My friends have shown their faces. Join me, friends. They sit and order their first round. One of them orders a cider; we all take turns ribbing his choice. Me, I'll have Hofbräu OG No. 4, thanks.
The beers (and that lame-ass cider) have arrived, so we decide with hardly any coaxing to order a shot ski for ourselves -- four shots of Jagermeister, please, hold the judgment.
My friends are oh-so-carefully passing down the front end of the ski to reach me, the anchor, as we're standing on our bench. It's our turn as, once again, the shouts of "SHOT! SKI! SHOT! SKI!" reaches our ears. We take our shots, the mass of people cheer, I look up to the 60ft ceiling and raise the fist of a champion.
“Do you know what it feels like / loving someone / sitting at the Hofbräuhaus all day?”
-- the new chorus to Enrique Iglesias' “Do You Know,” as determined by my day-drinking friends and I