In honor of da bearsssss, and as tribute to Cripley, Piller, Pretty Boy and Dave Sandel (who does not belong in the same group), I am drinking Stella Artois tonight. I can’t tomorrow, because it’s the kiddo shuffle.

You remember Stella. Tall, thin, kinda bitter. A little bit stinky (like many French speaking Europeans). I want more of her, but I know I am going to regret it. How do I know? Chicago. The beer at Crip’s on the near north side? No problem. A couple bombers at the Cubs game? Handled. A couple Stellas at Gingerman. Uh-oh. Then Nick Uptown. “My name, officer? Lord of Scum. PENIS, Lord of Scum.” Then it got worse.

There is something about the Belgian water, or the shaved tingly bits of the brewmeisters, but something about this beer says: hide the babes; and, you ain’t driving nowhere now. Tank Johnson, take note.

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