The day was pleasant enough with swirls of what looked like wet toilet paper (clouds) hanging in the azure shower curtain that the ancient Egyptians high on gobs of hashish named Sky. I plunged my fist into the icy Nordic waters of the fully stocked wheel barrow and came up clenching a cold bottle of Troegs Hopback. At that moment I wanted to personally hug the two brothers that had crafted this delicious nectar, to bestow upon them the knighthood of inebriation, to adorn their service vans with bows of lilies and festive cartoonish banners but as is usually the case in such ceremonies of pomp time a plenty would be needed and my hourglass had but grains of sand to go.

No, the time was neither appropriate nor was it right, you see I was attending a party for the graduation of a friend and had met amongst the throng of well wishers a most beauteous divinity with legs that stretched like the pure white wood of young dogwood trees to the hips of which I would soon have my eager hands placed about. Her name was Ambika and she could play croquet like a muther fucker…