A REAL REASON TO QUIT BEER ...

The Wrath of Grapes ...

Up until yesterday, I always thought that people “put on” alcohol a lot of blame, mostly undeservedly. Chief among them is the notion that beer “kills brain cells.” This has got to be the biggest pile of bull ever assembled. After all, if that were true, is it wholly unreasonable to expect that the brain cells that cajole us to drink beer would have been long dead?

Secondly, is the notion that drinking beer is a sin. In fact, my church back in Kenya so strictly adheres to this doctrine that we use strawberry juice in place of wine during communion. Am not so sure this goes down well in heaven but then again, it’s the faith that counts … Talking about counting, I had this weird fantasy that drinking beer might count as a sin on judgment day.

Given that:

a) Beer consumption predates the discovery of bread...
b) These days approximately 133 billion litres of beer are consumed annually …

I don’t think angels keep a log of individual consumption. So what if a proxy measurement will be used? Let’s say the size of one’s kitambi. I was thinking that Kenyan men will be doomed on this account but after watching an episode of The Sopranos last night, our spot in paradise is secure. Tony and Bobby are in for a roasting. I mean, those are humongous beer bellies …So once again, this is not a good enough reason to quit …

Thirdly, some chicks are very “demanding.” I have heard a lot of chicks say they’d rather not mess around with a guy who has a “pot.” They should be well advised that “All men have six-packs.” It’s just that some men are modest and choose to conceal theirs … But since I know how persistent chicks can be, forewarned is forearmed. There is song that they always play on radio that can’t leave my mind:

Gal I’ll really try to work it out
Am tired of panting...
I hope that you’ll want me
The way I want you
There’s no excuse
I got this nice-bulge where my six-pack used to be …
Am so old, am so old, sooo old …

So once again, this is a flimsy reason to quit …

BUT this last one has sent me scampering to formulate a withdrawal timeline. If I can have, in my retirement, an erection as monstrous as the hangover I just had this past Sunday, I am likely to die a happy man. The irony is that it might be necessary to abstain from this deliciously pleasurable product of Jesus’ first miracle if am to enjoy my 401-K. It has come to my attention that beer, in the long term can reduce one from a stud to a dud. The problem is, the cumulative effects take time, and can kick in just when you settle into that retirement mansion for a lifetime of loving and being loved. Now that, I cannot cope with. I dug up a lot of stuff online, and science seems to unfortunately, corroborate this position. BEWARE KENYAN MEN!!


I have long considered the process of beer drinking, with friends, to be the second most pleasurable activity after [YOU KNOW WHAT]. Soon though, this is going to be a thing of the past in light of this evidence. But first I have to clear the six-pack of Heineken in the fridge and the Southern Comfort before I can quit . Afterall, Kenyans DO NOT throw away alcohol as ACOLYTE so aptly puts it here.