God, we like the look of that. Two beers, two mates, and what appears to be some good times safely underway. Nicely done! It’s frickin’ beer time, Brisbane!
Don’t mind if I do, this man thinks to himself. Nothing more beer o’clock than knocking the froth off a frothy-frothster (just a fun little nickname for beer)! Drink on, it’s beer time.
Group of friends with a group of beers. Exciting, refreshing, everything you’d want from the best time of day - beer time! Froth away, comrades. Yew!
Um, not to get geopolitical here, but don’t mind if I do follow your instructions, Mr Putin. Yum yum! Beer me!
Now hang on one minute. That’s not a beer. That’s not even a beer in his hand, I think it’s a walkie-talkie. By all accounts, instead of a man enjoying a brew (or two), that’s a man running for his life from a genuinely dangerous hippopotamus. This is almost the polar opposite of having a beer. Someone help him!
Jesus CHRIST, the hippo is seriously giving chase. Truly afraid here. The memories of beer o’clock are long gone, this is actually terrifying. Run, man, run! The hippo will kill you! GET OUT!
Phew, back on home turf here! Draught beer, a sunny afternoon. What could be better? Hope that man with the hippo is fine though, it’s possibly worth checking back—
I’m sorry, WHAT?!?! The hippo was only after a Furphy Refreshing Ale this whole time? Well drink up, you hungry, thirsty, hippo. No one can begrudge you a humble Furphy addiction!