Monday, June 9, 2014


I love football even though I never really watch it or much-less play it. So I suppose I should just say I love the concept of football... I cant say that I appreciate the game or even remotly understand the particular feel or sprit of the game (I live a non-competative lifestyle) but that's the truth. The real truth of the matter.

The other day my friends and I were seeing how much weight each of us could bench-press... We searched for our max-out weight. Even though I felt as if I could do more, I stopped after lifting the bar once. It weighed 55 lbs. alone. I declared my great feat of strength acomplished and took up residence in a bean-bag chair across the room and resumed my Walgreens store-brand beer drinking. A brand I re-named Ghost Wheel due to the fact that the cans label art features a stand alone water-wheel in the middle of a river not attatched to a visable structure.

You can get a sixer of this Ghost Wheel for $4 and change. Any beer that you can get a six pack for less than six dollars is, as I say, priced to move.

A hard pull of my sixth, and final wheel brings a little escaping splash that lands on my shirt. I rub it in for good measure. A little spilt beer never hurt anything. As per my ritual, the six pack yoke is still connected to beer number six. It tickles my nose and face everytime I take a drink.

This beer will not last forever. The sixth beer of a six pack is the most desperate beer of the whole six pack. The last one. The last beer that brings about the first step to getting more beer.