Hypothetically Speaking . . .

. . . . . . . . Because Humor Matters

Yes, I’ll Have My Beer With Ice!!!

Written By: Michael Rochelle - Jun• 30•19

I’m a Steel Reserve kind of Guy!!!

So, I know that many of you consider me to be fairly knowledgeable in all things. Some of you have even called me a leader. Some people have claimed that they use my blog as their sole source for information. While I don’t consider myself the equivalent of CNN, I can say that I’m doing kind of, sort of, partially a little OK at this whole adulting thing. My mommy doesn’t exactly see it that way, but I believe she is secretly paid to disagree with me.

In order to maintain my status as an almost expert, I am required to try new things every now and then for research purposes. Some of this research has led me to some very awkward and unfortunate outcomes. Perhaps I could have avoided that whole pink mohawk phase last year. Maybe I should have talked myself out of wearing my underwear on the outside of my clothing that one week—especially while I was at work. My boss was not very happy. On the other hand, the janitor was ecstatic.

Because I have always believed in the healing powers of alcohol, I considered it my duty to delve into and investigate the wonderful world of beer. In all honesty, I have never liked the taste of beer. I can struggle through a Blue Moon or two. Angry Orchards don’t exactly make me hurl. And when I’m feeling really fancy, I’ll have a Corona because it’s legally required that you drink it with a lime. That’s right up my alley.

In any case, I decided to branch out and try some new beers to expand my pallet. I mean, who knows when you’re going to need other options? What if Oprah or Rihanna asks me out for drinks one day? I could never order a Corona in front of them. They probably don’t even know what a Blue Moon is. They have class.

For research purposes, I found myself wandering through the beer aisles of my local grocery store. Because it felt weird doing this at 7:32 in the morning, I kept explaining to other customers that I was a journalist and that they should mind their own business. People can be so judgmental when they think you’re going to have a drink before 8 AM. Or, as my mother would call it, “a nip.”

As I attempted to make life decisions about malt liquors, eventually my eyes landed on a can that stood out from the rest. It called out to me. Immediately, my innards lept with joy as I thought I’d found an option that would solve my issues with the yucky taste of beer but wouldn’t destroy my budget in the process. There it was, in all its radiant glory: Steel Reserve Spiked Watermelon. I hadn’t been that excited since they created Spanx for men.

Soon after, this beer became my drink of choice for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It didn’t even taste like beer. Instead, it tasted more like adult Kool-Aid. Because it seemed more like juice, I had no problem downing a can or two in one sitting. Since I like my beer cold, I would have mine on the rocks. For the uninitiated, that means I poured it in a glass over ice. I know what you’re thinking. That Michael is one classy guy.

I’ll take my beer with ice, please!

After a few weeks of this adult Kool-Aid routine, I began to notice subtle changes in my body’s composition. My shirts began to feel tighter than usual. On several occasions, coworkers pointed at my protruding belly and asked how far along I was. I was offended. People shouldn’t assume that every man they see with a belly is pregnant. It’s just wrong. Sometimes we’ve just had a big lunch. Besides, you aren’t supposed to drink when you’re pregnant. What type of barbarian do these people think I am?

Eventually, I decided to get on the scale to assess the damage. When I saw that I’d gained 10 pounds in 3 days, I screamed for 20 minutes. It was then that I called the police and the FBI. I had to get to the bottom of things. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I did what I had to do.

When the authorities arrived, I quickly explained the situation. At first, they appeared annoyed, but they seemed to understand that I was a single male who needed to remain marketable until further notice. If something was causing me to gain weight, it needed to be abolished immediately. After an officer performed a sweep of my apartment, he reached into my trash can and held up a Steel Reserve can. “I think we’ve found the culprit,” he said. I gasped.

I then went through the five stages of grief. I refused to believe that my newly beloved beer would betray me in such a way. I mean, it’s spiked watermelon, which is kind of a fruit. Aren’t they supposed to be good for you? I assumed that each can was only about 200 calories. However, after doing some research, I learned that each 24-ounce can actually had 574 calories! Now, I’m no mathematician, but that’s like the equivalent of three Big Macs and a six-piece chicken nugget in one meal! Again, I screamed.

Although I had gained a double chin and three necks in a very short period of time, apparently the calorie content was the least of my worries. As I shared my Steel Reserve revelation with friends and colleagues, I had a sneaking suspicion that they weren’t laughing with me. Instead, they were laughing at me. Immediately, I ran to the bathroom, pulled out my phone, and asked Siri where I had gone astray. What I learned was earth-shattering. Hold on to your pearls.

Apparently, ladies and gentlemen, although I always drink beer while sticking out my pinky finger, I learned that my choice of beverage was considered “cheap.” Sure, on a good week I could buy Steel Reserve at four for a dollar, but I just thought it was a decent sale. However, now that I think about it, this revelation may have explained the judgmental looks I’d get from various cashiers when I bought them in bulk—especially if I also had a Four Loko or two in the cart as well.

After doing a bit more research, I found that some people describe the taste of Steel Reserve as being similar to gasoline. One person said they only drink it when they are broke and desperate, but it works well to take the paint off the walls in a pinch. At first, I was concerned about how the beer could be affecting my liver and my pancreas, but then I remembered that I could always just order a new ones off Amazon Prime.

Putting the last nail in the coffin, one colleague said I may as well drink Steel Reserve out of a brown paper bag in my closet. They then called me a low-class wino. That would have been offensive, but I was raised in Baltimore. My pre-school teacher was a wino. My librarian was a wino. My pediatrician was a wino. Essentially, winos are all I know and looked up to during my formative years. That noted, I’m having a Steel Reserve right now while adding the tag “proud wino” to my dating profile on Kind-of-Christian-Mingles.com. Don’t tell my mommy.

Michael Rochelle
Humor blog: http://www.humormike.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/michael.rochelle1
Instagram: humor_mike_
Twitter: @mikeyllo

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