Dangers of Owning a House

Buying a house has such promising aspects. Consider:

a) more space to walk around in;
b) a place for a barbecue, so I can have fatty burgers and dogs anytime I want;
c) attached garage to pull in, get out, deal with gear later;
d) more rooms to give to my drunk-off-ass friends.

There are however, several pitfalls, a couple quid pro quos, if you will.

a) it takes longer to find the cats;
b) a barrage of work to do, such as, pull up carpet, scrape ceilings, gut/remodel/replumb bathrooms;
c) costs more;

and, most significantly, due to "c"
d) must drink cheap beer.

It's really quite sad. No Chimay, no Czechvar, not even a Heineken. Only MGD. That's it. Not that I'm bashing MGD, it is quite, uh, cold. And bubbly! And loyal. It's always been there when I needed it, it never gets all uppity and costs a lot, and dammit, sometimes I just want to drink six gallons of swill and play army man in my neighbors' yards at 3:30 in the morning.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I want a kegerator. In fact, here's my mission statement:

I half-promise, I semi-swear, I quasi-vow almost never, maybe only once in while, to put a keg of anything less than Stella, or Urquell, or some other good beer into my Precious.

And I'm also trying to say, "Thank you, MGD. Thank you for being the still-malleable ex-girlfriend that you can call up to get laid when the chips are down. Sure you have to deal with struggling to get her top off, letting what she has to offer just slip down with no real concentration or care, and of course, no head; but hey, what's the alternative? I'll be good and goddamned if I'm going to drink Smirnoff Ice."