Melancholy Dog and Mike the Co-worker walk into a bar. Dozens of taps are lined up along the wall. They sit and consider their options.

Beer 1 through 5: The Banter

Mike: Damn. I'm gonna get fucked up.

Melancholy Dog: Me, too. I love this place. I mean, look at all of those beautiful taps. Each one has it's own distinctive personality. They're like tiny sculptures.

Mike: Beer. Precious beer.

Melancholy Dog: Forget beer. I'm talking about the taps, dude. They're art. The crap that artists are making now? Well, in a thousand years that'll all be forgotten. I'm convinced that art museums of the future will display the beer taps of today.

Mike: That's about what it would take to get me inside of an art museum.

Melancholy Dog: Beer tap art. Look at the handle on that one. What is that? A tree? It's beautiful. That one is my favorite.

Mike: I think that's a wooden squid.

Melancholy Dog: What?! That's crazy talk. It's like a tree in autumn, when the leaves are off.

Mike: Bartender! What's on the handle of that tap right there?

Bartender: Squid.

Melancholy Dog: Shit. I knew I should have brought my glasses.

Mike: Don't feel bad. Maybe you're half right. Maybe it's a squid in autumn.

Melancholy Dog: Screw you. Hey, speaking of animals, did you ever play that game “Hungry Hungry Hippos”?

Mike: Yeah. I loved that game.

Melancholy Dog: Of all the animals, why did they choose a hippo?

Mike: I don't know. Given the way the game is played, I guess they needed something with a wide-mouth.

Melancholy Dog: Still, why base it purely on shape? The whole premise is that the animal is hungry. I don't associate hunger with hippos.

Mike: Animals are just animals. I don't associate hunger with any one animal in particular.

Melancholy Dog: There are pigs.

Mike: Huh. You're right. I would play that game: “Hungry-ass Pigs.”

Melancholy Dog: And humans are very food oriented.

Mike: Yeah... and you can get a whole series of games out of humans.

Melancholy Dog: “Starving Starving Homeless Guy.”

Mike: “Fatty Fat American.”

Melancholy Dog: “Any Given Hollywood Actress.” Well... only the anorexics. You get a bulimic, and they won't keep the marbles down.

Beer 6 through 10: The Misanthropy

A television above the bar shows commercials, one of them for a plasma TV.

Melancholy Dog: Fuck people.

Mike: Fuck 'em.

Melancholy Dog: What is plasma, anyway?

Mike: Ummm... goo. Plasma is goo. Wait, that's ectoplasm. I'm thinking of Ghostbusters.

Melancholy Dog: It's an obsession now, this whole television clarity thing. It's out of control. People will spend thousands of dollars on that crap, which is nonsense. If clarity is important, you don't buy a TV. You go outside. You look out your fucking window.

Mike: Good point.

Melancholy Dog: That's what I want to yell at people. "There's a high definition tree in your front yard, moron!" Grrr. Besides, clarity's just a pretext. We want the distraction of TV, and we'll use any excuse we can find to justify it. "I had to buy it. The resolution is amazing." Die.

Mike: My neighbor's that way. He bought a huge, flat screen deal that he worships. He won't watch anything now that's not in hi-def.

Melancholy Dog: Does that mean he would choose a bad high-definition movie over a good film that's not enhanced?

Mike: Yup. He's even proud of that fact. He watched Kangaroo Jack the other night, and all he could talk about is how clear everything looked.

Melancholy Dog: Ugh. Fuck people. On the other hand, I would kill for a plasma TV.

Mike: Me, too.

Beer 11 through 15: The Self-Loathing

Melancholy Dog: Mother of God, my life is awful. Why am I even alive?

Mike: Come on. Things aren't that bad.

Melancholy Dog: No, they're worse. I mean, I'm thirty, and I haven't done anything with my life. Anything! I'm worse than mediocre.

Mike: That's normal thirty-year-old talk. It'll pass.

Melancholy Dog: I don't think it will. I've felt this way every single year of my existence. I remember being four years old and looking at one of my finger paintings and thinking, "Christ, I completely suck."

Mike: Well, okay. Maybe that won't pass.

Melancholy Dog: I tell you, I look at my life, and I have no choice but to rescind my atheism. There is a God... and He hates me. A lot.

Mike: No, no. That's harsh.

Melancholy Dog: And even that's not accurate. It's not that He hates me. It's that He uses my life as a form of entertainment. The same way that people create movies and television for distraction, God creates certain people for His own amusement. I had been trying to figure out, "How is it that I can feel so absurd and depressed all the time?" And now I get it: I am God's sitcom.

Mike: Er... maybe we should pay up.

Melancholy Dog: I leave the house, and God makes popcorn. That bastard.

Beer 16 and Beyond: The Ouster.

Melancholy Dog: Mwwaaah!! I's feen but thens hern and whimple, so I's just... whoompf. Hey!! I's hern and whimple!! Heeeyy!!!

Bartender: Get the fuck out.