Skin Ticket

I am a learning disability.

I don't know what beers go with what beer companies.
Okay.
You happy?
I said it.
I have no idea who brews India, and who brews Black Horse.
However, though my patriotism is damned already, it goes beyond that.
Coors. Whatever.
I don't know.
Are you happy, hot bartender waitresses?
I fucking hate it when I go to order a beer and then they don't even say that they don't have it.
They just shout "We only have Molson products!" over the din of people trying to have sex with one another.
"Canadian, then."
If it's Molson, it's Canadian. If it's Labbatt's, it's Blue.
I hate both of them.
There are times when not being cool can be very debilitating.
Like when Max King plays November Rain* at the dance, and you have no one to sidle up with.
You wanna dance with the heartthrob for that one.
Cause it's ten minutes long.
That's not a Jennifer Clarke.
That's a Dana Puddicombe.
But that's another humiliating story.
(Still being told).

*I already linked November Rain in another post. This is another G 'n R classic.
And I didn't want to link Paradise by the Dashboard Light.