First of all, I apologize in advance for the inevitably scatter-brained nature of this post. I’m a bit emotional right now, and I also have class in 45 minutes. Mostly it’s the emotions. I haven’t been this emotional since the United States won the Olympics always. So I suppose I’ll start this solemn reflection by thinking about today’s events.
It was about 2:20pm on a surprisingly warm Monday afternoon when I found out that The Keg had its liquor license revoked. At first, I didn’t really want to believe it; could this really happen? Do we really live in a world where institutions who blatantly serve alcohol to minors receive retribution for their actions? I immediately was overcome with an all-encompassing sense of crushing sadness, and a vast emptiness set in my stomach. It was like the first time I watched Bambi’s mom get shot, but instead of some stupid fucking mammal falling victim to Darwinism, it was something much worse. You see, it was much more than The Keg’s liquor license that was revoked today. The hopes and dreams of an entire generation were also revoked.
Does the absence of TKOE mean that we will stop drinking? Absolutely not. In fact, I think many of us will get especially blitzed tonight, for no other reason than to mourn the loss of a dear friend and companion. Is it appropriate to mourn the death of this revered institution? Of course it is. But at the same time, we should not waste too much time mourning the loss of The Keg, because none of us knows what awaits The Keg in the afterlife. Perhaps The Keg has already attained its liquor license in heaven, at a prime location between Gregory Peck’s house and Chick-Fil-A. Or perhaps The Keg will be reincarnated in another part of the world – a place that needs it much more (think UChicago). Therefore, our mourning of the loss of The Keg stems from uncertainty more than anything else. We long to understand what life is, what the afterlife is, and why the transition between the two is so unbearable. The Keg is merely another organism in our alcoholic ecosystem – like our livers and short-term memories, it is bound to someday fail as a result of what it was. So let us not be filled with sadness, but let us celebrate something that was great and beautiful.
We should also remember that such earthshakingly tragic events as this are the best catalysts for change. It is important that we take our pent-up aggression and emotion and redirect toward Mayor Elizabeth Tisdahl, the diabolic shitsicle responsible for this unspeakable act of heinousness. Like seriously, who the fuck does she think she is? I’m not sure what species of syphilis-bearing caterpillar has squirmed its way up her prohibitionist rectum, but she needs to calm her shit. Anyone whose political ideology is founded in a combination of Mein Kampf, Sinners in the Hand of an Angry God, and Dianetics, has no place being mayor of a college town. So, my fellow students, I encourage you all to spend today celebrating and commemorating the life of our dear friend TKOE. As they say in Where The Red Fern Grows, there’s always someone to fill the spaces, and with any luck, there’ll soon be a new dive bar in Evanston – not to replace, but to complement and pay tribute to our fallen comrade, The Keg of Evanston. TKOE, for everything you stood for and for everything you gave to others: Rest In Peace.