There comes a time. When everything you think you know. Has to meet in the center of pre-beer. Before the chug. Before the spewing of white foam. The kicking back to guarantee your clothing that nothings coming back up. You gotta sit and do what we did growing up on a Montana ranch. You gotta bullshit. The art of bullshitting is decades before social networking. It's better than breaking bread. It's nothing more than giving each other shit and tossing in a Ford pickup full of bull.