Sometime this past month was more or less the one-year anniversary of The Brutal Hammer’s live debut. I say “more or less” because time is a funny thing and Pabst is cheap and dates are hard.
Regardless, here we are one year later still periodically trying our damnedest to bring you the only news that really matters when they shout last call or when the Drys start to rear their self-righteous heads to rain on your one-person, all-year Mardi Gras parade. Way to go, you. We should grab a drink some time.
Maybe I’m just being sentimental, but this is a great damn occasion. In fact, I’m going to break out the good bourbon for this one (Barterhouse–20 year–because you fine people are worth it. I don’t care if it’s technically a Diageo product–or if that linked review sounds almost nothing like the bottle I have–because it is a mighty fine whiskey and you are special to me.)
This glass is raised to FKR, the man that made this all possible. He took a chance on an idea to launch a website to complement Modern Drunkard Magazine at the meager suggestion of one wayward inebriate (your’s truly) to give a relatively cogent voice to the slurred and soused among us who wanted to know what the rest of the Tribe was up to. There was beer, there was whiskey, there was a blizzard, and then there was The Brutal Hammer, rising like a phoenix soaked in grain alcohol and screaming the sweet cry of freedom. You’ve never heard a sound so pure, so indecipherable.
And here’s a glass to the heavy-hitting Bryan Dent and the wonderfully eloquent Sarah Szabo and everyone else who keeps this good ship sailing forward. We’ve had surprisingly few mutinies up to now. Part of me is disappointed, truth be told.
And a final (for now) glass–this one is for you, reader. Thanks for being here. Just remember: you’re never drinking alone, just drinking at a distance. We’re right there in the trenches with you, and we’ll keep fighting the good fight together.
Enough with the pabulum and the maudlin sentiments. Grab a glass, raise it high, and celebrate our goddamn birthday with me.
Cheers, you beautiful bastards. Let us sail together towards the uncertain shores of Blackout Island as the vanguards of personal liberty, our flag held high and our hearts overflowing with cheer and good will.
And when we get there, someone better build us a tiki bar, because that shit just has to happen.