Beer of Thrones: Drink Like a Depressed Imp on His Arranged-Wedding Day, Because Cirrhosis Is Coming
We’ve all been there: a few drinks, some laughs, a few more drinks, the laughs get a little bit too loud, and the next thing you know, some drunk girl has raided your private cooler and is eating the horse heart you were saving for a special occasion. The incestuous hookup on your nice couch isn’t helping the mood, and no one ever sticks around to clean up the mess from the 2 a.m. beheading. Typical.
(By the way: A Beer of Thrones already exists. The Ommegang folks should hire these people immediately. Maybe they’d want like half as much incest in their commercial.)