THE BEER PROSE: A LOVE AFFAIR WITH ALCOHOL NARRATED BY SINDICATE
lets get something straight right off the bat, i love beer. well thats not exactly true, i love GOOD beer, crap beer can stay in the trailer park where it belongs. when i first started drinking at the tender age of 11, i didnt care what i drank. coors, king cobra, whatever the hell was in my dads fridge that i could snake without getting caught. as i got older and began buying my own beer, i went for the cheap stuff. steel reserve, night train, mad dog, natural ice, whatever would knock me on my ass for cheap. that was the kind of thing that left me black out drunk waking up in a tijuana jail cell having been arrested for male prostitution, not fun.
then came my jager bomb stage. oh jagerbombs, how i remember you so. so zesty and licorice infused, seamlessly melding together redbull and jager. like a 3 way with siamese twins you were so wrong for me but you felt so...very...right... i could not stay with you alone my sweet, for you dragged me down a road of debauchery that i just could not travel. i will visit occasionally and think of you often my love, but we can never be...
the years went by quickly where i prostituted myself out to cheap beers here and there, suffering from hangovers that felt like i got skullfucked by a gang of midgets, but my beer whoring was not to last, i was destined on the path to find my beer love.then it happened, i actually began to try good beer. it started with corona. oh dear sweet corona. like a handjob from a fatgirl in the 7th grade, i was convinced you were the best thing ever. ooh, but you were only the beginning my dear, a beer chubby chaser i was not to be. with my beer cherry popped i began to experiment with all kinds of delectable brews. like an addiction to porn and transexual hookers, i first hid my love with shame. but a closet beer lover was not in the cards for me
i experimented first with foreign brews from eastern europe. may i advise you to never drink anything from the former soviet block. beer from those war torn countries tastes like tank oil and machine gun shells brewed in a dead soldiers sock. it was like ordering a russian mail order bride, and getting a 350lb unshaven transexual named 'olga'. who wants nothing more than to hold you down and play the 'touch penises game'. it was a short lived phase
next was hefenweisen. ohh hefenweisen you golden hued vixen, like a blowjob from your best friends sister ours was a secret love, and boy did i facefuck/love you plenty. but ours was not a love that was meant to last my dear. like a beer transient, i was meant to move on, never to stay in one place to long.
then came blue moon, that belgian fox. with a squeeze of an orange you tasted so tart on my tongue. many a night we spent in the bar, just you and me wasting the night away. like a skeezy old bar fly you begged to come home with me. but i was meant for greater things my fair lady. i could not, would not, be a one beer man.
the next natural progression didnt take long, i would make my own beer, thereby satisfying my unquenchable beer lust. i could now have any beer i wanted. whether she be an ale, a stout, a mead, all at the push of a tap... id finally found heaven, like a beer brothel all my sweet ladies were there for the taking.
so as i now sit here in my garage with a honey beer finishing up its fermentation, i think back on how i upped your alcohol content to 12 percent. like fake boobies on a stripper, you were born to impress my lady of the evening. i will celebrate your birth by kegging you and getting ungodly sloshed. i just hope i dont pass out drunk naked in the shower again wearin my scuba gear, that was...difficult to explain
i am sindicate and i will drink all your beer