A sip, and you taste it. 

Another, and you feel it. 

The throw-your-head-back-joy, 

the utterly fabulous bravado of pleasure. 

The pleasure of vodka made with coveted Italian 

wheat so rare and so pure,
it would be a crime to distill its flavor away. 

The pleasure of blood-orange sunsets
and of seasalt that tickles your skin,
and clings to your soul, as night becomes 

morning and strangers become friends.
All because you choose to engage in
the glorious art of misbehaving.
An art perfected in Italy.
One sip and you smile.
Another and you laugh.
A third, and you may just want to roar.
By all means, do.
We’ll join you.

LET’S ROAR