Samuel Adams took a stool at the bar, whilst he waited on his bud. Wiser men around him were debating the brewing revolution and the British High Life feeling for their American cousins. Samuel thought that now might be the time for a hard cider approach to the British. The talk of the brewing revolution had grown heated almost to a boil when it was allowed to be siphon off to cool and age, no one wanted to disturb this full bodied sprit. Until now, it was time to get off the stool and…
Jim B and Jack D’s boisterous conversation interrupted Sam’s thoughts, these two were the only ones not participating in the conversation. Instead the Kentuckian and Tennessean were bragging about their horses, especially the Tennessean with his horse Pabst, winning the Blue Ribbon at the High Lands race. While the Kentuckian was exhorting the praises of his New Castle. The rest of the gathering paid little attention to the two, too much corn for their taste.
By now the discussions had turned heated, bitter and hoppy, the revolution was coming and there was no reason to wine and put a cork in it. As the debate grew in measure a stout porter, the one who came from India, looking pale and aleing stood and spoke. In a lite voice he began:
“There comes a time in the Coors of human events when men must rise above the malt of oppression and shake off the wort of apathy. Like a Rolling Rock we will begin this revolution, taking it to the taverns throughout this great land. Ye who want to join this revolution cross this Red Stripe and unite.”
“Here hear. Bravo. Let’s mash the oppressor!” The demands rose from the gather revolutionaries.
Miller Killigan, the Old Milwaukeean, stood, “My brothers in arms, I am not going to lager the point but it is time to tap this and unite, taking this revolution to the homes of America. These foreigners ride in here like they are on a Red Bull not mixing well with anyone.”
“Yeuling Dinling to the foreigners.” Bud said in a loud voice for all to hear.
Then Mich spoke, “We can’t ignore this invasion, we have barley enough rights as it is!”
Pete the porter stood and shouted “Can it Mich.”
“No, you bottle it.” shot back Mich.
“Keg it, you two. Can’t you two agree on anything?” Pils Ners stood and shouted back, labeling the two as lite weights.
“This is a bunch of Schlitz if you ask me.” Pete the Porter added. “We should be preparing for Bass season and not arguing like a bunch of Wild Turkeys.”
George, the heir apparent to head this delegation, finally stood and announce.
“Gentlemen this debate is fermenting like yeast in carboy, the issue Beck-ons us to declare that it is time for a vote. Let’s end this matter once and for all, put one X on your ballot to approve.”
“Dos Equus por nada.” Came a shout from the back of the gathering.
“That is right, Jose Curvero, two X’s to disapprove us moving forward with the revolution.”
In the amber of the evening, as the fizzy lemon Corona of the sun settled into the Purple Haze of the horizon, a Blue Moon settled into the night sky, with a slice of orange coming off its rim, the brewing revolution continued on. When would they unite and bring this to a head. Or would they live under the mash and bock of the foreigners.
As the debate rolled on, with no resolution in sight, Carrie Nation, never a big fan of this bunch, axed her way into the meeting.
“All right you guys, you’re acting like a bunch of Shock Head Boys, time to go home, you only have the hall till ten.” A combine groan arose as Carrie barreled through the hall and rolled the guys out. Thus ending the North End Society of home-brewers quarterly meeting.