alcohol

What’s in your drawers?

Only when my mum started packing for the LBHQ move did I learn about all these tools, wedged into various drawers and whatnot. Everybody probably has a similar collection.

They really don’t get enough use. Owing to my parents’ grievously small beer-appreciation range, not a lot of specialty beers cross our threshold. Beers that do gain admittance to the LBHQ fridge invariably surrender to a twist-off action and/or one particular bottle opener.

I like these tools because they represent the only realistic chance for me to have a party when my parents go out. Ideally, though, I’d like one mounted against the wall, about eight inches off the floor.

How do you get your bottles open? And what about the bears in your house—how do they do it?

Holy crap, are we moving to Utah?

My Fellow Inebriates,

My parents did something hateful yesterday.

They said there was no point packing bottles that nobody (excuse me?) was ever going to drink.

Now, I thought we were moving eight blocks, not to freaking Utah. What the hell are they thinking getting rid of (reasonably) potable booze?

It was yet another instance of horrific cruelty leading up to our move. First the wine glasses got packed. Then our weird assortment of bottle openers. And then the bloodletting started. Nine-year-old languishing Malibu—down the drain. Bacardi Big Apple (RIP, gummy bears)—gone (with despicable insensitivity to yours truly, skulking by the filthy sink). Mezcal con gusano—saved only because it is too small to take up much room.

Look how disgusting our sink is. I swear my mother never cleans it. I mean, it tasted awful.

 

 

 

Why is chess not an Olympic sport?