Soup, pens, craft, and who ever left the stain on my carpet

By: Cody DiCavalcante

 

I love capitalism. I just thought I’d figure that out for all to understand before you come near me. Why we’re on the subject, what makes a beer so good? Is it the taste, that unnatural formula of hops and barley that makes it taste just like a mule’s last piss due to recognition of our current presidential situation, I think even the presidential mascot of our democratic populous is confused. Or is it the companionship that it creates between all types of cliques and genre’s of people. Example, a group of un-noticeable types in class meet with the blurting bastards who feel that saying “Fuck this test” for a few laughs from the girls that ignite laugh’s due to boredom or whatever it may be.

I really think that a beer has a stimulating, bold, daring, Abraham-Lincoln’s (I’m an emancipator Proclamation kind of guy) cause. I’ve been drinking beer since I was a young man. The first time I had a beer, I thought I’d drop down to the ground, inherit the defensive mechanism of a puffer fish and crawl into a space that wasn’t vacant for another human being. It was awful. I was twelve. At least it felt like I was twelve. I could have been around the age of when I had my first birthday but I hope not. You know what? Who cares? Let’s go with it. Nonetheless, I wasn’t used to flavors such as this. Beer has a vernacular taste. Smells of crew cuts in a mid-summer celestial coat hang. I’ve never understood what it means to be a consequent beer drinker. Unless, you just divide my equilibrium by three then sniff skyscrapers on vacation. Beer brings out emotions too. You can go from calm and collective to Limp Bizkit, the moment he felt like making the song “Break Stuff”. Beer collects up your emotions, like grabbing every toy you own and feeling every crease, indention, polished part within its body. But it also lets you release from them, pulling away. That numb feeling you experience when you drink, can most likely be the way every noble member of BP wanted to feel when their company unloaded its “Hail-you-mighty-car-sage” energy all over the Coast.  I’ve got something to say, what is the point of concluding my point in a research essay? I’ve got a bone to pick with the guy who wanted me to end my argument. What’s the point huh? You’re (societal scumbags) just going to find some high-class fuck in an Ivy-League school to argue against it. I refuse to make a conclusion anymore. If I make one more conclusion, it’s one more reason for some asshole who hates his parents, to write about how he thinks I am making a poor assessment and write about how W.E.B. Dubois “actually” related to the colonialism in a fascist government developed by ants who took over Persia but had to move because of Law 32.B which stated, if you are below the height of pretty much anything you need to get the hell out. Just shut up.

Anyways, drinking a beer is like coming across your first sunrise on a dolphin that actually can speak English and does so in the accent of a navy blue John Wayne, only he doesn’t look so much like a cumulonimbus cloud in October. You take a drink of a beer and suddenly the mountains in front of you that you’ve seen since you were a little kid, seem like they just walked in on you during a fight with your boss. They are inviting, obvious and downright ready to shine up your smile with a helping hand. I’ve seen the Rockies and the Sierra Nevada’s…actually the Sierra Nevada’s are on my to-do list but for the sake of this, we’ll say I’ve seen them every spring since 1920. If only you knew how old I really feel sometimes, young person who is reading this. No one is really old. We just are all youngling’s pasting pictures every so often with lines that seem to float in the picture as we get higher and higher on the age pedestal.  I’ve seen some things that you don’t ever want to see. Like things that make rivers bleed and ask the river beside it for some help in creating another year’s water for the certain latitude, longitude. So Beer…what is it? Just another drink from the past that we are willing to pass out at the bar or something that actually causes earthly miracles? I’d like to say that they are worth a damn. They prepare us for feasts, although they really don’t allow a lot of food to march into your stomach, they do allow you to teach your little brother to light a bottle rocket off in a way that wasn’t recommended on the packaging when you bought it. Let’s all remember the first time we ever sang out loud in a farm full of onions, named sportsmanship (I never really felt that). Let’s remember the first time we kissed an artificial landmine named, heartbreak. Let’s all remember when we killed for a beer after meeting someone who made your body suddenly felt like it crash-landed into the side of Mar’s most densely formed canyon. This is for beer, the only drink that comes with an ingredient to take the edge off. Live hard and I’ll be more than happy to learn what you felt on the journey.

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