I Love You Guys

I'm working on a new batch of wheat beer today. The beer situation is looking up. My old stout, which tasted too sweet after I added lysozyme, is now drinkable again, I have a new stout kegged, I have a new lager kegged, and I have ingredients for a pale ale sitting in the dining room.

I'm also about three sheets to the wind. I forgot to eat this morning, and I feel that I have a moral obligation to drink my own beer while brewing, purely for evaluat...eval...evaluationaltive purposes. So other than a bottle of Goya Malta, my body contains nothing to buffer the alcohol.

Evidently, the lager is quite strong. I did not realize that, because it's also very sweet and hopped out the ass. I thought the recipe was a loser because it was so sweet, but it's really starting to grow on me. I may run a line to a hand faucet and just lie on the floor by the cooler, squirting orange lager into my mouth.

Marvin is shrieking for attention even though I extracted his flubbery body from the cage earlier and gave it a sound pummeling. Maynard is just staring at me, trying to lay the classic cockatoo guilt trip on me.

I don't see any reason why I shouldn't fill their bowls with stout and have a little peace.

I need to coordinate with Val Prieto. I need to arrange to have a day of rib-smoking and beer-drinking out on the patio. I would just do it at his house, since he has Man Camp™ in his backyard, but it's pretty hard to lug kegs around.

Perhaps I should do an entire batch of ale and put it in 40-ounces. THE MAN CAMP 40-OUNCE BLOWOUT. Yes, that sounds quite appealing.

I don't have 40-ounces, however. Guess I could round up 10 empty plastic 2-liters and sterilize them.

I am clearly going to have to order pizza, unless I want a DUI.

Where are Anna and Emma? Weren't they threatening to sex me up? I was counting on that, and beered up as I am, I am totally defenseless.

If Marv doesn't stop shrieking, so help me God, I'm going to stuff him in a sock and tie it off behind him.