Split Twelves and Peanuts

Like my associate, I keep a special place in my liver for the split-twelve. There is something so independent, so entrepreneurial, and so distinctly American about creating a six-pack where there is none. The sheer audacity sets my bootstraps a-quivering.

We verified the peanuts-and-beer concept last night. It works. Classic LCL fun. It started with a shuffling walk up to the corner Pic Pac under a light drizzle that wouldn't quite commit. For those of you that don't have Pic Pacs in your miserable benighted lands, it is a sort of commercial mule, the infertile hybrid offspring of a gas station Quick-E-Mart and a legitimate grocery. Beneath the off-white flickering of fluorescent bulbs, wilted produce and mystery meat lie like lost souls in the Egyptian netherworld waiting for judgement. After all, this is where food arrives after death, to be weighed upon scales like the hearts of the pharoahs, some chosen, others cast out into the night.

Fortunately, the canned and packaged stuff is less necrotic. In fact, a great deal of it's downright tasty. Every vegetable you could ever want is available in a plain yellow can that just says "TOMATOES" or whatever. Better yet, there's an enticing selection of sweet treats, the brightly colored plastic wrappers rendered far more seductive by their mysterious names - these are the off-brand snacks, the ones you've never seen an ad for and never will. Some were never famous to begin with: others have disappeared into pop-culture's Land That Time Forgot with nylon windbreakers and Royal Crown Cola.

But on this particular evening my associate encouraged me to forego the Palace of Unknown Pastries where the HFCS flows like wine. We were in the mood for something distinctly classic, and we knew it when we saw it: peanuts.

It is very important that the peanuts be in the shell, because this is what makes them fun. We'd already picked up the beer from the corner Stop-n-Rob where the clerk smokes Black and Milds behind the counter, but the split-twelve in and of itself would not be sufficient. We needed entertainment - and peanut shells provide that in spades, because you have to break them open to eat the nut, and then you can throw the shell at things.

It was a little chilly on the porch, so we opted for the indoors, chucking the dead shells into a mop bucket. In retrospect, we should have moved the bucket halfway across the room and done target practice. When the beer ran out, we made a quick run to the Stop-n-Rob again and came back with an eight-pack of Colt 45, the family-friendliest of the malt liquors. Something about it just makes you smile.

So, like a Mastercard ad:
peanuts: 2.99 (we only ate half the bag, so you could really knock this down to 1.49 or so)
beer: 4.99 (for a six-pack of Busch tall boys or an eight pack of Colt, whichever you prefer)

Total: fun night had for less than eight bucks. LCL.