Ye Olde Scribe’s Bad Beer Store

“Because it rhymes with ‘Report,’ Mr. ‘How DARE you steal it from Scribe,’ Colbert?”

Written by Ye Olde Scribe

No stores named in this rant. Not the point. This is a beer-less beating of formerly GOOD beer stores. So let the bashing begin!

Thirsty, Scribe stopped by a store in Spencer, Mass. That may or may not be far from The YOS Anti-Archie Bunker. Scribe NEVER tells anyone where the YOS Anti-Archie Bunker is. Too many of Junior’s henchmen and wench women would LOVE to know.

The store used have a moderate supply of craft beer, and used to be in a strip mall where, sad to report, people no longer strip. Must be a lack of beer, or the guys with the bubble machines prowling the lot. Spoil sports.

Sad to report this store should be called the “no beer store” now. Nice new building. Closer to Spencer now. Advertising a wide variety. Yes, a “wide variety” of Bud, Bud Lite, Bud Blah, Bud What the Hell Flavor Urine Just Passed My Lips and all those lighter that H2O versions of Water Would Taste More Like “Beer” Bud. Why did they crap out on craft beer while building this immense edifice to Bud-DUMB, Scribe will never know.

In Syracuse, NY, the stories the same. Out on Erie Blvd. Beers of the World (not real name) offers mostly beer that will make you hurl. Once again. Nice new building. “Oh, we’re no longer a distributor;” as if that explained all. Yes, you are. For InBev. For Miller/Coors. A few craft beers as an after thought.

Granby, CT, another strip mall and STILL NO $#@!* STRIPPERS! Scribe was so disappointed. A beer store in the corner always had a few Connecticut exotics has banned them for: you guessed it, more Bud, more Miller and not much else. This is in a very upscale strip mall. Does that mean the strip mall male strippers wear tuxedos and the snooty strip-women wear fancy, trendy, dresses and skirts?

NAH. It just means it has been stripped of decent beer.

All in all they remind Scribe of a woman he approached at an old bar in Utica, NY called Second Story High. And if you went out the window, onto the roof, with the owner the name became quite literal.

There she was: back to Scribe, at the bar. Long flowing blond hair. A body that would have made Marilyn Monroe jealous. She turned around to say “Hi,” to Scribe and… DAMN. Did JFK use his ever rock hardness to pound the wrong portal here? Have a car wreck with a beer truck and kiss a windshield?

Not her fault. So unfortunate. But pretty, formerly appealing stores, now mostly empty of craft beer? That IS their fault. Don’t you have anything more appealing to do than be a beer whore for the tasteless megas?

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