So I drove up to the beer store, and wouldn’t you know it?  They were having a tasting event.

Italian Beers.

The kid doing the pouring was a giant.

Must have been at least 7 ft tall, and so damn cute.

There were 4 beers.

He said: Try one or try all four.

I said, “Being Irish, I will try the green one.”

It was bubbly and fizzy.

He said, “Do you like it?”

I stared at him and said, “Huh?”

“Oh, you mean the beer.  Oh yeah. Great.  Love it.”

I walked out with a case of the green.

I want to mention one thing:

If you are used to light beer, do not start drinking the green Italian beer at 8am on a Sunday morning.

At least not on your porch, in your pajamas.

It has the ability to knock your socks off

And to render you useless for the rest of the day.

Here I am, on a Sunday afternoon, fizzing and bubbling my ass off.

To stabilize myself, I opened a bottle of cognac.

Bad choice.

I put on my red shoes and am dancing the blues, on my porch.

In the serious sunlight.

I always did like David Bowie,

Ground control to Major Tom,

The chicken butt is floating around on her tin can, on the porch

Far above the moon

Planet earth is blue

and there’s nothing I can do.

So I might as well dance.

She can’t feel the heat
Comin’ off the street
She wants to party
She wants to get down
All she wants to do is
All she wants to do is dance

Just one question:

Is it still Friday?

 

Wolf

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