LET’S SAY you own the color black. You make a lot of money selling black stuff. Whenever anyone thinks about black, they think of your name. Your brand, your logo, your corporation are intrinsically linked to the color black.

But now you want to diversify. Now you want to sell something yellow.

What do you do?

If your name is Guinness, you make yellow . . . and then call it black anyway.

Or more specifically, Guinness Black Lager.

Make no mistake, the newest brew from the famous Irish stout brewer is, in fact, black as ink. But it is not a stout; it isn’t even an ale. It is as light-bodied and crisp as any other premium European lager.

When Guinness rolled out its new bottles last month, it conducted samplings in which it asked drinkers to taste it side by side with Belgium’s golden lager, Stella Artois.

No, you would never confuse the two, unless you’re in the habit of wearing a blindfold.

But that’s who Guinness is gunning for – the likes of Stella, Heineken, Grolsch, Carlsberg and Peroni.

Yes, the very company that has made billions selling black stout wants in on premium yellow lager because, these days, that’s where the big bucks are.

Now, you might rightly wonder: What about Harp Lager?

It’s also brewed by Guinness (its name is a tribute to the Guinness harp logo) and it’s actually yellow. The problem is, it’s not called Guinness. And, at least in America, Harp is a half-dead brand.

Then why not make a yellow lager and call it Guinness? Been there, done that, pal, and the result – Guinness Gold, circa 1980 – is best forgotten.

“We could have easily made a blond lager,” said Guinness master brewer Fergal Murray. “But we wanted to extend our brand . . . We wanted a stand-alone lager with the Guinness character.”

And Guinness’ character is nothing if it isn’t black. So that’s what they’ve come up with: a yellow beer that’s actually black.

This whole lame-brained scheme smells like something that the business nerds at Wharton came up with after a night of Jager shots at Smokey Joe’s. Eventually, though, someone in the brewhouse actually had to create this Frankenstein.

It wasn’t as hard as it sounds. Black lager is an old German style known as Schwarzbier. (The brewery is careful not to call it that because, well, speak English!)

This version is fairly typical for the style. The roasted malts are mainly added for color, not strength or body. Its aroma is quite mild, and its body is not nearly as luscious as Guinness’ stout. Its roasted taste arrives only in the finish, then quickly fades into the forgettable hereafter. It’s not as hearty as Germany’s Kostritzer Schwarzbier or even Samuel Adams Black Lager.

It’s a dark beer for yellow-beer drinkers.

But will they give up their Stella Artois? My first guess is no.

The Guinness brand is inherently hearty: black-and-blue soccer fans belching down full-bodied perfect pours in rough-around-the-edges “authentic” Irish pubs.

But it’s all about advertising, isn’t it?

And people who drink overpriced Euro-lagers are probably the easiest consumers to fool. They’re mainly impressed by (expensive) labels, and they don’t care what it tastes like as long as it’s inoffensive.

Which explains why Guinness advises, “The lager should be chilled and enjoyed responsibly straight from the bottle.”

That way, everyone can see the label and will be duly impressed by your fine taste.

And you, my friend, won’t even notice that the imported yellow lager you’re guzzling is actually black.

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“PLEASE DO not send flowers,” said the Daily News death notice, “the deceased has allergies. In lieu thereof, buy yourself a beer and enjoy!”

And with that, Ward J. Childs, of Society Hill, former city archivist, devoted husband of 50 years and father of two, departed our company and joined so many others whose final wish was only that we raise a beer in their memory.

A few days after her 75-year-old husband’s passing last month, Childs’ widow, Elizabeth, was still chuckling. “He had what I would call a very wacky sense of humor, very irreverent.”

Beer, she said, “was his preferred drink. I wouldn’t call him a devotee, but he did enjoy it. . . . . He didn’t like a lot of pomp and circumstance. He just wanted people to enjoy themselves.”

Sounds like somebody you could share a beer with.

Perhaps that’s where the tradition of toasting the departed began: one last chance to hoist a pint with a friend.

It’s a tradition that surely dates to the earliest civilizations, as archaeologists uncover evidence of lavish funeral feasts held inside the very tombs of the freshly deceased. By the 14th century, Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales irreverently rhymed the mourners’ priorities: “Now let us sit and drink and make us merry. And afterward we will his body bury.”

Today, old war buddies commonly raise a glass to the missing, saving a final bottle for the last man standing. And who among us hasn’t tossed a few back at an Irish wake?

Sometimes, though, beer drinkers take things a step further.

Before Fred Clark, of Virginia, died in 2006, he wrote his own obituary, instructing that “in lieu of flowers . . . make a sizable purchase at your local ABC store or Virginia winery (please, nothing French) and get rip-roaring drunk at home with someone you love or hope to make love to.”

It’s a sentiment that was so widely appreciated, his online guest book at Legacy.com has attracted 1,500 personal tributes and still counting, five years later.

Walter “Shorty” Jones kept the suds for himself when, in 1933, he became the last man legally hanged in the state of Colorado. He ordered two bottles of beer and gulped them down just before he swung from the gallows. Under the circumstances, you really couldn’t blame him for not sharing.

But how about a cold one when you’re already six feet under?

In the West Africa nation of Ghana, where the deceased are frequently laid out in personalized coffins, you can buy a casket that looks like a “perfectly reproduced” bottle of your favorite beer for $800. Talk about a stiff drink!

In Illinois, there’s a guy who can’t wait for his interment. He’s already had a man-sized Pabst Blue Ribbon can built as his casket; until he’s ready to be laid out, he fills it with ice and uses it as a beer cooler.

The legendary Claes, of Belgium’s Hoegaarden brewery, went for a simpler send-off in the 16th century. An orphan as a child, he was raised at the brewery and grew to become, according to story, “the finest wheat brewer in the land.” He lived till 100, then in his final request asked to be buried in a beer barrel.

Seventh-century missionary Columbanus took the whole idea of “last call” one step further. “It is my design,” he declared, “to die in the brew-house; let ale be placed to my mouth when I am expiring, that when the choirs of angels come, they may say, ‘Be God propitious to this drinker.’ ”

That sounds like wishful thinking, if you ask me. As Ward J. Childs surely knew, “In heaven there is no beer, that’s why we drink it here.”

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Sure, that cup of bathtub gin might be laced with deadly wood alcohol. But bouts of blindness, leg amputation and sudden death notwithstanding, boozing during the Prohibition – at least as depicted in the new Ken Burns three-part docu-film airing on PBS next week – sure looks fun.

The dandies in tuxedos, the girls in flapper dresses dancing to the raucous music of jazz bands as gallons of lager spray from speakeasy faucets – wow, the beer never tasted as good as when it was illegal. Even the archival black-and-white footage of wasted suds gushing from wooden kegs smashed by vigilant federal agents looks downright delicious.

Yes, as Winston Churchill observed from the other side of the Atlantic, the Prohibition that outlawed alcohol in America from 1920 to 1933 was “an affront to the whole history of mankind.”

But as Al Smith, the very wet governor of New York once rhapsodized, it was still possible for a man to “blow the foam off some suds.”

Echoing author Daniel Okrent’s outstanding 2010 history, Last Call: The Rise and Fall of Prohibition, Burns and co-creator Lynn Novick leave the viewer scratching his head and wondering: How did America ever vote to deny itself so much fun?

The answer, it turns out, isn’t so much the demon rum itself. It was the places where men drank it: the dread saloon.

As beautifully rendered in Burns’ now-clichéd slow pans of yellowed photographs (cue the tinny piano music), the saloon was the very center of social life in big cities around the century’s turn. It was “a refuge from the factory floor and responsibilities at home.” It was the place where men got their mail and their jobs, where they held union meetings and funeral wakes. Elections were won and lost in saloons. The bartender might do more for his patrons, it was said, than a preacher or a cop.

The real draw, of course, was shots of distilled spirits and endless glasses of cheap lager beer. After the Civil War, wealthy German-American beer barons (Pabst, Blatz, Schlitz, Busch) transformed the drinking landscape, buying up thousands of saloons to make certain they served their beer and only their beer. Between 1850 and 1890, as America’s population grew by 200 percent, annual beer production grew by more than 2,000 percent.

Beer was a nickel a mug and while there was literally such a thing as a free lunch (or at least free, salty sardines), there was also a toll to be paid.

Rampant drunkenness, disease, prostitution, unemployment, beaten wives, destitute children. Ladies weren’t welcome inside the saloon and, in fact, they crossed the street rather than walk past its open door. Carry Nation might’ve been the only one to actually bust up a bar with a hatchet, but millions of women (and, eventually, men) shared her sentiment: Alcohol was evil; its elimination would bring about an era of social good.

Indeed, the one contradiction this unapologetic, left-leaning beer drinker is struck by is that Prohibition was largely the work of progressive do-gooders, not Bible-thumping moralists. Sure, the anti-Catholic KKK pushed for the Prohibition. But so did Jane Addams, the peace activist, and the socialist Industrial Workers of the World. The same people who brought us the 18th also fought for the 19th, which gave women the right to vote.

It’s a contradiction that was observed by Jack London, the prolific author and even more prolific drinker who ultimately supported Prohibition. “Terrible the saloon might be,” he’s quoted by Burns and Novick, “but that only meant they were terribly wonderful.”

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“Prohibition,” a film by Ken Burns and Lynn Novick, airs on PBS Oct. 2-4.

PHILADELPHIA MIGHT be the best beer-drinking city in America, but we’re the wurst-eating city, too.

Grilled bratwurst, paprika-spiced bockwurst, smoky knackwurst, mustard-covered weisswurst and jerkylike landjäger – along with liters of German lager, these are the staples of Oktoberfest.

Or, as Doug Hager, co-owner of South Street’s Brauhaus Schmitz declares, “Throw away your knife and fork . . . Wurst may not be very refined, but it is manly.”

The other day I sat down with Hager and his executive chef, Jeremy Nolen, for some “frank” talk.

Considering it’s just meat stuffed into a tube, isn’t sausage kind of a low cuisine?

“It was looked down at, but not anymore,” Nolen said.

“Everybody’s making it,” said Hager. “Just look at all the places with house-made charcuterie.”

In a tough economy, Nolen said, “Restaurants have gone from filet to hanger cuts of steak.”

“That’s right. You don’t want to give your patrons sticker shock when they see the menu,” Hager added.

“It wasn’t always filet mignon or racks of lamb, you know,” Nolen said. “Chefs have always liked inexpensive cuts. For one thing, a lot of times they taste better.”

Nolen learned to make sausage when he was in high school, guided by his father, Ron, who was a noted chef in the Allentown area, and “an old German guy named Horst.” Nolen earned his chops running the kitchen at Reading’s private Liderkranz German club at the age of 23.

He readily admits he takes liberties with his recipes. “Sometimes we get Germans in here and they say that’s not authentic,” Nolen said. “But we serve hundreds of pounds a week, so . . . ”

Not quite as spicy as a Polish kielbasa, Nolen’s pork-filled bratwurst, flavored with caraway and marjoram, is nonetheless savory. Washing down a couple of links with a tall glass of dark, creamy Franziskaner Hefe-Weisse Dunkel is downright sensual.

“You’re not talking about pairing wurst with a fine Chardonnay,” Hager said. “It’s gotta be beer.”

In a town where so many names end in a vowel (Cannuli, Maglio, Fiorella, D’Angelo), Italian sausage will always be king. But as Oktoberfest kicks off in earnest this weekend, you’ll find plenty of German wurst at local festivals and restaurants.

On Saturday, Nolen and other area chefs will show off their wieners (OK, that didn’t come out right) at Sausage Fest at South Philadelphia Tap Room (1509 Mifflin St.). The event, which starts at 4 p.m., also features handmade varieties from SPTR’s Scott Schroeder, Nick Macri of Southwark, Gene Giuffi of Cochon and Pascual Cancelliere of 943.

Also this Saturday, they’ll be serving up the best of the wurst at the Warminster Micro Blues Fest on the wooded grounds of the beautiful Vereinigung Erzgebirge club in Bucks County. I’ll be emceeing the festival and leading a special tasting during the event. Info and tix here.

Brauhaus Schmitz will celebrate the season with a weeklong festival starting Monday and featuring a bratwurst-eating contest on Sept. 22. The events will wrap up on Sept. 24 when the restaurant shuts down South Street’s 700 block for an afternoon festival featuring still more wurst.

Home-cooked wurst is on the menu at the United German Hungarian Club’s (4666 East Bristol Road, Langhorne) 133rd Oktoberfest, Sept. 23-25. Festival admission is just 5 bucks and features the foot-stomping, wurst-chomping oompah music of the Heimat Klange Orchestra.

If you wear lederhosen or a dirndl during this weekend’s Oktoberfest at Hop Angel Brauhaus (7980 Oxford Ave., Fox Chase), they’ll serve you a free sausage sandwich. Remember to match it with a glass of Ayinger Oktober Fest-Marzen, one of my favorite Bavarians.

Meanwhile, go local and pair your wurst with a Victory Festbier, Stoudt’s Oktoberfest or Flying Fish OktoberFish during Oktoberfest at McGillin’s Old Ale House (1310 Drury St., Center City). German specialties fill the menu throughout the celebration, which runs until the annual Midtown Village Fall Fest on Oct. 1.

Of course, if you’re truly going to be manly about it, you’ll fire up your grill and make ’em yourself.

Look for packages of Brauhaus Schmitz’s bratwurst and smoky pork-and-beef bauernwurst at Green Aisle Grocery (1618 E. Passyunk Ave., South Philly). I also recommend the bockwurst at Illg’s Meats (365 Folly Road, Chalfont) and the weisswurst at Rieker’s Prime Meats (7979 Oxford Ave., Fox Chase).

You can’t go wrong cooking your own if you serve plenty of Oktoberfestbier. This season, I’ve been grooving to the original, Spaten Oktoberfestbier Ur-Märzen, and Flying Dog Dogtoberfest from Maryland. I’ll be pouring both of them on Sept. 23 at a free Oktoberfest sampling at Bell Beverage (2809 S. Front St., South Philly), then again at a five-course, $25 fall beer tasting at Chap’s Taproom (2509 W. Main St., Jeffersonville) on Sept. 29.

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LONG A nonacademic pursuit on the college campus, beer is now part of the classroom, too.

As students begin their new semesters this month, they’ll find numerous full-credit courses devoted to suds, from “Understanding Wine and Beer” at Cornell University to “Beer Tastings and Pairings” at the University of Utah.

Some of the courses, including those at the prestigious University of California-Davis masters brewing program, are naturally designed for food and beverage majors. Increasingly, though, science professors are using beer as an ingenious scheme to lure nonscience majors into their classrooms.

Two years ago, for example, I reported how a West Chester University associate professor, Roger Barth, had launched a chemistry-of-beer class partly to give liberal-arts majors “a thoughtful attitude toward alcoholic beverages.”

“It seems most students are interested in two things,” Barth told me, “so I thought we’d go with the second one.”

No, it’s not advanced research, but it’s not Beer Pong 101, either.

Barth, who wrote the course’s textbook, leads the class from the chemistry of water through the entire brewing process: milling, mashing, boiling, hopping, fermentation, sterilization, bottling and quality evaluation.

Since that report, more than a dozen other similar chemistry programs have cropped up across the country, including courses at Washington & Jefferson, Syracuse, Iowa State, Ohio State and Millersville University.

At Benedictine College, in Kansas, the chemistry lab is used to examine carbon dioxide, color, ethanol content and residual sugars in beer.

At Southern Illinois-Carbondale, the course work ranges from the chemistry of various beer styles to the social impact on brewing methods.

At Central Washington College, chemistry is a key component of the school’s Craft Beer Trade program.

What if you’re not interested in chemistry?

There are plenty of other beer-related courses on the curriculum.

At Oklahoma State University, “Beverage Management and Controls” may sound like an attempt to see how much students can drink without losing their cookies. But professor Philippe Garmy warned that “this is not a tasting class.” Instead, students must design a “beverage concept” for a pub or restaurant.

At Ohio State University, “Wine and Beer in Western Culture” examines suds all the way back to the recipes of the ancient Sumerians.

At Stanford University, “All About Beer: Strategy and Organization in the Brewing Industry” focuses on the success of Anheuser-Busch and the failure of Schlitz.

At Rice University, in Texas, they teach “Art and Science of Craft Beer.” It sounds esoteric, but at least you won’t go home thirsty: Students must be at least 21 and expect to pay “a small lab fee” for ingredients and samples.

Same goes at Appalachian State University, in North Carolina, where you can get a B.S. in Fermentation. Students are trained at the school’s fully functioning Ivory Tower Brewery. The facility is nonprofit and its beer is not for sale, but according to those who’ve gotten a taste, it’s pretty darn good.

Meanwhile, there’s a similar pilot-scale brewery up and running at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, thanks to a $100,000 grant from MillerCoors.

Some students naturally hope that beer courses are an easy A. Think again.

Matthew Dunn, who formerly taught “The Art and Science of Beer: History, Technology, and Culture” at Indiana University, said that many students who signed up “were disappointed when they found out that it was a real class instead of a keg stand.”

One look at the reading list disabused them of that notion. Among Dunn’s required texts: “The Emergence of the National Brewing Oligopoly: Competition in the American Market, 1933-1958.”

Which explains the growth of that other grand college tradition: The fake term paper. For as little as $50, students can now download custom-written college term papers about beer.

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AFTER A WEEK plagued by an earthquake, hurricane and the loss of the guy who took the cheesesteak recipe to his grave, Philly hardly needs an excuse to drink. So let’s just say that, looking at the beerscape ahead, we’re in for a unique array of foam-filled diversions.

Mark your calendars: There’s a month of blues, barbecue, Bavarians and a battleship ahead. Enjoy a cold one while you . . .

Wear your lederhosen. One of the area’s most authentic Oktoberfests is this weekend at Northeast Philly’s Cannstatter (9130 Academy Road). It’s three days of German food, beer, music, beer and more. Saturday through Monday, noon each day. Tix are $6 at the gate; children under 12 get in for free.

Chow down on ballpark grub. The Phillies are away during the Beer Fest at the Ball Park, but you can still enjoy popcorn, peanuts and Cracker Jack while sampling 50 beers from more than 25 craft breweries at Citizens Bank Park. 2 p.m. Sept. 10. Tix $35.

Pop a pils. Pilsner, that is, one of the region’s classic styles. The golden lagers will be pouring at the 3rd annual Pils Picnic at Johnny Brenda’s (Frankford and Girard, Fishtown). “Noon to night,” Sept. 10. Pay as you go.

Rub elbows with Joe Sixpack. I’m finally going to one of the area’s oldest beer events, the 17th annual Warminster Micro Blues Fest. Expect lots of excellent craft beer and live music at the Verienigung Erzgebirge club in Warminster. 1-5 p.m. Sept. 17. Tix $40 at Hatboro Beverage (201 Jacksonville Road, Hatboro). Info: 215-675-1078.

Get blasted. The WMGK Brew Blast aboard the Battleship New Jersey in Camden brings beer to one of the region’s iconic sites. The hulking ship docked on the Delaware is a fine festival venue with a fresh, one-of-a-kind view of the Philly skyline. Lots of local brews and imports will be pouring, and guests can take a free tour of the ship. 1-5 p.m. Sept. 17. Tix $45.

Monkey around. The Elwood Park Zoo in Norristown hosts an Oktoberfest on its grounds, 5:30-9 p.m. Sept. 17. Tix $45.

Bounce in a school bus. That would be aboard the Pennsylvania Craft Beer Bus, a new suburban beer travel business. Next trip: A tour of Lehigh Valley (Weyerbacher, Fegley’s Brew Works) and New Hope (Triumph). The ride includes ample samples, snacks and games. 11 a.m. Sept. 17. Tix $65.

Get artsy. The Jenkintown Festival of the Arts features lots of cool creations for sale. Enjoy samples from Prism, Magic Hat, Uinta and other breweries, then splurge on that abstract sculpture. 1-6 p.m. Sept. 18. Tix $25.

Smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em. That’s the name of Yards Brewing’s third annual tribute to smoke-flavored beers – the world’s largest devoted to the rare style. These are unique ales and lagers made with malt that was dried over wood fires, the way it was done before brewers discovered the wonder of the coal-fired kiln. There’s an amateur BBQ contest and other smoked foods on the menu. 2-6:30 p.m. Sept. 23. Tix $50.

Wear your lederhosen again. The annual Oktoberfest at Brauhaus Schmitz (718 South St.) starts on Sept. 19, when the German beer hall hosts beer specials, a bratwurst-eating contest and other fun events. It doesn’t end till Sept. 24 with a daylong block party that shuts down South Street.

Get hosed. The Newtown Beerfest at the Stocking Works, with beers from more than 75 breweries, benefits the Newtown Fire Association. 12:30-5:30 p.m. Sept. 24. Tix $40 ($75 VIP).

Slap dance with your favorite pumpkin. Enjoy Bavarian oompah music and traditional German Schuhplattler slap-dancing at Joe Sixpack’s Fall Beer Expo at the United German-Hungarian Club Oktoberfest. We’ll be pouring classic German lagers and newfangled pumpkin ales all afternoon. Sept. 25, with sessions at 1-3 and 4-6 p.m. Tix $35.

Get prehistoric. The Delaware Museum of Natural History calls its annual fund-raiser “Wine and Dinosaurs,” but everyone knows T-Rex was a beer man. This is a civilized beer sampling with beer education sessions led by Peter Cherpack of BeerAppreciation.com. Noon-4 p.m. Sept. 25. Tix $50.

Enough excuses? Well, it doesn’t end there. I count at least three serious beer events on Oct. 1 alone, with the Midtown Village Festival, the Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin Beer Festival at the Institute, and Oktoberfest at Stoudt’s Brewing in Adamstown, Pa.

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IF NECESSITY is the mother of invention, beer is its wild-eyed uncle. You know, the one who corners you at family reunions with his latest can’t-miss scheme, one that will revolutionize society and earn a bazillion bucks if only you invest a couple thou.

No doubt fueled by a sixpack or two, inventors and assorted crackpots fill the archives of the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office with off-the-wall ideas to enhance consumption of our favorite beverage.

Grand ideas such as:

Party Goggles, application No. 12/927,974

Bruce Riggs of Helendale, Calif.

“Simply stated,” Riggs’ application simply states, “the Party Goggles are the literal personification of the mythical Beer Goggles worn by so many intoxicated adults on so many beer-fueled weekend nights all across the nation and, for that matter, the world.”

What he’s invented is a pair of open-ended, 12-ounce aluminum beer cans affixed to eyeglass frames. They’re guaranteed to “resurrect an otherwise lifeless party from the bowels of mediocrity or [give] the wearer the power to kick an average party into high gear.”

“How many times,” Riggs asks in his application, “have we all been stuck at a fetid fete marooned at the beer-stained end of a crowded couch, uncomfortably sipping a flat beer and hoping against hope that someone would do or say something interesting, something memorable? That is precisely what the Party Goggles provide.”

“They work perfect,” said Riggs, 45, a married father of two boys who works for the local gas company. “It’s a party hit.”

Riggs is completely earnest about his invention. He’s made a few prototypes with cans of Bud and Heineken. He had a deal with one of those companies that promises to market your invention, but that went nowhere.

I asked Riggs if he was drinking beer when he came up with his idea. “Probably,” he replied. “It’s hard to say.”

Beer Can with Top and Bottom Pull Tabs, application No. 12/657,439

Todd Bland of Omaha, Neb.

A conventional can, Bland noted, has just one pull tab on the top. His has one on each end, allowing it to be emptied “in a matter of seconds.”

Who needs to empty a can “in a matter of seconds?” Well, cooks who use lots of tomato juice, said Bland. And marathon runners who want to drink on the run.

Oh yeah, and “consumers who desire a faster flow of their favorite beverage to empty their said cans.” In other words, Bland has invented a self-contained shotgunning beer can.

Electro-Mechanical Beer Pong Table, application No. 12/731,035,

Chad Hazen Hoffer, Carson City, Nev.

It’s not enough that “continuous beer consumption” during beer-pong tournaments “can sufficiently impair motor control, balance, eye-hand coordination, judgment [and] emotion/thought centers of the participating players.”

Hoffer has invented a gadget with actuators, apertures, axles, controllers, motors and movable platforms designed to make the simpleminded task of tossing a ping-pong ball into a half-filled cup of beer even tougher.

It’s a beer-pong table that shifts the cups in mid-shot – a moving target.

As for the potential for electrocution when all that beer sloshes out of the cups and onto an electronic device, well, that just adds an element of excitement to an otherwise boring game.

Fruit Holder, application No. 12/589,278

Brian Fukai of Los Angeles

You know what the problem is with squeezing a lime into a Corona? Most of the juice never makes it into the bottle.

Fukai’s solution is a funnel-like contraption that smartly holds a single wedge and ensures maximum juice infusion, thus providing some actual flavor to an otherwise bland, fizzy, yellow Mexican beer.

I say a Nobel Prize awaits this man.

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