A Cry for (Beer) Liberation
I had grand ideas of writing about the brouhaha going on in the Middle East, how the reaction to the cartoons about Mohammed is absurd. In looking through some of my favorite blogs, however, I've found that the subjects been done to death. So instead I'll post something I wrote about a thousand years ago when my brother and I shared an apartment. If anyone actually reads this please feel free to comment, praise, insult. Cheers.
A Cry for (Beer) Liberation
As I look into the refrigerator, I am overcome with a feeling of dread. Icy terror grips my stomach and my knees turn to jelly as I confront the hard reality before me. There is no beer left in the fridge! "How could this be?" I think to myself. How could I have been so foolish? How could I have been so wrong? I thought there would be enough, but no. Here we are at the dawn of the twenty-first century, in the richest nation in the world and yet my fridge is empty of beer.
I turn to the couch and there sits Dave with the last beer sitting on the table next to him. Opened yet barely touched, the dark tan bottle glistens with condensation. It calls to me. Its siren song tugs at my soul. I feel a need growing within me. It's starting in my stomach, it spreads to my parched throat. My hands long to hold the cool, wet bottle. Oh how I long for that cool liquid refreshment. I have to have it but how can I steal this treasure away from my greedy brother? He's so evil, so cruel hearted. He knows how much I want that beer but there he is hoarding it, the fiend.
I can take it no longer. So I walk over to the table and make a quick grab for the beer but Dave is quicker. He snatches the beer away from my outstretched hand and pulls it close to him. "Go get your own you dirty bastard." He tells me and then sips the beer. "Damn you!" I shout at him. "There's none left, that's the last beer!" "So, get over it." He replies calmly, taking another sip.
"I can't get over it!" I reply. "There's no way to get over it when it's Sunday and I can't buy any more! I can't get over it when a dirt bag like you is drinking the last beer and I'm left with nothing! Am I supposed to step aside and let you trample over my God given right to drink a beer and relax on a Sunday! Am I supposed to just stand here and watch you drink while I suffer from unbearable thirst! What kind of fool do you take me for! What kind of pushover would I be to let you get away with this act of theft and tyranny! Now I call upon whatever good is left in you, if there be any at all, to hand over that beer. To do the right thing before I'm forced to give you an ass kicking you will not soon forget."
"Damn it Kev, I bought the beer."
"Oh yah, sorry bought that."
A Cry for (Beer) Liberation
As I look into the refrigerator, I am overcome with a feeling of dread. Icy terror grips my stomach and my knees turn to jelly as I confront the hard reality before me. There is no beer left in the fridge! "How could this be?" I think to myself. How could I have been so foolish? How could I have been so wrong? I thought there would be enough, but no. Here we are at the dawn of the twenty-first century, in the richest nation in the world and yet my fridge is empty of beer.
I turn to the couch and there sits Dave with the last beer sitting on the table next to him. Opened yet barely touched, the dark tan bottle glistens with condensation. It calls to me. Its siren song tugs at my soul. I feel a need growing within me. It's starting in my stomach, it spreads to my parched throat. My hands long to hold the cool, wet bottle. Oh how I long for that cool liquid refreshment. I have to have it but how can I steal this treasure away from my greedy brother? He's so evil, so cruel hearted. He knows how much I want that beer but there he is hoarding it, the fiend.
I can take it no longer. So I walk over to the table and make a quick grab for the beer but Dave is quicker. He snatches the beer away from my outstretched hand and pulls it close to him. "Go get your own you dirty bastard." He tells me and then sips the beer. "Damn you!" I shout at him. "There's none left, that's the last beer!" "So, get over it." He replies calmly, taking another sip.
"I can't get over it!" I reply. "There's no way to get over it when it's Sunday and I can't buy any more! I can't get over it when a dirt bag like you is drinking the last beer and I'm left with nothing! Am I supposed to step aside and let you trample over my God given right to drink a beer and relax on a Sunday! Am I supposed to just stand here and watch you drink while I suffer from unbearable thirst! What kind of fool do you take me for! What kind of pushover would I be to let you get away with this act of theft and tyranny! Now I call upon whatever good is left in you, if there be any at all, to hand over that beer. To do the right thing before I'm forced to give you an ass kicking you will not soon forget."
"Damn it Kev, I bought the beer."
"Oh yah, sorry bought that."
posted by Danielle at Wednesday, February 08, 2006
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