A POST-APOCALYPTIC FAIRY TALE THAT IS ONE PART TRUTH AND MANY PART LIES

For Keith Labaw, the Desert Yeti

Gather round, gather round and listen to the story I tell from this throne in the Wreck Room, all ye of Uranium Springs!

Many, many moons ago, before the communist nuclear firecrackers flew like horrible, screaming birds across the Big Water Tank and lit up the thousand stone cities of the Old West, burning every one of them to the ground, I visited my grandmother's apartment in San Jose, California. It was 1994. Those of you who are as old as Methuseluh will understand what I'm talking about, but you youngsters are shit out of luck.

I went to put something in grandmother's refrigerator and said, "Grandmother, you have an unopened can of Schlitz in here dated 1971." "Take it if you want it!" she said. "It'll just get thrown out when I die!" "What? No, I don't want it, I'm just telling you. Please don't talk like that," I said. "Really!" she said. "Take it or it will disappear! I'm on my way out! Jesus F.C., I was born in 1902 and nothing lasts forever!"

I thought about it and took grandmother up on her offer. And somehow, all these countless moons later, after unspeakable trials and tribulations and the end of anything and everything I ever knew or held dear, in this Time of the Three Green Comets, which translates to 2078 AD for you old ones, I still have it.

And it is now the last unopened beer in the world.

Once every 12 moons I dig it out of its secret hidey-hole behind my pallet shack for you all to see, and tell this story. For numberless moons we've only been able to drink cactus whiskey here at Uranium Springs. And while whiskey truly is the nectar of the gods—thank you, Whiskey & Water!—nothing compares to a cold Schlitz. You old ones will know what I mean, while you younger folk will have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about.

With each passing moon I grow thirstier for a cold Schlitz, but one ingredient is always missing: the cold. How to explain “cold” to you young, half-life miscreants who have never known anything but the searing heat of this dead, irradiated world? Cold is the opposite of hot. It's the absence of heat. You can't make soup out of cold water, nor can you cook long pork with it. But my, do cold drinks taste good! Specially cold Schlitz.

But there is no more cold in this world. So I keep this precious, last Schlitz buried safely, waiting for a trader to come thru our wasted outpost with the only thing more precious than beer: the last ice cube. And on that day I will dispatch that trader with my rusty sword, and call you all before me to bear witness as I DRINK THE LAST COLD BEER THE WORLD WILL EVER KNOW. Please just give me an hour to enjoy that buzz, then throw me on the fire and make tacos out of me for all I care.

Now, go, go! A trader approaches with a YETI on his back. Someone help me find my sword!

FB12.07.2021MF

Unopened 1971 Schlitz Steel Can. Procured from my grandmother’s refrigerator in 1994, at 1164 Brace St., San Jose, CA.