On Thursday I went to the Class VI (on post liquor store) and bought two 12 packs of lager for $14.  No big whoop, just a good deal.  On the way home I listened to 

, which justifies this being a dadmountain post.

I got to thinking how uninspired I feel I've been.  That is to say that I've reached a plateau in creativity and I'm pretty much just jealous of all of you who are, at least in my mind, doing very creative things.  So I had a little crisis.  I needed to do something.  But I only had a few minutes at home alone and all I had was 24 cans of cheap beer.  And so I decided to shotgun a beer.

Why?

I don't know.

I don't think I've ever successfully fully shotgunned a beer.  Whenever I tried in college I let a lot just pour out the side of my mouth and alway left a little in the can when I threw it onto the ground, making a mockery of this weekly ritual before, during, and after new episodes of Tool Academy.

And, but, so, anyway, this last Thursday, when I got home, in order to defeat a spell I was under, I decided to shotgun a beer, fully, to prove to myself that I have improved since college.  Back then, under the best circumstances, it was impossible for me to take more than one sip of beer at a time and would never (ever) finish the last sip of luke warm beer because it would definitely have caused me to vomit.  Now, I can consume much more alcohol in many more forms than I could just five years ago, so I knew this would be a challenge I could do.

**pause to pour myself another glass of lager**

I came home, greeted the dog, and took off my top.  So, just so you can get the full visual, I was wearing:

I took five beers from one 12 pack and put four of them in the refrigerator and one on the kitchen counter.  Remembering, possibly falsely, that it is best to shotgun a beer that is not completely cold, I took the can from the counter and went out to my back yard and thought to get good ol' Calvin and/or Brian on gchat or something and dedicate this to the good ol' days but decided I didn't have time.  I took my Brewski

and pierced a hole near the bottom of the can.  Confidently placing the hole into my mouth, I flipped the can right-side-up, popped the tab and chugged it about three fourths of the way down before I realized how badly my stomach hurt. 

The beer was too warm and way too foamy.  I tried to burp but knew that this was not going to be a burp.  Before my God and my doG, dropped the can in the garden and ran into the bathroom and vomited all of that foamy beer and, with a mild euphoria, rediscovered something in myself and was reaffirmed.