The Glass Lined Tanks of Old Latrobe can go screw themselves 33 times, tenderly, as a tribute to my premium hairy ass

I don't know if I'm suffering from an even greater case of the self-loathings than usual, but for some reason I decided to drink some Rolling Rock tonight, which is pretty close to the beer equivalent of a hairshirt. Not only does it taste like diluted skunk, the manufacturers seem to have forgotten to put any booze in it. I think there is more alcohol oozing out of my sebaceous glands right now, just from a lifetime of exposure, than there is in this shitty beer. That's right! I'd be better off drinking my own sebum than this asparagus piss! Well, the night is young. It could come to that.