Die Uberbier acht Heir e-Von Hip
J3K

Hippa makes beer, actually Hip makes beer the way Frank Frazetta paints women who could carve you to pieces like a sous chef at Delmonicos on a Friday night with enchanted cutlery, and just like these uber-nymphs Hippa makes the best goddamn beer I have ever had, not only does it get you very high, it also tastes incredible, like a bottle of well kept Château Le Fête from the same year Led Zeppelin released Physical Graffiti (it's that fucking good!). I got to live in the Midwest (where Hip lives now) for a while so I got to sample some fine ass beer, beer made from dudes who were flown to Mine Fatherland to learn how to do this from the Grand High Pope of Beer (They call it Maize… I mean Bier), I worked for the fine dining industry out there so I got to meet dudes that made some incredible beer and dudes who tried to out do them, I also played poker a few nights with the guys from Sponge but they were total assholes, (Don wasn’t, Don was cool, but the rest of them crazys can go dick, Don wasn't even in the band, I think he worked the lights.) I'm not exactly a connoisseur, but I know what I like and this is it; this is beer, the kind of beer you would sell your own mother for just one more sip, one more live giving kiss o'hops from the big mouthed challis of enlightenment.

So yea, Hippa send a package to me with a letter to Tom! Tom! What in the blue fuck! He's not getting these beers, no goddamn way:

So I wrote Hippa back:

To: Hippa

Re: Beer

Cc: all creatures great and small who think they wont get the smackdown for even thinking of putting their food holes near my freekin' beer.

Hip,

Ok, so here's the thing. I received some beer(s) in a box, received some well received beers I should say, addressed to me, as far as I could tell, actually addressed from you so I knew, or crossed my fingers and whished for beer and hocus pocus (focus) ala' kazam: beer!

Now getting back to that thing; there was a note, a rather frightening contractual sort of thing that I have decided not to show my attorney and otherwise alert her to said beer (remember daffy duck and the pearl at Pismo beach, well sir, I am that duck.) upon perusing this contract I noticed the parties stated were for one (1) Thomas M., a possible wife-like person, one (1) offspring; some names will be changed to protect the innocent and two (2) canine quadrupeds (aforementioned Nug unt Yeb)

Interestingly enough simply substituting some names and genus of animal (formally the seven layers of the OSI model) I was able to convince myself these beverages were rightfully mine (in a very real and legally binding way) and heaven and all the angels could not pry the from my fridge even with a court order and a fully deployed air craft carrier made from chainsaws. (actually, I decided this as soon as I saw Tom's name on the letter, so there!)

So anyway I had this whole idea of calling you both (you and Mrs. hip) and telling you (with a phony Semitic accent) that I no longer loved you, you had not purchased Coby Speaker System with integrated Sub Woofler, Fax Machine or Electronic Moustache Yanking Kit from me in some time and I would be greatly saddened, then tell you I was Uncle Stevie and to give me a call.

Unfortunately I have many crazy ideas right now, one is to make a comic of Abe Lincoln teaching a middle schooler how to absorb a direct kick to his mid section by the former presidents special blend of Kung-Fu(s), but that takes time and in the glamorous world of Information Technology: time is measured in minutes, not gallons (Unless of course it’s a liquid measurement of time.)

Well, thanks for the beer; if Tom calls I will tell him I have no idea what he's talking about, I'm not giving it back, he can kiss my big black ass. I am following the directions; I think it said something about bringing it to a slow simmer and topping off with wonton noodles and whip cream.

I love you,

Uncle Stevie

Oh yea, Can I post this on the blog?