Remember the good old days of going gaga over the golden flakes floating in your glass of booze? Entranced by those slivers of diaphanous, diabolical doom, you’d fail to notice the pangs of pain playing hopscotch in your stomach. Twenty minutes later and you’re feverishly cleaning the pile of puke off your mother’s favorite Persian rug. Ah yes, the halcyon days of Goldschlager, the Vegas Showgirl of liquors.
Read more: http://guy.com/2011/04/12/unhappy-hour-goldschlager/#ixzz1ztg71cOZ
