At Last: Hour 20

Perhaps the most satisfying and well-deserved of all the Guinness-drinking occasions is the after work Guinness.

Even clowns need a day job.  Those giant shoes don't grow on trees*.

And now that my own day job is over for the weekend, I'm going to let my hair down and drink a Guinness, as well.  Just like this man, I am going to replace my entire torso with a pint of the stuff, and  then once I have painted half my face red and removed the skin from the other half so that my pink, stringy muscles are exposed to the world, I will take my first, long, cold sip of that thick, bitter beer and wipe off my foamy mustache with a contented sigh.  Then I'll ask the barkeep to keep 'em comin'.

"Tracy gittin' shit-faced ta-NIGHT!!"  I'll sing quietly to myself.

*But what if they did?!

Images via Brookston Beer BulletinThe Invisible Agent.

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