Ancient, booze-conjuring monks washed ashore Ireland. Soon after, perishing potatoes, corruption and chaos took their toll on all that was worth feasting on (and that with which to brew), leaving our Irish brethren with only rice.
An age old lie has tainted tongues with fire water, thrown down resentful gullets. ENOUGH!
The little white heart of the smoothest vodka in the world. Now the legend continues. Bring the Bedlam.
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