Dear Auntie Shirl the Lager Girl,
I have been a lager drinker ever since I can remember favouring for the most part the Germanic pilsner varieties. Recently however I’ve taken to the lager much loved by the French and brewed in Belgium, namely that which is known as Stella Artois. As you likely know this particular brew has had something of a bad press in the UK. It has been tagged by both the police and social services alike as ‘wife beater’ for I understand that when taken in vast quantities it has given rise to many a husband turning violent upon returning from the pub the worse for drink and beating the living shit out of their spouses.
For my part that tag hadn’t worried me too much. You see that as a vertically challenged bespectacled bachelor weighing in at 32 stone and living alone in a disused lighthouse on an otherwise uninhabited glorified rock off the Mull of Kintyre (where I hold the franchise for the sales of ‘Onesey’s’ – generating little income at this time as you will understand) I don’t have a woman in my life. If the truth be told I have never even had a girlfriend. I do however have a rather sexy blow up doll who I’ve named Sylvia to keep me company on the long, often freezing winter nights north of the border.
Well, living in such a remote place I have to mail order my food and beverages for there are no shops within a 60 mile radius of my dwelling place. Just the other day a very disgruntled Parcelforce operative turned up with a 6 pack of Stella Artois which I consumed sat upon a less than comfortable Ercol settee (dating back to the 1950’s I might add and worth a pretty penny I am told – even though it is nothing less than a lump of poorly manufactured shit) with Sylvia at my side and consumed the whole lot in in just the one sitting whilst listening to the World Service on my Roberts transistor radio.
What happened next truly shocked me. Straight after the final glug of the last can I turned somewhat nasty. I found myself bellowing at Sylvia saying things such as, ‘Fuck off you bitch why don’t you,’ ‘Shut your mouth,’ and ‘Don’t you look at me like that, I know what you are.’ Following this poor Sylvia took a right good larruping to the extent that I burst her. Of course the next morning I was mortified at what I had done and using a handy bicycle repair kit and a foot pump I managed to restore her to some semblance of her former self. In truth I still find it difficult to look her in the eye. I am beside myself with grief and frankly cannot see a way forward. What should I do?
The Old Lighthouse
The Glorified Rock
Nr Mull of Kintyre
You are plainly a saddo who should in my considered opinion climb – if your bulbous useless carcass allows – to the top of your wretched lighthouse and jump off thus ending your pathetic life. Don’t bother to leave a suicide note as no one will be interested in a waste of space such as you. Twatto.
Alternatively, you could try the recent addition to the range namely the triple filtered ‘Stella Artois 4%’ which I understand still delivers a full flavoured alternative to proper Stella Artois – albeit a girlie one. This particular brew coming in with an alcohol content some 20% less than that which you’ve been filling your face with might just help you control your violent tendencies.
Best of luck and happy lager drinking.
Auntie Shirl the Lager Girl
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