"Listen up, tastemasters and tastemistresses. Our joke has been boozily forgotten for nearly 12 hours. What I want out of each and every one of you is a hard-target search of every brew house, ale house, slop house and pancake house in the area. Checkpoints go up (and pants down) at fifteen High Lifes. Your fugitive's name is 'hilarious caption for a googled picture of a dude yelling on the phone'. Go get it."
It's true, friends, sad but true. Last night while I lay in bed after a solid night of mild boozery, I thought up what I was sure was the funniest goddam caption for this random picture I have. I downloaded said image a few weeks back and have been waiting to unleash it upon the word with a clever caption and post theme that would result in laughing fits, sides split, world peace and possibly some sort of hilarious writing fellowship with the Onion. Yes, it was that good.
As I drifted near to sleep, I even contemplated getting up to write said joke down. I said to myself, "Brewmaster Eric, you handsome bastard, you've done it again. With your wit and charm it is a crime that you haven't been exhalted by the masses as a literary genius whose jocularity is matched only by the great comedians of yore. Without you, we'd be lost as a society and frankly, without the East Village Brewing Company my life as I know it might as well be forfeit. Praps you should get up and jot down your latest musings so as to ensure their preservation for the ages, thus may others enjoy your humor as you do."
I made some pretty strong points. I considered them, rolled them about in my head, and being the dutiful Brewmaster I am, scaled them against their counter-arguments to make sure that getting up to write this caption down would be best. My brazen response - "fuck it, I'm sure I'll remember it tomorrow. I'll just repeat it to myself three times to be sure."
Friends, I'm pretty sure I didn't even bother repeating it to myself. What gall! Ever the faithful believer that drunk Eric is my friend, I awoke this morning loathe to find not a single scrap of paper marking my hilariosity! Clearly I've angered the beast within...what else could explain my drunken insolence.
Of course, we here at EVBC HQ mourn the loss of any fallen joke - be they forgotten in a whiskey fueled haze, thrown away after being scribbled onto a bar room napkin or lost into the internet ether like so many mis-labeled gmails archived into "Credit Cards/Bills" instead of "EVBC". But our period of sadness cannot last forever...nay, the joke would've wanted us to move on. To find happiness. To come up with other jokes...and joke we shall! Many societies mourn with group based cathartic drinking (that's how I approach Jets football as well) - so remember, come one come all to our Poppin Bottles fiasco next Thursday evening, Dec. 10th at Brewmaster Eric's house so we can give this poor lost caption a proper send off.
Let our mumbled boastings, propelled upward by so many popped bottles, guide this caption to joke heaven on brown ale-smelling wings of glory.
