Dad always said if you ever developed a taste for beer....you were in trouble.
That’s why I stick to vodka...
He must have never lived in Germany.
I enjoy a beer occasionally. My older brother Bob won’t. When he was about 12 yrs old, Dad told him to hitch up the team of Bay work horses, Prince & Queen to harrow a field for corn planting. While bent over behind Queen connecting the traces, Queen needed to urinate, and did, down over Bob’s head, running down over his face, some in his mouth, etc. He dried himself off as best he could and harrowed the field. One evening weeks later, our live-in hired man Walter took Bob with him and drove down to a tavern in the village, sat Bob up at the bar beside him and bought him a soda. When Walter poured his own beer into a glass he left one swig in the bottle, handed it over and said, “Here Bobby, drink this.” Bob took a little swig and spit it back into the bottle. Bob is now 88 years old, and still swears that the beer tasted exactly like Queen’s piss!