It is such a downer, Guido breaks precedent and accompanies me to the Liquor and Rubber Balls Sport Emporium and Colonics-While-U- Wait clinic for a Saturday night reprieve, provoking bemusement among the largely lesbian clientele who are certain I’m gay. What — just because I wear sleeveless tee shirts to show off my shaved armpits? Sheesh. Whatever.
Don Tequila’s tending bar as usual on a Saturday night, but totally out of all character he’s laughing his ass off. Don never gets too high or too low. Which is probably good — Don is 6’10” tall and built like a bridge foundation. Emotions are not good for national security.
I ask him what’s going on, and he shows me this news article about uses for beer other than drinking. No shit.
It turns out beer is good for killing slugs, snails, wasps, mice, fungi, and other household and garden pests. You can clean jewelry and woodwork with it. You can polish brass, loosen bolts, and remove stains. You can even insulate your house against the cold.
Why is this so funny, Don? It sounds like beer is the new aspirin!
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s the new fucking aspirin. You know what it isn’t?”
“It isn’t any different from what it started as — a cheap, refreshing alcohol-based beverage aimed at the working stiff and the general population. And all these fucking people who wanna glorify it and treat it like gourmet fare don’t know their ass from their anus.”
Ass from their anus. Gimme a minute to Google that.
“Look, you know what? There’s too many beers. We got this movement going on in this country, all these small brewers, these microbreweries, they’re all getting into the act. Hey, wonderful. Fresh beer, can’t beat it. Trouble is, it all tastes like ass.
“I have beer on tap here — I got Grolsch, Harp, Bass, Dortmunder, and Guinness. Those are the best fucking beers human beings in the history of the planet have ever brewed, bar none. I got five other taps I rotate depending on what the best deal is that month. I got a fridge with another dozen, from Miller Lite to Red Hook to Yardarm. Who needs it? Waddya wanna mess around for? You want Belgian fruit juice or San Francisco fagwater, go somewhere else.
“But if you wanna loosen screws off your shed or kill garden rats, hey — there’s Blue Moon, Iron City, and Sheepscunt. Go to Home Depot. That’s where they oughta sell this shit. Keep it the fuck out of my bar.”
See, this is why I hang out here, Don. You got the best beer, and you got the right attitude. But it’s mostly the beer.
“And all this time I thought it was the hot dykes,” says Guido.
I don’t utter a word. I may look dumb. but I’m ugly.