McGlinchey Brothers Winery
Irvine, CA
Riesling
2000
Dear God. Four cases of it.
Was it on sale? Was it given to cover a bad debt? Did he invest in that depraved operation? Was his palate shot off in the war? Even without a palate, the screw-caps are hard to miss.
Of course you can't say anything, not in the man's home. Drink it and smile. Offer it up.
Drink it and switch to beer godawful quick. It's decent beer. It'd better be decent beer, because there's no food. Salad and mushroom soup. I am not a rabbit. I am a human being. I do not eat this crap. I had McNuggets in the car, dear McNuggets, but that was hours ago. There are Pop-Tarts in the kitchen, but the rats have been at them. Jinmyo gave me such a sad look when I found them. Jesus, woman, everybody's eating that veggie crap! Leave me in peace. I'd fight the rats for the Pop-Tarts, if I had the chance, but I missed out on the action there. Must've ate the damn things months ago. Pop-Tarts would go well with the Riesling.
One glass of wine, three beers. Or four. Whatever. I'll be flat on my ass in an hour at this rate. You, reader, my brother, whatever, do you have any goddamn clue how much time I'm spending re-typing every wretched word here?
You treasure your errors, if it's all you've got. No thanks.
What is thefez doing with her? That's ideath, I do believe. Uh...
Jesus Fucking Christ!
See, that's why I'm no fun at parties: I'd never think of that. He threw her over his shoulder, kicked the window out, and jumped. It's the first floor, but he jumped. That's style. He's still got the gun, too. He yelled something about ninjas. He's still yelling, you can hear him out in the yard. Moving pretty fast by the sound of it.
And there goes riverrun after him, bum leg and all. Shit. I should've thought of that, too.
Well, there you go. Here I am sitting on my ass, and life again passing me by. Fuck it. Empty beer. Easily fixed.