My Beer Summit

The other night I accidentally entered my neighbor's house while he was on vacation. I like to drink there. So, I'm sitting there watching Designing Women when some guy drives up to my house and starts approaching the door. In my stupor, I called the police and told them to apprehend the perp. When the police arrived, I was outside in a robe and scout troop outfit, yelling. Turns out the perp was our neighborhood mail carrier. The mailman, if you will.

Needless to say.

I felt terrible for the false accusation and condemnation. I invited the mailman to a beer at my backyard picnic beer table. Also, if he's down, a hit of smack. He declined. I threatened. He declined and sued. Terms were set, and the terms included him having a beer with me in my backyard. The table had four seats, so I invited Malcolm Jamal Warner and this guy.

We get to drinking and not talking at all. MJW was confused as to why he was there, but it did seem this guy was having a good time. He always seems like he's having a good time. I shared some of the tricks my late cat used to perform for company, impressing no one.

Now is probably a good time to tell you the beer of choice. I serve only the finest Black Label 11-11 Malt Liquor, the beer that tastes like a bear's anus smoking a cigarette. Also, Michelob Ultra because I climb mountains.

The beer summit lasted four minutes. We exacerbated our differences to an infinite degree. In fact, we may fight each other later this week.

Did I mention my mailman was black? I feel terrible that I didn't get along with a black man, because that is racism by definition. My neighbor is also black. Yikes. Move over David Duke.