patrick.net

She should have claimed that she was waddling because of wayyyy too much yeast. It'll probably be rocky for her in jail, but hopefully she'll keep her spirits up.

That was a cold one.

Beer with me for a moment, Mikey. Your comments are more than I can bar.

As a case in point, this could be a Guinness record so don't get your Irish up.

Let me whey in on this one, then. It may sound corny, but I was in Wisconsin and met a guy with a Moosehead and an awesome six-pack - a quarter bounced off his Heineken bounce for hours. He was quite the Hamm, truly one of Milwaukee's Best.

He bellied on up to me, asked my name. I said, "Amber." He bought me a beer. We also took some Pilsen in our alcohol fueled stupor, we hopped right to it. We were Rolling - it was a Blue Ribbon performance (He was pale and had a longneck, but I was under his influence). We were drunken Schlitz and they asked us to leave.

He gave me punch-drunk love and made me feel woozy. He was so tender but Wicked, it was quite the shot in the arm and I was at his Beck & call... We mixed it up so well, we almost married (it felt so Natural). However, cooler heads prevailed and we separated (He became chilly toward me). I still see him a round, but it left a bad taste in my mouth.

It's all in the Pabst. I'm a little bitter, but now I'm sadder, Budweiser.

This topic is hopping but I can barley believe your story. However, it seems like it could be good for what may ale you as long as you're not Pabst your prime.
It looks like I'm getting my Heinie kicked since you raised the bar and started mugging. You even got a little frosty so I may have to call my lawyer and take you to quart, you little half pint, even though you are a sweet gallon. And that's just for openers. Please excuse my language but I'm tired of bottling it up since this has been brewing for a while. That's really the capper here and it's bitter sweet. I guess we're Lucky to have redemption value and that makes good cents. At least it's worth a shot.
Yes, I admit I'm the spillage idiot and I want to pub-licize this information. Actually, it's a hangover from the past. I belch you didn't know that.
And, yes, Amstel chugging away.

I barred my soul to you, and you don't tip your hat to me (which pisses me off)? I can't believe I told you about the guy who gave me a wallbanger (boy, that was a happy hour!) and I guess I was drunk with excitement. I was gonna say more, but I blacked out my answer to maintain a modicum of civility.

How's this - I'm gonna rate your punniness and see how well you swallow it. Urinate at best.

High there. A staggering post if I ever saw one. Smashing. What a swill topic. But please mind your P's. Hooch do you think you are? Why do you want to be tanked? Tommy rotgut, I say. It' not hammer time. Wino patience? Al-keyed up? Well, lush of people wind up in the drink and some are bottle babies. Even Chinese folks, too and that makes me want to Thai one on and say saki to me.
From now on, I'm taking the fifth. I'm toast.

Pee's accept my sincere apology, it was all just word vomit on my part (you got uncorked, there). I'm gonna take the twelve steps upstairs (maybe hang over the rail for a minute) and think about how to be straight up about this. I was quite shaken by your response, went to bed and didn't stir until late this morning. Then my dog stole part of my robe (I couldn't find the belt) and I had to chaser around the house. She's such a Salty Dog, our relationship has been on the rocks for quite some time over her attitude. That was the final straw. She gives me so much flask, I finally had to dive on her to get it. It was no party.

To de-stress, I hopped in my Magnum and took a drive (I'm very Cosmopolitan). It was Neat. I have no proof the damn dog is trying to drive me crazy, but she steals my stuff with Zest and can be a real Brut. Anyway, I went to Long Island for some Iced Tea and ran into an old boyfriend, Rickey, who knows me by my middle name - Brandy. He started Collin me over to his table, told me he'd taken the Greyhound from Manhattan 'cause his car was Jamaican some noise; he'd also lost his keys and had to get in with a Screwdriver.

I suggested we go for a walk to see the recent Mudslide. The Bay Breeze was so intoxicating that we had Sex on the Beach; it was good (I felt the Earthquake) but we were Russian so it was just a Quickie.... Sweet Maria, it had been so long that I felt like a Virgin again! We almost went for seconds, but I had a Fuzzy Navel and he cut me off. I then remembered why the relationship soured, he had been frosty much of the time and it just fizzed out. I'm kind of Old Fashioned, I guess. I need more Purple Passion than he could pour on - an occasional Rendezvous doesn't fill me up.

To make it worse, I thought I'd been bitten by a Jigger but my pain turned out to be a Champagne. So, all in all, it was a pretty good day.

I met a Japanese lush at a tavern who was just lounging around. Well, can't I enjoy a nip once and a while? She had nice jugs and she did get the drop on me. Her skirt was ripped from falling down off the wagon and she was feeling pretty good.
I, on the other hand, was getting my Irish up and it served me right. I was juiced and wondered what it would be like to liquor.
The joint had a lot of employees, a Falstaff, you might say. It's no wonder since they get a lot of tipsies. I never sauce so many.
However, I told a joke and all I got was booze. It fizzled. Man, I got crowned royal. I guess it wasn't ferment to be and now I was floored and in a tight spot. I even thought about going souse for the winter but I couldn't leave my new gill all alone. I'm no skunk. Anyway, I really didn't want to glow. I was hoping to hit the blotto to make some scratch so I could take a load off.
Was it time to pitch some woozy? Or was this just a crock throwing me for a loop? I was a-fried to ask. Or maybe this here stiff was getting sloppy. It was true that I could use some Southern Comfort tossed into the mix. But there was no where to rum.
I no longer had it maid in the shade because this place was no mister Goodbar. Yes, I was in a blind. I was really cooked and in a pickle, stewing in my own juice. I wanted to catch a Greyhound buzz out of town. Or, shucks, even a red-eye.