I said I wanted a beer, and I was disappointed there wasn't one in the house. Pooteewheet said, "What are you talking about, you have all that homebrew." I hemmed. I hawed. I noted that it was under the stairs and hard to get to. But eventually I gave in. That's what happens when there's no Summit in the house.
But then tragedy struck. Horrible, disfiguring tragedy. See my pants? It's like blood...but beer. Wasted beer. And now the cat is drunk because it spilled all over her gymnasium. And she's a mean drunk. All "Meow? Meow meow meow meow meow." And she's wielding a busted homebrew bottle and threatening to take me down and hide my body in the litterbox. And the dog? Man's best friend? No way...she's cowering in her kennel hoping the cat doesn't notice her.
4 comments:
Why do drunken bastards who trash the carpet always neglect to give credit to the person who steamvacs it up? Did Jay ever give you props for christening our steamer when he spewed all over the plex carpet? NoOOOooo.
What I want to know is, how did you let yourself get into the into the sort of tenuous beer position that would result in you being reduced to scrounging for beer under the stairs? Just sad really - I thought you would have stowed away a special pack of Dogfish Head 90 Minute Imperial IPA for such situations....
You spoiled the cats favorate place! You paid so much for that tower. Picking it up from the street gutter. Sorry about the beer. Dad
If this were a rental unit, your would-be-landlord would probably blog about how a pot-smoking-drunk-tenant trashed his house over the weekend.
frenchdip
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