King of Beers
every group of friends has one. the king of beers is -that guy-. which one of your buddies is sh-tcanned and hollering at waitresses forty-five minutes after you got to the bar? who is throwing up in the lazy boy? who is standing in the bushes taking a leak, without undoing his zipper? you know when you plan for a week or two to get all the old crew together in one town, and one guy p-sses out in a pile of empties just as everyone else is showing up and figuring out what to do tonight? the guy who will be wearing the empty 24 pack box as a crown and permanent-markered c-ck drawings as the insignia of his esteemed position? that man, my friends, is the king of beers.
“dude, chill out. don’t get all bombed right away and just p-ss out again before we even decide what’s going on.”
“hey man, you don’t get to be the king of beers by staying up all night!”
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