So we recently had a big party. My friend offered to pick up the beer. He brought back the usual bottled varieties - and a case of Pabst. Pabst! Pabst is what the drunk in my old hometown neighborhood used to spill all over himself before he passed out in the alley.
Who the heck was going to drink Pabst? So I hid it out on the porch as a backup, late party replacement. I certainly didn't want it to feature prominently in the cooler.
* It may be over. Real hipsters would not be caught dead drinking something that the johnny-come-lately hipster masses have discovered. Real hipsters also never call themselves hipsters.