I want a Budweiser Clydesdale.
We’re coming into the season when my very favorite commercial of all time will soon appear. The Budweiser Clydesdales cross a snow covered bridge, and there’s holiday music in the background. And it never fails; every single year, the first time I see it, I cry. Not like bawling, but I tear all up and a couple leak out, and my boys point and laugh. The remainder of the season, I manage to stifle the misty-eyed crap, but I still can’t help getting goosebumps every single time I see it.
We toured the brewery today, and honest to God, I cannot figure it out. I see the Clydesdales, and cue the stingy eyeballs. I could have spent the entire tour (heck, the entire day) just watching the Clydesdales. I got a couple really great shots, but they only gave us a few minutes to take pictures and these people who, had they known my obsession, and had I told them I had one week to live, I’m sure they would’ve gotten the hell out of my way. Next time I will not hesitate to elbow and possibly lie, cheat, steal, and even strategically place a boot to the head if necessary.
I’ll get the pictures up on flickr as soon as I can. And then figure out how to get a wall mural made for the long side of my house. Oh, and why didn’t I go to Grant’s Farm and take all the pictures to my heart’s content? Because they’re closed for the season. The nerve of these people. I suppose I’ll have to try to contain myself until the special Christmas event they have in December. And if anyone gets in my way? Asses will be kicked.
So anyway, at the end of the tour I asked if I could just go back to the barn and stay there a little while. Maybe just a couple hours. Or days. The tour guide said no and started typing up a restraining order, and I drowned my sorrows in my free beers.
After a terrible, horrible night’s sleep (if you can even call it that, it was more like a three hour doze), I had a yummy two hour nap this afternoon. I love me some tasty nappage. And I dreamed that I ran around my parents’ neighborhood jumping over the power lines for fun. With my Clydesdale.
It’s pretty groovy that my folks live in St. Louis now. I love their new house. And their garage is almost big enough for a Clydesdale.
Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. With me and my Clydesdale. It’ll be fun.