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How Can I Fuse The Moral Goodness Of 3.2 Beers With The Sturdy Americanness of Camo Cans. Only The High Life Knows
Uppsala Baltic Porter, intensely dark beginnings give way to raspberry wheat ultra-lite finish. Famous lyfters imprinted on inside of label
breakfast stout conceived and raised in the urinal trough of a sudbury tim's. hints of maple give way to a rush of coffee, tobacco, tears
rye ipa (heavy on willamette hops) infused with corn whiskey and aged 6 weeks in a metal pot out back of my stepdad's apartment building
MOTHERFUCKER IT WAS KNUCKLEPUCK DAY YESTERDAY AND I MISSED IT
thank you to my drunk self for these scorpions mp3s
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa I need to make bad choices
Storm drunk is a dangerous drunk
Can it just rain a couple inches here without destroying houses
Look out for the cornadoes
back in the day, we had sockhops and rocket pops. now we have boglyfts and bongrips. obama's america
ether-huffing soccer dad. father to jydyn and kydyn. opinions are my own. gluten, intolerance, and melanin all unwelcome in this safe space.
where did i go wrong with my life choices
got a bag of popcorm and an ice cold melk time to sit on the porch and wonder at how the plains never seem to end
the flyers are a very bad piss team
YOU WILL NOT INVADE MY MUD PIT
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