Hello friends. Nuzzle your bunghole close to the center of your leather seat here aboard the Mothership, and grab a beverage. This here is Monday Morning Commute, the therapy session where we all discuss the various arts, crafts, beverages, and bloat-inducing burgers that are helping us through this thing called Existence. Oh me? I’m just wallowing away here on break from work. My days have slide into nights, vampire weekends into a vampire existence. I’ve broken the noon wake-up call a couple of times, and my self-loathing is spiking. You’re all beautiful.

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I know what you’re thinking. “Sometimes in the midst of raging carnality, I despair at my lack of lube. Goddamn if only we had been a bit more judicious with our usage of it last week, but Jesus Christ the cantalope  was calling.” Now you’re never going to need to worry again. You can buy a 55-gallon tub of lube.

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Friday again — another week of possibility subtracted from my life, and thus another excuse to drink! Oh, how I love doing these Friday Brew Reviews.

Coming home from a high school football game, Mrs. Krueger and I took a detour at the liquor store. Trying my best to be a gentleman, I offered  that she  “pick out something to get yourself drunk off of.” Always one to party, she found a “raspberry beer — that sounds fun” and we were on our way.

I was halfway through the original brew I planned to feature when Mrs. Krueger finally opened up her choice for the evening. The fair lady took one sip, grimaced while choking it down, and asked to switch. Initially I laughed, but then remembered the promise I made to myself to be more chivalrous — you know, some straight-up King Arthur shit.

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