Beer and Blimps

Went by the ol' Rare Beer Store gas station today and made my own six pack.

Nothing quite says drunken American debauchery like selecting six random ales and heading home to drink the night away. Quite sad, really.

Had a Southwick, which was quite pleasant. Of course, it was my third, so I'm not so sure how well the taste buds were registering.

I've decided that the blimp is the greatest symbol of American jackassery on the planet. I mean, the Hindenburg basically immolates hundreds and hundreds of people, and we have several other modes of safe air transportation. So what do we do? We fly fuckin' blimps with ads on the side so we can get overhead shots of sporting events. I'm pretty sure they could just use stock blimp footage from 1987 most of the time, and no one would notice. Which makes me think it must be pretty fuckin' boring to be a bird.

Not only that, but blimps aren't good for anything. We might as well fly hot air balloons over sporting events. They're only worth is that they're great presents for the rich homosexual who already has everything. Get 'em a nice fuckin' argyle print hot air balloon or blimp, and they'll piss on themselves. But that's about it.

But with a sport where men are slugging through the mud to achieve glory and eternal fame, let's not fly a fag balloon around so we can take pretty pictures. That's cheaper than an old whore.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go find a blimp to piss on. This Southwick flows right through me.