Tasty, but not so vastly different than regular, as much as I could tell, seven-year-old recollections being what they are.

I swear to god, I only had two. That would have been fine, except for the pale ales, Sunbrus and that one goddam Kiltlifter.

Kiltlifter is aptly named. Some beer-goggled lifting of the kilts almost happened. I stopped it before it did, because of course I did. Wrong place, married, self-awareness of the aforementioned beer goggles, married, shitfaced drunk on brandy, married. Also, it’s me, That shit doesn’t actually happen to me.