Drink beer? Female? Date me

I told you I avoid wine drinkers but I didn’t tell you why. You see me and wine drinkers are like water and oil, not that we don’t mix heck I blend in with all kinds of alcoholics but because their value is never constant.


For instance I know it takes possibly three tequila shots and two cans of guaranna to close and beba  the  average chips but when it comes to wine drinkers a bottle of merlot later they don’t want to make bad decisions suddenly they’ve become a cross breed of Maya Angelou and Erykah Badu spinning tales of yonder and feigning deepness akin to the depths of a socialites sponsors pockets.

Have you ever had a beer? It’s possibly the best drink in the world. There’s not much ceremony to it you simply pop open the can pour one out to the ancestors and gulp down that frothy golden brown liquid. You don’t need a fancy glass, matter of fact you take it straight from the horses mouth. I’ve always wanted to use that – what better way than with beer right?  Now with wine you take time to admire the bottle, which is judging a book by its cover because the resultant liquid might taste like fermented bat poop. What’s all the ceremony? Swirling a glass and taking a whiff before taking a small sip punctuated by what I hear they call aerating but sounds like a maasai grandma slurping on the last drops of porridge through her gapped teeth. Dammit I just want to get drunk and have fun. What are you smelling the glass for? Me thinks wine drinkers possibly have an addiction to dish washing liquid and are trying to lift off the scent to get that kick. Then here’s another thing do people know just how much those glasses cost? I don’t but they look so damn expensive. Going out with a wine drinkers means you risk having them break the glass as they hold the fragile stem between their fingers like a dangling cigarette. No bouncer ever came up to a lady and said

“ma’am you’ll have to pay for that”

Those muscle bound herculean male version of bimbos smile at the damsels get a waiter to quickly clean up and point at the guy to pay for the damn glass. I’m out to have a good time beer is a good time. Have you ever seen anyone get kicked out because they broke a can of beer? Anyone? Oh did I mention once the glass is broken you face the possibility of dealing with a full blown Amy Winehouse crazy  type who demands that the establishment is serving sub standard wine and that she usually doesn’t get drunk. Coming from a person who didnt know the difference between a carbanet, merlot, caprice boxed fermented grape extract and the kibao of wines king fisher. The only thing they know about wines is the colour. That’s like buying a red car because you’ve seen a fast red Ferrari. You just went from Angelou to Chettle nigga real quick. Mr. Muscle guy comes back and ignores the lady but asks you to take her home. Why? She can take her damn self home. Should you go home you’ll receive a detailed attonated argument why she’s being mistreated as a woman and how she feels undermined before taking a selfie and posting it with the caption “team indoors chilling with bae and a glass of wine” a wine you had to buy at the supermarket because you’re going to her place and no way in  hell will she drink that foul vodka that is coincidentally, tucked deep in her panty drawer.

But like every coin there’s the flip side. The exception rather than the rule.  There’s those ladies that are the epitome of sophistication. It’s an air about them from the way they wear their hair to how they take a seat. They walk into a restaurant and they don’t have this pretentiousness about them when they ask for a sample of a specific red. They want to judge if it will pair well with their meal and they’ll seek the sommelier ‘ s advice instead of pretending like they grew up on a vineyard in Nepal apprenticing to a veteran wine connoisseur. They make deep conversation without it getting boring and this could involve talking about cartoons, yes they’re that versatile. They’d probably have interesting ideas why the power puffs never had fingers and at the same time feel sorry for them because they’d never be able to hold a glass of wine and enjoy what might be the best drink in the world but isn’t because beer already is the best drink in the world. They don’t break glasses, they don’t act like Maya but have read her and probably are poets in their own way, and they’re decent. *that one was for someone I call birdie finally a shout out to you keep slaying ma*

Have you ever seen a walking horses head enter a club wearing what might have been her six year old sister’s doll’s dress in shoes that give the disco balls from the 80s a run for their money? In the event that you were an Italian mob boss looking to make a statement you’d just ask her to take “her” hair off and put it in the bed of your enemy. Ironically in tow will be their “baby boo” who is only called baby because he might be wearing diapers and looks like the Italian mob boss only this time the horse is in his bed. They have this resolute look on their faces like they’re finally happy they’ve ditched the king fisher gang and hopped onto the wines they can’t pronounce squad. You want to tell them that no amount of wine would make up for that old wrinkled face she’ll have to smooch, maybe they’d need an iron for all the wrinkles or to just hit them at the back of the head with and come up with a story of how they got drunk had great sex and blacked out. Throw in how the pain must be from a hangover and that he hit the head busting some kamasutra type moves but if they were that smart they wouldn’t be there in the first place. My point? I’ve had really bad experiences with wine drinkers save the few *birdie waddup?* I’ve hated dealing with the pretentious types who almost hit the bottle at the bottom thinking it’s some fiery back alley spirit and I decided rather than wait for the exceptions I’ll take my chances with good old beer drinking damsels.


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