Et Tu, PBR?

During the height of my binge drinking days I could drain things down my gullet that would curl the stomach of a goat; straight whiskey, Irish Car Bombs, Natty Light and tequilas that do not even deserved to be named. I was blessed/cursed with an abnormally high metabolism and a steel stomach that allowed me to absorb alcohol faster than your average frat boy. Enter this past Saturday. The wife and I watched some Roller Derby with Jake and crew downing numerous tall boys of PBR in the process. I came home to spend a good clip on the toilet cursing the PBR and saddened that my once iron constitution is now broken.

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  1. You’re sure there was no influence from the hibachi grub and golden sake?
    I had no issues, personally, but I’d hate to see the Blue Ribbon take the blame if it wasn’t the case.

  2. …Pinky 500 is the hottest roller girl- god, would that get touched. You are living the life of too much good food and drink, Brozovich. The woman has made you soft.

  3. Nah. It was immediately following the Hibachi. I had not even digested my fried rice at this point. I don’t want to blame the PBR, but I must. I would rather boycott the Ribbon than the Hibachi Steakhouse and its warm delicious Golden Sake.

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