the beer that made milwaukee famous, has some redeeming qualities if you don’t drink enough to make the old addage ”schlitz gives you the s*#ts,” come true. a good beverage for a guy to consume on christmas and thanksgiving while lying on the floor counting the holes in the acoustic tiling overhead while listening to a golf-ball-sized fly buzz about the small apartment.
for some odd reason, i while reading some scathing lines of ambrose bierce (who must have detested holidays), i briefly focused attention on that solitary fly and a moment later (without me actually moving) the fly zipped into my left hand, which was busy folding back the book cover, at which time i clenched my fist, shook the insect (crap-table style) and flung the bug to its death on the rough carpet.
why in the hell did that fly choose to make a landing in the cave of my fist only to be promptly dispatched? deathwish? holiday depression?
these were my last thoughts before slugging the backwash of the warm can labeled ”just a kiss of the hops!” and clicked off the table lamp christmas eve.