So the other day I bought a twelve pack of cool, smooth, refreshing Beck’s beer to enjoy after a long hard day hustling schrillah and flossing ‘ho’s.  In fact I was even gracious enough to invite my good pal, we’ll call him ‘Asshole’, to imbibe a frothy green-shrouded goddess with me.  Can you believe that?  Silky shared a beer.

Being the good-natured, trusting chum that Silky is, he only took a few barley treats home with him and left the rest of the twelve pack (there should have been eight remaining) at the ‘office’.  The same office Asshole also has a key to.  When Silky returned in the morning he found not eight, but four Beck’s.  As Silky disgustedly picked up the near empty twelve pack container wondering who could be responsible for such a brazen act of thievery he noticed a plastic Wal-Mart shopping bag containing three cans (yes, cans even) of Old Milwaukee.

Old Fucking Milwaukee?  I desperately want to  applaud the gesture of trying to replace what was taken, but given the nature of what was left in place of my sumptuous Beck’s the gesture comes off as empty at best.  At worst it is a dump on my chest.  In fact I think I almost would’ve preferred to see three cold brown sausages in that bag instead of Old Milwaukee.

I know Asshole didn’t have malicious intent when he left me that prize.  In fact I know he felt like he was doing the right thing, but let me say for the record that three Old Mil’s don’t make up for four Beck’s.  Don’t worry, it’s cool.  I hope you had a fun time out but you still have a debt to pay, Asshole!

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