Oh! To quaff a cold vessel of that honey-colored, bubbly, bacchanalian brew with that frothy alabaster head lathering down onto the digits; to inhale the aroma of sweet and sour hops, and malted barley fermented into a heavenly effervescent nectar of the gods; to experience the crisp and undeniably delicious taste of the brewer’s art; to behold the immediate thirst quenching satisfaction and the subsequent heavenly euphoria that envelopes the imbiber’s soul. This, then, is the exquisitely delightful process of drinking beer.

Beer is a marvelous culinary companion. It enhances the flavor of most foods and, without a doubt, turns them into Epicurean delights. What would Texas barbecue be without a cold one? Why would one even think of eating Mexican food without a chilled bottle of cerveza? How could one wash down pork and sauerkraut or bratwurst without a bottomless stein of German brew? What goes good with Irish stew? Stout beer I say. What enhances the flavor of sirloin steak? Ice cold beer. My friend, a hot dog without beer is like a day without sunshine. Yes, there are only three kinds of beer I love: bottled, canned and tapped!

I enjoy sucking these savory suds with my friends and acquaintances at the local pub where, between fights, we solve all of the world’s problems. I like to bend the elbow and guzzle a frosty mug of ale with complete strangers at their bars and make lewd inquiries about their wives. I guzzle countless beers at sporting events and throw the used containers at the hated foes. I appreciate the many different flavors of the family of beer, foreign and domestic, stout and Pilsner. I often relax with a cold one, whiling away the hours contemplating the meaning of life and plotting my next bold adventure. Many times I have wept in my brew when that glass of sparkling lager was my only friend. Oh, yes, “That which drowns all care!”

Of course it’s not like the hard stuff that can turn you into a blithering alcoholic. No!

When Lady Luck embraces me I celebrate by popping a top or pouring a draft. And when my old adversary, Trouble, knocks on my door I soothe my worried mind with a brewski. How can you mend a broken heart? A case of beer won’t hurt. How does one get to first base on a date? Offer her a six-pack and hit a home run! Swilling Clydesdale piss makes sports more exciting, women more beautiful, people more interesting, music more pleasing and sex more romantic. All in all, beer makes life more enjoyable. As Winston Churchill once said, “We shall drink beer in the mountains, we shall drink beer in the plains, we shall drink beer on the beaches. This will be called Britain’s happy hour!”

I met my ex-wife while drinking “butt-wiper” long necks at Happy Hour with my lawyer. Throughout our troubled marriage beer played an important role. Beer was the one thing that the two of us had in common — that, and bad tempers, reckless driving, loud mouths, belligerence, tardiness, clumsiness, slurred speech, bed wetting, and in the end — infidelity. During the divorce, had it not been for beer, I would have been a real mess! Thank God I had beer when I started having liver problems. The stress was simply unbearable.

My lawyer tells me that my case is going well and he is sure he can get the manslaughter charges dropped. He says I’ll be stuck with another DUI and more jail time, but he’s such a pessimist. He needs to relax and enjoy the High Life! I get sick of him telling me that my best friend is my worst enemy. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I do know this: when I get out of this damn jail, you and I are going to celebrate down at Clancey’s with a couple of big, ice-cold glasses of …