The Magical 8th Beer

     There's no harder choice than deciding to crack open that "8th" beer.  After working your ass off all day the only thing on your mind is going home, drinking a beer, walking the dog, smoking a butt, maybe eat, and sitting your ass down in front of the computer/TV and decompress. 
     That 1st beer always goes down too fast.  You don't really get a chance to sit down when you walk in the door.  The dog is going nuts and you just went through a grueling hour and a half of Catholic School Homework with the little one.  So you grab the bottle, pop the top, and start slugging gulps down while putting the leash on lil' miss pyscho.  Grab the cell, camels, and head outside for an event that'll take at least 30 minutes.
     When you finally get back indoors that 1st beer is gone.  The 2nd beer in essence becomes the 1st beer because this is the beer you can actually enjoy.  During this beer you can sit and try to catch the days news.  The dog has done her business and takes time out to eat.  She usually relaxes for about 15  minutes giving a nice respite from everything. 
     The 3rd beer is opened and consumed during this brief downtime.  Short lived.  The bitch starts garnering for your attention. 
     The 4th beer.  It's now time to smoke and walk the dog.  Starting to catch a slight buzz off 3 beers during the first hour home the 4th beer goes down smoothly and quick.
     5 and 6 pass by whilst listening to the ball game and thinking of things you don't need but must buy online.  Dog is in her bed.  Now one can truly relax...
                        !Numero Siete!
     You have crossed the threshold at number 7.  Drinking a 6-pack is probably documented somewhere as being the "just right" amount of beers to get you feeling alot better than you were 4 hours ago.  Or, a 6-pack was designed from some scientific research concluding that 6 bottles of beer is the "just right" amount of weight your wife could lift comfortably on her way to the checkout.  Both are wrong.  A) You ALWAYS need more than six.  Even if you don't drink 'em all tonight, you can tomorrow.  and B) If your chick struggles lifting anything less than a 12 pack, dump her, fast.  Shit just ain't gonna work out.
     Number 7 seems to go down pretty quick.  The ball game is in the 5th or 6th inning.  The evening has finally settled into a nice, relaxed state of haziness.  Near the end of #7 you debate whether to pound it and open another or go and smoke a camel, come back in and go to sleep.  But then something happens in the game and that pretty much makes up your mind.  More beer... and a cigarette.
     Any dedicated beer drinker has a bottle opener on their keychain or a lighter in pocket.  Worst case, find an edge of anything, nestle rim of the cap on top of said edge and hammer down with free hand onto hand holding the gold.  I have an old Mets baseball-bat-shaped bottle opener attached to my car keys.  Lets Go Mets! 
     After taking the next victim out of the fridge I sit back down in front of my computer and snatch up the pile of metal sticks and rings accompanied with small plastic tags and snuggle it neatly beneath the cap.  The keys bounce off the glass bottle announcing with a clear bright "ping" her arrival.  The 8th beer!  Oh, so tasty!  Now officially fucked, cruising the internet between innings becomes a little riskier...  Now you're on facebook considering chatting with people you haven't seen in 20 years.  After sending a short "hey, what's up?" to a girl you completely dissed and/or cut off in the past you're on to shopping the net for anything and everything you can't afford, namely an "Unknown Soldiers" domain name that's going for over 3 grand. (No, not even the magical 8th has made me make that purchase...yet)
  The game is in the 9th.  The bottles are piling up.  The bed is a beckoning.  The Magical 8th beer has achieved its goal.  I feel fantastic!  I have numerous new albums on my IPOD! I reached out to chicks I'd never normally talk to!  Fuck this, let's go for 9!

greek II