I drink PBR. It’s been that way for awhile now. I was drinking PBR before all those little emo hipsters jumped on my bandwagon and brought the mood down. It’s a fact that I don’t particularly feel the need to defend, so I won’t. Besides, that’s not my purpose here (like I even have one, really). Instead, I want to focus on a little development in my life with regards to my PBR, err, fetish.
Since about a month ago, I made a switch. Mind you, this was not a brand switch, but more of a style change, really. I’ve flirted with that mess before, back in 2003, when I briefly toyed with the notion that Milwaukee’s Best might, indeed, be the best (turns out that Milwaukee’s Best is actually swill and that PBR is still the champ in my house). No, this switch is different. Lately, I’ve been going with the tall boy sixer. Sometimes, when I’m feeling it, I’ll even rock a Rainier tall boy sixer, ya know, just to change it up. I know what you’re thinking, that’s a lot of beer. And, well, it is. But look at it my way. Instead of making three trips to the kitchen, I now only have to make two, and any way you do that math I’m coming out ahead.
Plus, this means more play time with the Bean. I can sit her on my lap and play patty cake for the time that it takes to drink one and a half beers instead of just one. That’s called bonding. I.E. Quality time.
It really is all about the Bean. I promise.
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