Raspberry Lambic Slushie

Raspberry Lambic Slushie

Getting Sloshed Like a Damned Adult

If you’ve spent a hot minute with me, you know that despite all of my grandiose ramblings of luxe ingredients and gastronomical delights, I am fucking shameless in my love of low brow treats. Sometimes, after a wicked bender, I drag my bruised and battered temple of a body to the good ol’ 7-11 to sneak a pull of the slurpee machine, sucking on that teat like mother’s milk. Something about a brain freeze to help me forget the pounding in my skull from sins committed the night before.

Unfortunately, 7-11 won’t help me with a true hair of the dog when I need a little slushy booze to take me to the promise land. This recipe is for drunk and lazy bitches looking for a sweet treat without straying to far from the couch. Which is helpful, because your panties have been missing for a while now, and you don’t want to deal with another count of public indecency just yet. Fizzy Belgian lambic beer becomes the base of this sparkly adult slurpee, with a stiff slap to the ass from a couple of shots of 99 Blackberries. It’s like a hooker with a glittery muffin – sparkly, dangerous and meant to be plowed with reckless abandon.

Raspberry Lambic Slushie

1 large bottle of Raspberry lambic (or peach, cherry or apple – we don’t really give a shit just as long as it’s sweet and Belgian)
2 shots of 99 Blackberries (or cherries, or apples or whatever – we don’t really give a shit just as long as it’s 99 proof)

Pour a bottle of your favorite lambic (here we use Lindeman’s Framboise as it is tart, but not too sweet) into a 13x9x4 inch pan. Pop into the freezer and let chill until ice crystals start to form. Scrape with a fork and return to the freezer. Pass out on the couch without realizing it and wake up with drool running down the side of your face. Go back and scrape up the ice crystals with a fork again. Hate watch 30 minutes of reality television, the entire time questioning whether the apocalypse is right around the corner if that shit can make talentless dick-nozzles cold hard cash. Schlep back to the kitchen one last time and fork up the ice crystals, stirring in the two shots of 99 apples. Pour into a mason jar, pop in a straw, and suck like you’re in an alley trying to earn twenty bucks the hard way.

Cassandra Wellington

A walking contradiction, Cassandra has a philanthropist’s God-complex by day, and a hedonist’s appetite by night. She swears she doesn’t eat KFC and shops organic, but catch her in the wee hours of the morning making out with an everything burrito and then you’ll see right into her soul. Give Cassandra a thousand bucks at 2pm and she will create a revelation for you by way of a nine course gourmet tasting menu. Give her that same amount of cash at 2am and she’ll blow it on tacos, malt liquor and gummi worms. What? Don’t judge.

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