breaks loose.

So, having made my confession, I have nothing else to say. There is simply too much to write about for me to have anything to write about. How do you narrow it down? How do you edit the crazy so that it is even believable? It's way beyond me. So here are a few pictures to tell the story....