Dear Readers,
As all of you sure definitively know—mainly due to the fact that anyone whom reads this blog is both an insatiable alcoholic and someone who Jesus blessed with taste buds capable of tasting greatness—Anheuser-Busch is a great American company that makes the greatest product that America has ever known. Or at least it was. However, even though the company is now controlled by dirty Europeans who love (more effective) socialized medicine, (universal) unnecessary literacy and second place finishes in hockey at the Jr. Goodwill Games, its legacy remains the same. The Clydesdales. The Budweiser frogs and the fellas yelling “Wasssuuuppp!!!” The American flag can. The goddamn beer itself. No matter who owns it, AB will always represent these United States. No matter where the corporate headquarters are located, Anheuser-Busch will always be ours.

Dear Readers,
As all of you should know—assuming that you were able to watch the comedy hit The Hangover while also being able to take your eyes off of Bradley Cooper’s head full of hair or Kim Jeong’s equally folic filled crotchal region—some guys just can’t handle Vegas. It is too decadent for them. Too lurid. Too alive. Too full of possibility and temptation and gluttony and destruction.

Las Vegas is a lawless land. Figuratively. Literally. Historically. Right down to the most inherent portion of its origin. Right down to the point in time where some mobster or another stood out in the middle of this desolate wasteland and imagined what this piece of swirling sand might one day become. Gambling. Prostitution. Extortion. These things are not just tolerated in Las Vegas; they are encouraged. These things are not just a part of the Vegas experience; these things are the reason that the place came to be.

Dear Readers,
As all of you should know—because you are presumably not from Boston and therefore know how to read and deduce things logically and with reason—the New England Patriots are rotten and filthy cheaters. This statement is supported by the fact that they blatantly cheat to win football games. This statement is bolstered by that episode of Entourage with Tom Brady in it wherein he possibly cheat to win charity golf events. This statement is buoyed by that dream I had were Bill Belichick cheated in a futile attempt to win an Academic Decathlon in order to keep Adam Sandler from proving his worth and inheriting his father’s company, even after the decathlon’s moderator asked him to leave his wife, who is a dirty dirty tramp by the way, alone.

Dear Readers,
As all of you should know—primarily because you have called a psychic hotline and been told that you were going to meet someone tall, dark and handsome on your trip to the Bahamas by a qualified fortune teller only to end up being stuck in the hotel room the entire vacation because you drank the tap water and got a scorching case of dysentery (leaving you to wonder if your feces, while tall and dark, is in fact handsome?)—attempting to predict the future can often be a very risky, and at times fruitless, proposition.