Kicked
Now that I've felt my ever less theoretical son kick me right in the hand (oh, how special!, interjects Mrs. Johno... he's been whaling on my cervix for weeks!), I have a public announcement to make:
I keep making beer, like a fool, for ever more theoretical consumption. At the moment, I have a nice floral and bitter pale ale, a spicy, strong and sweet Abbey, and a plain out freako-delicious Dunkel ready to go, and five gallons of porter curing besides. So, please.... kick my kegs. Run 'em out. I'll make more. Please help... drink all my booze, I'm begging out.
That is all.
Posted by
Johno
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§ 9 Comments
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So is the "son" part still
So is the "son" part still theoretical? I thought you were going to wait until the big day to find out the sex. We'd be happy to help with the beer thing, but it is a loooong drive.
If the giant prenatal wang on
If the giant prenatal wang on the ultrasound is just an illusion, I'll eat my hat.
Yea, my children weren't
Yea, my children weren't exactly modest in utero.
I think that's your
I think that's your inferiority complex you're seeing. Can't wait for the beer.
Inferiority? That's great
Inferiority? That's great genes! Y'know what they say about the size of Welsh wangs...
Ha! You'll find that many
Ha! You'll find that many grown men have something to envy of their newborn sons.
BTW, gotta name? Botweiser?
BTW, gotta name? Botweiser? Benderbrau?
Why, of course!
Why, of course!
Ian Johann Ivan Juan Jan Jean Eoin Kwame N'Kumrah Johno.
How about:
How about:
"János Ian Ion João Giovanni Johann Juha Ivan Juan Jan Jehan Jean Jack Evan Eoin Hans Iohannes Johanan Yuēhàn Yochanan Sean Kwame N’Kumrah Johnny Johno."
Or my favorite, "Aristofanes Carter N'Krumah Speedball Niels Johno"