If I didn't care, I would be drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. I like the
PBR but I drink it when I'm down to dollar bills in my wallet. Today
is pay day and three days of celebration. I'm feeling a little prissy
these days when I order a five dollar beer, six with tipping. I am a
good bloke and I won't whine to a bartender who has been appointed so
at one of favorite bars. Exception is made for my blog. Hence, I am
loathe when I am forced to remediate my beer. Yes this pint arrived
foaming at the mouth, drizzling fine beer bubbles down sides of a good
Anchor Hocking glass. Had the glass been properly frosted, these beer
bubbles would have besmirched the icy haze. The napkin helps to
contain the lost beer but soon it is saturated and robbed of its
pristine whitness. It reminds one of toliet paper doing its job of
absorption. At this moment, you wish to avoid the bartender so as to
avoid any social gaffes or inappropriate comments. The words "overpour
fail. Fix" must not cross one lips and they might if you directly
address the bartender. So, it's a mission to sneak into the waitresses
hutch for an inch of napkins to wipe the glass. No amount of wiping
quite corrects condition of wet beer on the exterior where only ones
hand was meant to go. I'm half way through this badly executed pour of
a pint, and the glass is moist and slippery still, an IPA hazard
waiting to happen. Where the glass is now dry, it is sticky. I like to
admire nose of a microbrew, its color and light transmitting quality.
I am not amused when a publican causes me to behold its adhesive
qualities. I have gamely set the unfortunate pint upon a fresh napkin,
but even that bears a shameful circular stamp of moist shame. It
required three napkins to wipe up the wet spot left by the first
saturated napkins, and no one is fond of closeness to a wet spot until
it is laundered. Then one awaits for removal of all the damp clumps
once the issue has been fought enough to drink from depths, not deep
enough because all that foam that over ran now leaves the glass an
inch short.
PBR but I drink it when I'm down to dollar bills in my wallet. Today
is pay day and three days of celebration. I'm feeling a little prissy
these days when I order a five dollar beer, six with tipping. I am a
good bloke and I won't whine to a bartender who has been appointed so
at one of favorite bars. Exception is made for my blog. Hence, I am
loathe when I am forced to remediate my beer. Yes this pint arrived
foaming at the mouth, drizzling fine beer bubbles down sides of a good
Anchor Hocking glass. Had the glass been properly frosted, these beer
bubbles would have besmirched the icy haze. The napkin helps to
contain the lost beer but soon it is saturated and robbed of its
pristine whitness. It reminds one of toliet paper doing its job of
absorption. At this moment, you wish to avoid the bartender so as to
avoid any social gaffes or inappropriate comments. The words "overpour
fail. Fix" must not cross one lips and they might if you directly
address the bartender. So, it's a mission to sneak into the waitresses
hutch for an inch of napkins to wipe the glass. No amount of wiping
quite corrects condition of wet beer on the exterior where only ones
hand was meant to go. I'm half way through this badly executed pour of
a pint, and the glass is moist and slippery still, an IPA hazard
waiting to happen. Where the glass is now dry, it is sticky. I like to
admire nose of a microbrew, its color and light transmitting quality.
I am not amused when a publican causes me to behold its adhesive
qualities. I have gamely set the unfortunate pint upon a fresh napkin,
but even that bears a shameful circular stamp of moist shame. It
required three napkins to wipe up the wet spot left by the first
saturated napkins, and no one is fond of closeness to a wet spot until
it is laundered. Then one awaits for removal of all the damp clumps
once the issue has been fought enough to drink from depths, not deep
enough because all that foam that over ran now leaves the glass an
inch short.
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