There's A Tear In My Beer

I can tomatoes; he cans beer. It annoys me. I tell him to go buy a New Glarus, or a German-Style Pilsener, or a Leinenkugel Honey Weiss (but no Pauly Girl, she's sinfully bodacious). He ignores me and insists on making a batch or two per year. Ya see, it's like this....I cringe every time the fermenting bucket enters the kitchen. One bad gravity experience a decade ago left a bad taste, figuratively speaking. So when the knight sets up his bootleg shop, I imagine the time that gallons of spirits made its way across the counter top and continued on, following the lines of the cabinets on down to the floor. Then there's the stench....the smell alone triggers a gag reflex. I hate the smell of beer. Look at the way he's smiling. Ya see it? He loves it; it's a guy thing. A chemistry thing. (Backflash is the term I use.....as in rapid combustion of a material occurring in an area that the reaction was not intended for.) Thankfully, this batch was uneventful.