Perfect Blue Buildings
M. came over late tonight. I had just finished playing volleyball, and getting beat in the process, when he sauntered in my room. Word was open. Music was playing. Thoughts were being processed. Passive voice was reigning supreme. And, I was fucking bored. So, armed with filter-less Lucky Strikes, we went to Illinios Brewing Company (IBC).
IBC is the closest thing my little (100,000 people) hicktown has to a brew-pub. It doesn't offer home-made rootbeer, and the food is less than palatable, but it does offer a small selection of micro-brewery brews. The last time I was there, I had a Stumblin' Stout, which wasn't too bad. I also ordered a Big Beaver Brown Ale, which was quite fantastic. A week later, I was still raving about it.
A week later was today, so of course, I needed me some Big Brown. When we arrived at IBC, I decided to be darring and order Wild Willy's Wheat Ale. The bartender offered me a lemon. I declined. I wish I didn't. The ale, while tolerable, was quite sour. There wasn't much sweet to it. In fact, it tasted like week-old Wonder bread. When your beer tastes like it has been pumped full of preservatives and left to moulder on some store shelf, you know you have problems.
We finished that and played pool. I dominated the table, but sank the cue ball while calling the 8-ball. Bad Jon. No soup for you.
I couldn't leave without quaffing some Brown Ale. It was sour too. I think the entire batch of everything was bad. Perhaps some disgruntled employee, fed up with hops and wort and everything beer-y, pissed in every mixture. Come to think of it, that's probably why I didn't get my buzz. The beer was extremely watered down.
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H. came over last night. We had us some fun. I do believe I enjoy that nice, firm ass of hers. I shall have to sample it more often.
IBC is the closest thing my little (100,000 people) hicktown has to a brew-pub. It doesn't offer home-made rootbeer, and the food is less than palatable, but it does offer a small selection of micro-brewery brews. The last time I was there, I had a Stumblin' Stout, which wasn't too bad. I also ordered a Big Beaver Brown Ale, which was quite fantastic. A week later, I was still raving about it.
A week later was today, so of course, I needed me some Big Brown. When we arrived at IBC, I decided to be darring and order Wild Willy's Wheat Ale. The bartender offered me a lemon. I declined. I wish I didn't. The ale, while tolerable, was quite sour. There wasn't much sweet to it. In fact, it tasted like week-old Wonder bread. When your beer tastes like it has been pumped full of preservatives and left to moulder on some store shelf, you know you have problems.
We finished that and played pool. I dominated the table, but sank the cue ball while calling the 8-ball. Bad Jon. No soup for you.
I couldn't leave without quaffing some Brown Ale. It was sour too. I think the entire batch of everything was bad. Perhaps some disgruntled employee, fed up with hops and wort and everything beer-y, pissed in every mixture. Come to think of it, that's probably why I didn't get my buzz. The beer was extremely watered down.
------
H. came over last night. We had us some fun. I do believe I enjoy that nice, firm ass of hers. I shall have to sample it more often.
posted by Jon at 9:27 PM
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