A few years ago, I was hunting elk down near Morton. It was unseasonably warm, and my partner and I had just come down off a big hill and were parched.

We drove by Glenoma, and stoped by the little convenience mart. We gathered up enough change to buy a couple Keystones. I took a swig, and it was soooo bad, I didn't want to drink it. I took a small sip to wet the whistle, and dumped the rest out. I would have chugged a PBR, Oly, or any number of other questionable brews.

Keystone is not beer, no matter what the label says.
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She was standin' alone over by the juke box, like she'd something to sell.
I said "baby, what's the goin' price?" She told me to go to hell.

Bon Scott - Shot Down in Flames