silk summit
White Monster ain’t a drink. it’s liquidized, weaponized “fuck you” in a can. You crack that mf at 2AM, and bench the fuckin sun. It’s like getting a tongue kiss from Christ himself as he’s massaging your temples. It’s like an angel pissed into a snow cone and handed it to you. You feel it burn through your esophagus like battery acid but goddamn, even a line of straight crystal can’t provide the same feel. Drinking White Monster is like mainlining the concept of ambition itself. It’s cocaine’s cousin that graduated Harvard. It’s what happens when your bloodstream decides it’s tired of being a little bitch and starts running on liquid serotonin and hate. The taste reminiscent of the silky tears of a Nordic god. You can sip on that Red Bull and go sob in the corner with your weak-ass. I’ll be over here, vibrating at Mach 5, plotting interdimensional chess moves while I shotgun another can of this divine elixir. Fuck your wings, Monster gives you four wheel drive.
buoyant tulip
zinc plover