Waking up this morning and everything is kinda weird, My alarm clock has a cassette player in it and it was stuck on this loop "know when to hold um" over and over, and I reached over to turn it off and knocked over an empty PBR can, where the hell did that come from? And that deck of cards on the nightstand? I think I was having some wild dreams last night. I reached over to my wife and there was a Dolly Parton wig on her pillow, that's when I noticed this sticky peach tasting stuff smeared on my face, so I decided to get up, that's when I tripped on an empty jar of peach jam and fell on the cassett player and it started playing "just checked in to see what condition my condition was in." Then for some reason I started wondering what swampratt was doing today and if he had gotten that cell phone yet.
Bottled Pearl from the liquor store with those puzzles on the lid. Rebus? Man, that was some really bad beer but at the time about all I could afford from the liquor store so didn't have to drink 3.2.
There is only two kinds of beer, mine and everyone elses. I have drank some nasty ones, BBK in Germany and the one in Viet Nam we called tiger piss. I still like Lone Star and Hamms when I can find them.
I don't know what a roofie is, either reverse or ahead on.
Back in time I went to a military college way down in Dixie cause I thought I wanted to become an edumacated slayer and reiver of godless commie souls. This was back when Moscow was still red and the ever present threat of nuclear annihilation was a little lower than these days. Some buddies and I decided that since the Rangers and SF had their own niches carved out already to contend with the godless commie bastiges, we would have to develop an alternate track that was mutually supporting and would perhaps offer a previously unconsidered element to the TOC. We developed the BDT and went into intensive training for our standard mission profile. Since it hadn’t yet been done, we decided to drink those gawd damm Russkies under the table and incapacitate a large portion of their forces. Since this was largely self funded the primary material we had to work with was Milwaukee’s Best. We trained with all the energy a rowdy lot of eighteen and nineteen year olds can. While on a weekend field exercise at The Hill one of the prior service snake eaters walked over to where we stood around the bed of a pickup going over mission plans. Sgt Duplantis, who was a scary MFer fixed his steely gaze on this band of fearless marauders in our berets with the Beast flash jauntily affixed. He pointed one of his can kill you in twelve ways fingers at my buddy’s head and ask, What the **** is that?. We explained the BDT and it’s mission profile. He stood there like a low mountain for a few seconds and then said, I’ve heard about you, respect. He accepted the proffered ordinance and then took his ominous presence back over to the bonfire. It’s been years since I trained that hard for anything. All the martial arts and weapons training doesn’t really hold a candle to the potentially devastating capabilities of the BDT.
Hell might be frozen over by then!
How dare you talk about my kers like that!
For all you PBR drinkers, I suggest finding Pabst Genuine Draft if you can. I found some in California years ago, was great stuff.
You're not wrong. There was a place on campus corner in Norman that was called the Deli, they served PBR drafts in those old red plastic cups you used to see at Pizza Hut in the 80s for $1.
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