Yesterday evening we had some friends and neighbors drop in for a visit. We all soon gravitated to the patio where we stood around chatting and drinking beer. This wouldn't have been much of a problem except it was my beer, and it was all the same brand. There is only one table out there, and it was soon covered with empty, partially empty, and full cans of brew. Over and over I heard, "Hey, which one's mine?" As the evening wore along and the empties accumulated and the participants became more and more affected by the quantity consumed, it became an even bigger problem.
My nephew solved his share of the problem by parking his beer in the can crusher. This is one of those things screwed to a post in which one inserts an empty can and gives the handle a firm yank to. . .you guessed it, crush the can down to about an inch tall.
Enter his father, my brother-in-law, who lives with us. He does not just drink beer, he consumes large quantities of it. He's really a nice guy, but after a few brewskies, he gets pretty loud and obnoxious. So here he is holding forth in a loud voice about something or other, his speech getting more and more sprinkled with obscenities, staggering and pushing his way through the crowd with an empty beer can headed for the crusher.
What's this? There's a can already in the crusher. So he grabs the handle, yanks brusquely downward. . .BANG! This is instantly followed by a loud screech and a stream of invective that lasted for nearly five minutes without repeating a single obscenity. He said later he'd beaten his previous record for sustained profanity by at least a minute and a half. Of course, he blamed the whole thing on his hapless son for putting a full can of beer in the crusher just so he could get a bath.
I have noticed in the past that whenever I'm stone sober, there is nothing funny about an obstreperous drunk, but after I've had a couple of beers myself, they can be pretty funny.
Editor's note:
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