I don’t know much about beer. In fact, one could say I know just about nothing. Here’s the extent of my knowledge; some beer tastes like urine, some beer tastes kind of good, and there’s the rare beer that tastes “really good.” I don’t have any idea what the difference is between a pilsner, a stout, a lager, an ale, or whatever other kinds of beer there are. What I don’t know could fill a black hole. So I know what you’re thinking: if I don’t know anything about beer, how did I get a job working for the Brew Yorker? I’ve been wondering that myself. I think I’ve figured it out.

You see, it’s simple. I have a huge penis.

Lots of people think that’s irrelevant. After all, who checks out people’s crotches? But it’s subtler than that. You see, when a penis is large enough (and by large enough I mean exceeding 18 inches), it emits an aura that clouds people’s judgment. Both men and women are affected. So when I said that I was an expert of beer, a “beer king” if you will, they believed me, even though Pabst Blue Ribbon, Guinness, and Stella Artois all taste the same to me.

There was something else mentioned about the fact that I can “sort of” edit, “kind of” film, and would be willing to work for a lower rate than most (take the smallest number you can think of, and then multiply it by zero). That may have played a part. But mostly, I think it’s just because I have such a tremendous wang.

I do hope to learn more about beer, however, in the coming months. Why, just yesterday, I was drinking a Pabst Blue Ribbon, and I thought to myself, “This is sub par compared to others!” However, by the time I had come to that conclusion, I had already drunken 14 cans, and was urinating in my cat’s litter box. The cats were not pleased.

– David


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