 Stupid Beer Week
In the Community
Pete Biggs, Alcoholic
So Friday’s Philadelphia Beer Week, huh? I mean, it starts on Friday, Beer Week. The hell? How come I need some kinda week for Beer Week, is what I wanna know. Huh? Stupid Beer Week.
Cause, what about all the other weeks too? What, those weeks weren’t beer weeks also? ‘Cause they seemed pretty goddamn beer weeks to me, if you wanna know God’s honest truth. Just me, an’ the teevee, an’ a goddamn twelve pack a lager for seven days, do it again on Sunday. First an’ ten, do it again. But, nooo, now I’m s’posed to get up, find some goddamn underwear, and go have some fancy Beer Week things. You fuckin’ asshole guys, really.
They made this Craft Beer Fest on Saturday, huh? The hell? What, are we gluin’ goddamn popsicle sticks together an’ havin’ the beers? We gonna knit some goddamn blankets? Blankets. Like I’m gonna put on my goddamn shoes for a buncha blanket shit. You gotta be outta your mind. And what kinda beers are these things? “Boaks”? “Voodoo”? “Hoppin’ Frog”? This Beer Week or asshole week? Sounds like asshole week to me, y’ asshole guy. The hell?
Oh, an’ on Sunday, we get the Brewers Plate thing! Ooh, yeah, like I wanna go to the goddamn museum an’ eat cheese and be an asshole face. I can’t even keep the cheese down these days, you wanna know God’s honest truth. You shoulda seen me at Geno’s that time, like, uh oh. Fuckin’ cheese! Francine, you ugly bitch.
All’s I’m sayin’, is, y’know, I been havin’ goddamn beer week every week for the last eight million years. I don’t hafta spend a hundred bucks, you guys too. Just go over to the distributor there, load up the trunk, go home. Drunk. For all I care, you can take your goddamn Beers Week, and—
Whoop. Almost made a mess there; went back down though. Ha ha! Take that, you stupid-ass Beer Weeks guy.
Where’s my pretzel?
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Giftshops Controlled by Masonic Temple Giftshop
March 3, 2009 –
City giftshop managers yesterday came forward with a stunning allegation: that their clothing-and-trinket-filled stores have for years been controlled by Temple Treasures, the giftshop of Center City’s mysterious Masonic Temple. “It’s something that I feel more than I know,” whispered Tracy Hattis, of Independence Mall’s Lights of Liberty store. “It’s… it’s difficult to explain. I’ve probably said too much.”
 Hattis’ colleagues in the city’s tourist-tchotchke industry were similarly reticent. “From the orders I put in, to hiring decisions, to even store hours, Temple Treasures exerts a sort of quiet pull,” said a Art Museum giftshop assistant manager, who urged that her name remain anonymous. “For example, we have 13 aisles, each with 33 shelves—numbers that are crucial to the Masonic illuminati.” According to Derek Wynn of the Philadelphia Mint giftshop, “I’m literally surrounded by secret Masonic imagery,” he shuddered, sitting beneath a reproduction of the symbol-laden Great Seal of the United States. “They’ve—they’ve got me right where they want me.”
Masonic Temple spokesman Richard Tays downplayed the claims. “The idea that our benevolent fraternal organization has some sort of nefarious control—whether over international politics or Philadelphia giftshops—is absurd,” he smiled, calmly pressing a button on the underside of his desk. As two large, sunglasses-wearing guards entered the room, he said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Hattis, meanwhile, merely wished to sell her patriotic knickknacks in peace. “It’s very, very subtle, the way they run things,” she said, still keeping her voice low. “When you go outside, look at the way ‘Lights of Liberty’ is written on the awning. I mean, really look at it.”
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