Sorry for the alliterative incoherence in the title, but not only do I think that, after a week, this whole "today's photo is..." meme has run its course and needs to be abandoned like a cold, dead, smelly flounder draped around one's neck, I also have to post a picture today which displays what I consider to be perhaps the planet's most unforgivable sin...
Behold! It is the sin of buying cheap ass beer.
A while back, The Clone arrived on my doorstep lugging a thirty-pack of this madness in his arms, and since then, it has remained in my refrigerator mocking any and all who foolishly open the door to find this staring back at them. Like a cruel joke, it sits growing cold and inviting, but once opened and consumed, drinking a can of this is like having a wet mud brick embedded in your forehead with a sledgehammer.
In today's market, if a gallon of beer is less than a gallon of gas, trust me, you're better off getting your drink on at the local Citgo station by putting the nozzle in your mouth. Just remember not to smoke, and, apparently, keep the cell-phone calls to a minimum.
The ironic thing is that The Clone originally bought this alcoholic albatross as a joke for someone else's refrigerator; however, I'm reasonably certain that when he showed up on their doorstep all smiley and proud, he was greeted by the business end of a loaded shotgun and promptly told to take that nonsense with him elsewhere.
Unfortunately, I don't have a loaded gun. I do, however, have a sniveling Republican of an older brother with entitlement issues and a propensity to work himself into a frothy rage whenever the wind blows wrong. Every day --every single freakin' day-- he works his way into the house and into the little cave in the basement where I keep this burden. And, with all the elegance of a booze-addled robot, he opens the fridge, grumbles about the cheap ass beer, grabs a cheap ass beer, opens a cheap ass beer, and spends the next thirty minutes bitching about having to drink the cheap ass beer.
I admit, dear reader, in light of my brother's misery, there is a part of me that would like to replenish this nightmare once it's gone, but I really don't wish to give this beer's makers any ideas that their product is in any sort of demand. Perhaps if they sold it with the notion that it is a sort of bubbly, liquid gruel with little value to life other than to sustain one's need for alcohol, I'd know where I stood. Maybe they could slap a tidy slogan on the crate this crap comes in? It could say "Natural Ice! It may not get you a swimsuit model, but it'll piss off a Republican!"
There could be some appeal there, don't you think?
Posted By Dan to The Wisdom of a Distracted Mind at 5/25/2008 10:42:00 AM