Or in the other old country, like south Georgia or in greater Dothan, Alabama, the metroplex as they say, you could go to the cooler and reach into the back where the clerks have hidden the coldest ones.

I thought the old fashioned way somehow involved a bottle of sherry and...well...never mind.

Way to go, Greg. Now for all the new folks that have never been exposed to that horrendous thread that wouldn't die, you're going to have to be prepared to resurrect the tales of the Shagnasty twins, Boliver and the meetings at the Western Auto. Let it die, man.

Greg,

Picture that process with a yard of beer!! Sorry A.P.

Ah, the Old Country. For me, that was just outside Wolfforth, a quarter of a mile from a playa lake bottom inhabited primarily by cotton rats, skunks, coyotes and a couple of fairly good sized rattlesnakes. And a farm hand with more fingers than teeth. In the Old Country, a "yard" of beer was about eight Milwaukee's Beast cans lined up end-to-end. And, like John mentions, they occasionally were warm -- a condition we referred to as "rodeo cold." Proper temperature could only be assured by the cans having rolled around under and behind the seat of a '68 Ford truck until the label had worn off. As you may surmise, I come from the creme de la creme of trailer trash. Good times.

Scott, your Whitman-esque flourishes of the written word betray your romantic, sentimental side. Thinking about those labels rubbing off on the deck of the old truck, bring back memories of Momma and prison and rain and ... got to ... to ... stop now.

Somewhere eminating from Brumley's prose I hear the faint call of the name Cortez...private investigator.

Cortez Templeton, no doubt, would remind us of Buffett wisdom in this regard:

"Warm beer and bread, it's said, can raise the dead; but it reminds me of the menu at a Holiday Inn."

That poignantly reminds me of the greeting we used to use in the Old Country. "Aaaahhh-chooooo! Sorry. Hey, there's somethin' on your boot."

In the old days, me and my cohorts didn't necessarily LIKE it, but we sure drank it, Rodeo Cold. Put the 6/12/18/24 pack in a Feed sack (actually, I think this was before 18 packs, but I digress), normally found in great abundance in the back of any local pick-up truck, throw in a coupl of cups of ice (if you had your own cup, alot of the local stores would give it to you for free), drive for 5 minutes, then start. In the winter, it was a little more refreshing than an East Texas July night, but regardless, it was what it was. Rodeo Cold.

Until this thread, I had forgotten the "warm beer" aspects of the days of my youth sailing in East Galveston bay, frequently taking several day sails on a Catalina that a friend's family owned. Ice melts fast on the gulf coast, and we were warm beering it by day two everytime. Good times.

And yes, JS, a yard of warm beer or ale in an alternative alcohol introduction maneuver (AAIM)is a frightning thought.

quote:

---

Originally posted by GG:
What the heck is a Stag beer? Is that really a brand? Am I really so sheltered in my middle age that I don't know a crappy brand of beer?

I mean, I could see getting upset over an Olde English 800 or something...

---

Stag beer is about the nastiest beer around and, at least when I was growing up, the cheapest beer.

OTOH, my college roommate was from Belleville Illinois, where they brew this stuff, and he swore by it.

Cold grits are worse than warm stag beer.

Had one over Christmas at my father-in-law's house. It really wasn't as bad as I remembered.

In the Old Country, visiting the in-laws made any beer -- cheap, poorly-brewed or otherwise -- taste pretty much acceptable. Which made the Old Country remarkably similar to college.