In a bold move that’s left political pundits choking on their kale smoothies, Vice President Kamala Harris has dropped a literary bombshell titled 107 Vodkas On The Wall, a memoir that’s less about policy and more about her legendary home liquor cabinet. The book, described as a “spirited journey through my pantry,” catalogs an eye-watering array of bottles. From artisanal gins to a suspiciously specific collection of flavored vodkas (cotton candy, anyone?), you name it, she had it. Harris recounts hosting cabinet members for “tequila sunrise summits” at her residence, where she claims debates over infrastructure funding were settled over shots of mezcal. The memoir’s cover, featuring a winking Harris toasting with a martini glass the size of a fishbowl, has already sparked a frenzy of memes, with one viral image showing her balancing a bottle of limoncello on her head while delivering a speech.
The buzz around 107 Vodkas On The Wall has Washington’s elite clutching their pearls and their wineglasses. Insiders report that Harris’s team pitched the book as a “fun, relatable glimpse into her personal life.” Still, critics are calling it a tone-deaf misstep, especially after unverified rumors swirled about her enjoying a Miller High Life on late-night TV with Stephen Colbert.
One anonymous senator was overheard muttering, “I thought we were here to govern, not to play bartender.” Meanwhile, Harris defends her boozy chronicle, insisting it’s a metaphor for “pouring out unity” in divided times. The book’s highlight? A chapter titled “Merlot and Middle Ground,” where she describes pairing a 2015 Cabernet with bipartisan budget talks, only to discover her guests preferred boxed wine. Bookstores are bracing for chaos as supporters and detractors alike scramble for copies, some to frame the pages ironically, others to check for hidden policy clues between the cocktail recipes.
The fallout from Harris’s liquid literature is already shaking up the capital’s social scene. Party hosts are now stocking their bars with Harris-inspired drinks like the “Kamala Colada,” while detractors have taken to gifting empty flasks engraved with “Policy Not Potables.” At a recent press conference, Harris dodged questions about whether the book undermines her gravitas, instead offering reporters a sip from her “emergency flask” of elderflower liqueur. As the 2025 political season heats up, 107 Vodkas On The Wall is either a masterstroke of quirky relatability or a hangover waiting to happen. One thing’s certain: Harris’s next town hall might need a designated driver.
