For their own good, vegetarians should never be allowed near fine beers and ales. It will only make them loud and belligerent, and they lack the physical strength and aggressive nature to back up any drunken assertions.
Even on the Serengeti, it ain't a barbecue if there ain't some kind of beer.
There's something wonderful about drinking in the afternoon. A not-too-cold pint, absolutely alone at the bar - even in this fake-ass Irish pub.
Unlicensed hooch from a stranger in a parking lot. Good idea? Yes, of course it is.
It's been about a week without alcohol of any kind. I'm enjoying my new, clean-living lifestyle.
I believe - to the best of my recollection, anyway - that I soon made the classic error of moving from margaritas to actual shots of straight tequila. It does make it easier to meet new people.
I need the anesthetic qualities of the local fire water.
When dealing with complex transportation issues, the best thing to do is pull up with a cold beer and let somebody else figure it out.
I managed to reach a depth of self-loathing that usually takes a night of drinking to achieve.
This is the dream of all the world. The dream is to live in Granada. You know, work in the morning, have a one-hour in the afternoon, at night go out and have that life. You know. Go out and see your friends and eat tapa and drink red wine and be in a beautiful place.
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