Beer, same thing now. Who knew that beer-flavored beer would be a special order? Have you had this experience yet, in New York City? You're walking around a neighborhood you don't live in, but you've been in a million times before, and you see a new bar. Looks like an Irish bar, right? You walk in with your friend, still looks like an Irish bar . there's a bartender behind the bar. You walk up and you go, "Hey! Give us a couple of Budweisers." "I can't do that." "Why not?" "Well, because this isn't really a bar." "Oh, well, what is it?" "THIS is a microbrewery." "Oh really, asshole? Why don't you go in the back and MICRO-brew me up a batch of fuckin' Budweiser, okay? Because this is America and I am very THIRSTY! Pull up your pants!!"

Microbrewery...you can't even order a shot of whiskey anymore without some special little story attached to it. You want a boilermaker, that's a tough order too. "Gimme a shot of whiskey." "Well, it's not just whiskey." "Okay, what is it?" "Well, it's a hundred-and-eighty-two year old, oak-barreled, family recipe SIPPING whiskey." "Oh really? Watch this...CLANG! Gimme another one, okay? And give me another and another...I'm gonna sip the whole fuckin' bottle, asshole, all right? Now get two bowls of pretzels out here too, shithead!" Special family recipe? Y'know what? Sip this...sip this right here.

My brother-in-law comes over last Christmas. "Hey man, look what I got you for Christmas." "What's that?" "Special Sam Adams Christmas beer dispenser, man." "Oh really?" "Yeah, it's six different flavors..." "Y'know what? Put it in the fridge. Put it in the bottom of the fridge and bury it." Asshole. So months go by, of course, right? And now I'm watching the hockey playoffs, and I'm eating pretzels, and I'm thirsty. And I'm thinking...oh man, the game's tight, and I go out and open the refrigerator door and I see a beer out of the corner of my eye. I grab it, I pull it up here, I open it up...we're scoring....SLUUUUURP...PHBBBBBT!!! Cranberry ale. Cranberry nut crunch fuckin' ale. Let me tell you something folks . cranberries and beer do NOT go together, okay? One's for bladder infections, one's for getting drunk! Yes...yes...I'm forty, I don't need to be standing in my kitchen tasting cranberries during a hockey game.

I take a look at the label of my beer, you know what's on my beer label? Santa Claus is on my beer label. SANTA Claus...I swear to God! Y'know, Mike Ditka can be on my beer label...Dick Butkus, Cindy Crawford...they can all be on my beer label, not fuckin' Santa, okay? Why don't you put the Easter Bunny and the Tooth fairy on there too, call it Pussy Ale while you're at it...go ahead. Oh my God...Pete's Brew, Pete's Wicked Brew, Pete's Wicked Summer Brew...who the fuck is Pete? Fuck Pete! Pete.

I can't believe I have to angry about this shit. I never thought they'd change the beer and the coffee. Who knew? I'm gonna open my own bar, okay? It's going to be the most retro bar in the history of New York. We're going to serve coffee, donuts, cigarettes, beer, and whiskey, and that's it! That's it! That's right...we're gonna call it McLeary's. We're gonna play the Rolling Stones 24 hours a day. And you know what, if I see just a millimeter of underwear, you're out. And we're going to have a big metal detector to get all those cock-ring guys, too. Oh yeah. Right at the front door . BEEP, BEEP, BEEP..."You got a cock ring?" "No, I..." "You lying piece of shit, get out! Turn up the Stones!"

All Stones, all the time. No house, no techno, no rave, no Puff Daddy, no H&R Pufnstuff, no Puff the Magic Dragon, no Chemical Brothers, no Chemical Sisters, no hip, trip, skip, fuckin' hop, no! Stones, 24 hours a day. That's right. All we do is we drink, we cry, we fart, and we fight. "Aw, man, I was down at McLeary's last night, it was fuckin' great! I shit my pants and they gave me new pants! I beat up my mom, she beat me up, it was great. Then we puked, it was excellent! The Stones were there, man!"