El Miracle by Mariscal (Red Wine)

Fucking Christ I am such an indecisive person. I stood in that wine aisle for what seemed like forever trying to decide what that fuck would taste decent. Not knowing a damn thing about wine, this was not an easy decision and demanded my full concentration. The Fugees came on the grocery’s radio. The little bottles of intoxication stared at me while I danced. “Killin’ me softly…with his song….tellin’ my…..” How the hell can anyone make a choice with jams like this. Shit! So as I danced and thought carefully. Should I go by the point system the grocery stock boy posted underneath the price tags. Fuck no! What the hell is this system? What are they comparing the wines with? Other wine I have never tasted?

By this point I could feel the bottles of wine laughing at me. I narrowed my choice to one region. I chose Spain. Why? Because Spain. I don’t know shit, fuck it. One bottle of Spanish wine was on the fast track to gullet. They were all so tantalizing. So elaborately labeled, they screamed “pick me, pick me!” I had to eventually had to surrender to the point system. Turns out Robert Parker pulled some 90 points out his ethanol producing ass and I made a wine purchase based on his meaningless fucking numbers. Transaction complete.

***Begin Review of El Mericale by Mariscal (red wine)***

To remove the foil, I ran a knife along the edge of the bottles mouth. Like a surgeon with their pride on the line, I did this with the utmost precision. The foil was off and the alcohol auger was hard at work. I could feel the anticipation rising as I watched the corkscrew near the end of it’s helical journey. The arms on the spiral tool of drunkenness went up, signaling it was time to remove the vessel’s last line of defense. Naked and helpless, the bottle could do nothing to prevent me from indulging in it’s fermented goodness.

“Holy shit!” I thought. “Thank you Robert Parker and your dumb fucking point system!” The wine was not only pleasing to my brain’s pleasure center but also with my gustatory sense. It is uncommon the I enjoy the way wine tastes. My brain danced with pleasure as I sipped this wonderful bottle of burgundy sex.

The wine was dry. It left your mouth feeling like barren earth. I longed for another sip. The intoxicating elixir was not sweet, however it had a taste reminiscent of sweetness. The wine was teasing me. It led me on until the final drop. Then left my addicted genitals aching with desire for more. Is this how all Spanish wine is? One can only hope. “All Hail Robert Parker! Lord Of The Wine Points!!!”

To conclude, I made love to this bottle of red. El Mericale and I shared a night of inebriated romance. It is such a rare occurrence that I actually enjoy wine, but this bottle forever changed the way I look at the alcohol. This was a bottle that begged to be sipped and enjoyed. It was too dry to chug and you wouldn’t want to. The vino demanded passion from the user. There was something special about this bottle of wine. Goddamn was it enjoyable. I blindly agree with Sir Parker on this, 90 meaningless points to this Spanish beauty.

One huge fuck yeah to Spain, and a slightly smaller, less meaningful fuck yeah to Parker’s stupid points……10…..out of 10.




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