On the advice of one of my favorite webcomics, Girls With Slingshots, I decided to hunt down the product of Woodchuck, supposedly an excellent brewery. According to their website, my local Safeway had one of their varieties in stock, and so to Safeway I went. Normally a trip to my local grocery store involves finding vegetables if I’m feeling ambitious, or piling up stacks of frozen things if I’m not, but this time I wandered over to the alcohol aisle.

I walked up and down that SOB for better than twenty minutes, since my target was camouflaged by literally hundreds of varieties of beer. Possible thousands. Why, why are there so many kinds of beer? I may have just done terrible things to the word “literally”,  but I’m sure you understand. I was looking for a needle in a haystack, except it was beer. In a beerstack. Yes.

At long last I found that there was precisely one variety of Woodchuck, a six pack of hard cider, which was fine by me, as I love cider.

To be honest, I picked it up with the intent of sharing with friends, who were coming over to watch some Legend of Korra (more on that soon), but somehow I forgot to take the bottles out of the fridge. When I discovered my mistake, I assumed it was just carelessness, a vague absentmindedness brought on by the chaos of having company, but I was wrong. So very, very wrong. After taking my first sip, I knew that the only possible explanation for my error was my future self, upon realizing just how amazingly freaking good Woodchuck Cider used his secret telepathic brain powers to send ripples of forgetfulness into the past, so all the cider would be mine! Mine I tell you! Go get your own, filthy jackals!

But now time has passed, and I am future me, so if I don’t want to instantiate a reality imploding paradox, I have to work on my no-longer-secret brain powers.

I think they’ll be assisted by another bottle of cider.