I'm Going to Hell (or, Satan Made Me Do It)

For months I have been kvetching that Paris, while famously flowing with cheap, delicious wine, is seriously lacking in anything resembling decent beer (5 euros for canned Heineken, are you freakin' kidding me?!).  So when our friends the Aussie and the Indian invited us to a Belgian restaurant/bar known as the "Beer Academy," AH and I were on that like Rush Limbaugh on deep-fried prescription painkillers.  And the beer list did not disappoint; it was longer than the lecture I might be receiving about making a tasteless and dated Rush Limbaugh joke.

After sampling a delicious Amber offering from a Belgian abbey (I do what I can to support men of the clothe), it was decided that someone had to try to the beer known simply as Satan.  Now while foods with diabolical references in the title are usually extremely spicy, drinks with similar names are supposed to knock one on one's behind.  But this was a beer with a relatively normal alcohol percentage; what could be so Satanic about that?

While enjoying my sausage and French fries (while clutching my pearls at rampant obesity rates, natch), I see a girl attempting to navigate her way down the small, winding staircase that leads down to the WC.  Now, this is a fairly common occurrence in Paris: the loos are often located either up or down a narrow, rickety, steep set of stairs.  I've always wondered if this was only because of the general lack of space in Paris or if it also served to weed out the drunks (because once you hit a certain point, you don't stay in a spot without an easily accessible toilet).  In this girl's case, the stairs appeared to be fulfilling their function; she was clinging to that railing like Michael Moore clinging to anecdotal evidence that the government is out to get poor people (see, I like to keep things Fair and Balanced around these parts).  I snicker and point her out to my companions.

About ten minutes of Satan sipping later, AH notices our seemingly drunk ladyfriend ascending the stairs.  This time, her friend is waiting for her at the top of the stairs, holding her leg braces.  She is not drunk; she is differently abled.

That is why beer is Satan: it will keep me good company in the fiery inferno in which I will eventually be confined.