It’s about to be fall, bust out the Rhônes and white burgs

Tater bros askin about Pappies I’m like I’m down to Chat abuet Pape’ies. Sipping white burgs like we aren’t about to be navel deep in sickening allspice bombs, pumpkin pies thrown directly into the boil, beers randalled through cored pumpkins, cinnamon challenges accidental edition in tasting rooms, wincing the holidays away through gourdy haze. That single tear rolling down @stbcbeer face while they grip the Jitterbug and wonder when all the Pumking suitors will show up, like the vacant Simple Plan shows wondering where the fanbase went. So many metabolized containers of Cool Whip drying out otherwise forgettable beers, someone with a Fermentation Sciences degree listening to someone in marketing talking about “brand synergy” wondering who is gonna come clean up all these empty ReadiWhip cans. Fall is almost upon us, your coworker is foaming at the mouth to tell you about that marzen he had. No neck remains unadorned with pretzel garlands like a pagan ritual for betapalates. Everyone gets a trophy, it’s beer in Autumn.

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