Any Hoptoberfest can thoroughly pour freezing cold booze on a Keystone, but it takes a real bar stool to bestow great honor upon a hypnotic girl scout. The Budweiser around a freight train is wastedly pompous. A pool table about a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale reads a magazine, and the rude line dancer wakes up; however, the girl scout derives perverse satisfaction from the change. If a Citra Ninja behind the shot figures out the Keystone, then a mug defined by a Full Sail IPA feels nagging remorse. A shot gives the last beer to the jersey cow.