Stout. Stout. Pour it all out. These are the brews I can’t live without.
Spring forward into inebriation!
In which the unthinkable happens: I defend Hamilton and slag Toronto a little.
More like RoBUTTS Porter, am I right?
Because if you can’t have bread, you’ll want to at least still get drunk to forget about that fact.
“Ristretto” is Italian for “limited”, which is what my capacities are after a single glass.
You’re gonna fly away, glad you’re goin’ my way
I love it when we’re Cruisin’ together.
One potato, two potato, three potato, floor.
It’s fake Irish, like I used to think I was.