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Cracked the lid and the entire top came off without breaking the seal. Not a good sign. On first whiff I’m sensing notes of nail polish remover mixed with paint thinner, with a hint of bathtub grappa thrown in for good measure (not unlike the stuff that Cappadonna will share with you if you’re lucky enough to hop into his cab while visiting Staten Island).

I pour a neat shot into my last remaining crystal whiskey tumbler, which is blatant disrespect to both that fine vessel and what remains of my dignity. A mouthful of Wu-Tang Clan Original ‘premium’ liqueur immediately inspires a lifetime of sobriety. It’s completely lacking in either flavour or impact. At least a cheap and nasty vodka has the good manners to burn your throat on it’s way down—this tepid excuse for a beverage packs so weak a punch that even Tyga would have half a chance of laying it out on the canvas.

Did I mention the after taste? Imagine, if you will, that you’ve just spent the evening freebasing with Shyheim The Rugged Child on the docks with the Statue of Liberty as your backdrop, followed by a few rounds of tonsil hockey with a couple of Gaten Staten’s veteran street walkers at an after-hours pub that serves one dollar Coors and fifty cent wings until 5am. Just before you passed out on the floor of Masta Killa’s garage, you finish a pack of Newports and guzzle the last remaining drops from a warm bottle of Champale. When you awake the following afternoon to the sound of the neighbours Rottweiler’s barking themselves hoarse, you’re immediately reminded of your folly as you wonder if a large possum shat in your mouth while you were unconscious. That, my friends, is the taste that WTC ‘Premium’ will leave you with after that first, instantly regrettable, swig.

To be fair, liqueurs are not designed to be enjoyed solo—much like the musical output of U-God. With that in mind, I grab the only available mixer on hand—a tall, cold bottle of 7-Up (aka the Ultimate Lemon/Lime Refreshment). Could this classic beverage, which once boasted lithium as a key ingredient, save the day in the same way that Ghostface Killah’s Supreme Clientele did his crew’s ailing reputation at the turn of the century?

The results were nothing short of miraculous. Never in my wildest dreams would I have dared to imagine that the glorious experience that is 7-Up could be sullied by an inferior mixer. And yet, Wu-Tang Clan Premium Liqueur achieved that lofty goal the instant that they were bonded in an unholy union reminiscent of that time that RZA and Method Man made a rap song with Shaquille O-fucking-Neal. Much like how Masta Killa was able to make every Wu-Tang song he appeared on 85% less interesting, this foul liquid poison seemed intent on sending my lily white arse back to Yacub on the motherfucking Polar Express. Ain’t the devil happy, indeed.

As a freelance writer (or ‘sell sword’ for all you GoT fanatics outchea), I’m no stranger to whoring my keyboard out to the highest bidder, but I can safely assure you that no amount of filthy lucre could convince me to finish this alcoholic equivalent of the song ‘Black Shampoo.’ Even drinking a single glass of this garbage makes me pine for the good old days of boxed wine, Old Crow scotch, or even that bootleg Jim Beam that the Witches In Britches theatre restaurant were caught selling. If it was choice between finishing this bottle of demon spawn or listening to fifth tier Wu affiliate The Holocaust’s ‘Architecture of Disaster’ on a loop for 24 hours, I’m riding with Blue Sky Black Death’s homie.

I’m not sure what I did to incur the wrath of the current Acclaim editor, but it must have been some sort of “never forgive action” that was worse than writing ‘WAR’ next to Fat Albert. Anyhoo, if you find yourself with $15 in your pocket and are in need of a quick buzz I recommend huffing glue, chroming, or drinking actual cat piss instead of this filth. Forget about your neck—you need to ‘protect’ your tastebuds, your liver, and your self-respect by steering well clear of this disgrace to booze. Looks like the ‘W’ took a massive ‘L’ on this one, thun.

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