This morning I composed a review of the latest silky-smooth trippel from Unibroue but then shit happened and I said, screw it. We need a kegger. So without further ado, everybody get in line behind the pressurized tank of social lubricant and try to make small talk. What’s in it? Who cares? For me it was usually Miller Genuine Draft. MGD goes down right, it isn’t quite as thin as Bud, it’s not as insultingly shitty as Coors or PBR and it costs less than practically anything else.
Once you’ve had a few elbow into the living room where everybody’s trying to shout over the Bob Marley and the bass from whatever rap the guys upstairs are playing. Don’t mind the sag in the floor; it hasn’t caved yet and anyway there isn’t anything expensive in the basement.
Kick back and reminisce about youth and alcohol and the damned fool things that happen when you throw them together. I still remember my plastic two-liter soda bottle from college that saved me hours of waiting in keg lines. I called it Zelda although I don’t know why. Yeah, I know it’s pretty lame as far as stories go, but it’s a start. Let’s hear yours.