A conversation with beer.

"What's the time?" I ask.
"It is Me O'Clock," Beer replies.
I say, "Hey. You are brown."
And Beer says, "I am Cyan. Try my caramelly and toasted hop flavour"
So I chuckle, and say firmly, "No, you are brown. Nothing nice is brown."
"What about chocolate?" Beer raises a petite eyebrow.
"Okay, chocolate is brown and nice but nothing else that's nice is brown."
"What about peanut butter?"
"Orange," I reply cannily.
"As if! Peanut butter is on our team, man," Beer makes an obscure gang sign at me. "We are all part of the same family."
"Well then," I say as I inspect a convinient spectrum. "How far does 'brown' extend?"
"All the way up to beige in that direction," Beer points it to me, "and down all the way to bermuda."
"I don't even know what bermuda is."
"That's why it's part of the browns," Beer nods sagely. "We are mysterious and arcane."
"Would you say you were antique?"
"I would say we are antic," Beer puns casually.
"Say you got every food in the world and put it into a blender."
"I won't say it," Beer explains, "Because my alcohol to body weight ratio is extraordinary and I'm surprised I can even open my mouth."
"It is a hypothetical exercise to prove a point," I persevere.
"Okay."
"Would it taste good?"
Beer considers this, "No. But I would try it."
"What colour would it be?"
"Brown!" Beer says excitedly. Then Beer makes the connection and frowns. "Oh."

And then things get a bit rowdy and one of us ends up punching the other. You know how things get when alcohol is involved.