who makes yellow beer?

That red underline thing is for words that blogger thinks are misspelled.  If you click on that abc thing with the checkmark at the far right of the row with the bold, italics, etc on it and then put the cursor over the word and click on it, (left I think.  I am not sure because some time ago I was having trouble with my mouse and I found somewhere in control panel where I could reverse my clicks and for some reason that solved the problem, and I've just left it like that.  Well even before that I was never sure which click to do, so I tried one way and if that didn't give me what I wanted I tried the other way.) it will give you some suggestions for the correct spelling.

Is Outlook Google?  It  used to be Microsoft, well who knows in these days where most of the yellow beers are owned by some country in South Africa, or wait I think somebody bought them, so maybe somebody else owns them.  I was looking up that awful Milwaukee's Best (actually all yellow beers taste alike to me, maybe it's just the can Milwaukee's Best comes in that I don't like.  Everybody knows that the looks of the can can make the yellow beer better or worse) and it's owned by Millers, which is owned by SABMiller which is the South African company, but I think that is owned by inBev which is Belgian and I think owns all the yellow beers in America.  But it was a long grueling google trek so maybe I am wrong.

It's hard to know anymore now that whippersnappers are running the world what is going on,  Now that I think about it, I don't think any of us has ever run anything, in the sense of being the boss.  I could be wrong here because I don't know the full biographies of either of the dawgs.  Might be interesting if we all wrote short bios giving the years things happened and comparing what we were all doing at that time.  Or maybe we could just pick a year, say 1984, and we could write what we were doing then.  Well just a thought.

I think it was the fall of 1968 when I shaved and got a haircut and started waiting tables at the Wigwam on Sixth Street in Champaign.  I soon rose to bartender, and one snowy night we had hired a new cook and the owner, Tom, was leaving around five and would be back for closing.  "Watch the place," he told me.  Sure thing Boss.  A little later one of the waitresses came down and said the cook wanted a beer, well what the hell?  Then he wanted another, and another after that, and then the food orders started fucking up and I told the waitresses no more beer for him, and then he came down to the bar, and it wasn't like he was a big guy, but he was old, he was like thirty-five and I was just twenty-one, technically an adult, but not really, and he was drunk and there could be trouble and so I just gave him another one and by the time Tom came back he was passed out in the kitchen.  Tom gave me the stink eye and I shrugged, and that was the end of my career in management.