I don’t know what to tell you guys. I didn’t see this coming any more than you did. But here we are. On the cusp of another weekend. A few hours until one of the biggest battles of your career. We’re in hell right now, ladies and gentleman. Now either we can stay in tonight or we can fight our way back, to public drunkenness.
That was my sad attempt at recreating Al Pacino’s iconic “Peaces By Inches” speech from Any Given Sunday. I know it wasn’t my best work but let’s keep this blog moving.
Right now, it kind of feels like that moment just before ejaculation, doesn’t it? That moment where time stands still and your member is ready to fire on all cylinders. All that pent up frustration from a week that everyone would choose to forget if they could. I don’t know about you but I’ve been hungover since Monday morning. Labor Day Weekend wrecked me spiritually and physically.
I can tell you right now that I literally smell football in the air. Every time I walk outside I’m reminded of it and tonight is going to be one for the ages. Bud Light. Miller Lite. Busch Light. He-Whose-Name-We-No-Longer-Say on this website. Doesn’t matter right now.
I don’t care what light beer you choose to toss down your disgusting throat tonight. But it’s going to be an eight beer kind of a night. Why eight beers, you ask? Well, I put a little beer governor on myself for nights like this.
This governor that I speak of keeps me in check. Makes sure I’m not going 100 in a 75 mile per hour zone if you know what I mean. It’s reserved for nights where I really just start to itch at my desk thinking about drinking alcohol. Do I have a drinking problem? That’s not really for me to say. Let’s let “scientists” and “doctors” pontificate over whether or not I have a drinking problem. All I know for sure is that I like to have a good time and since when did that mean I have a problem?
I can stop whenever I want (or whenever I vomit). Why do you think I gave myself an eight beer limit? That’s because I know where my threshold is. So whether it’s eight beers, three beers, twenty beers, or something in between just promise me that you’ll make it a domestic light beer night.
I don’t know why it’s a domestic beer night. I don’t know why grass is green or the sky is blue. But I know that the only thing that will quench this insatiable thirst inside of me is a metric fuck ton of shitty American beer. Happy Friday. .