Within this booze fueled world in which we dwell, there are a series of bottleneck gates that we first must pass before we can ever claim to belong to that raucous club known as the alcoholics. Sure, every snot nose punk that has ever sucked down a fifth of Mad Dog 20/20 and woke up next to a fat chick covered in purple puke believes he is a fearsome boozehound with a problem, but the truth is, it takes more than a little sexual depravity and projectile vomiting to earn the badge of the full-blown drunkard.
You see, throughout history, there have always been two types of drinkers, those who drink beer – socially and sexually - and those who will drink any godforsaken concoction they can get their hands on that will ultimately cause them to fiendishly piss themselves in the backseat of your car and swing violent haymakers at street signs and livestock. Anyone who has ever “had a few drinks” with one of these wild-eyed liabilities knows that while they sit before the 80 proof committee of Jim, Jack and Jose, it doesn’t matter what kind of demon swoops down from the heavens and dangles its prickly-red-devil-dick in their face – they will devour it.
However, the experienced American beer drinker is much different. These burly beasts are not at all interested in knocking back lethal doses of distilled ipecac syrup in a brash attempt to sustain the eternal buzz. No sir, in the quivering livers of the tried and true beer connoisseur, there is a gentlemen’s understanding between both man and beverage that serves as a shield from asshole antics as long as each party upholds a certain level of mutual respect. Unfortunately, there are often times when serious misunderstandings do occur, but such incidents are typically caused by not adhering to some basic boozing principles.
For example, one of the distinct differences between an ol’ fashion beer drinker and an alcoholic degenerate is that a beer drinker can usually suck down a twelve pack of his favorite brew without having to worry about being throttled into a fierce case of the spins, followed by the dry heave pukes and a blackout hangover. The alcoholic degenerate, however, is the societal leper of the alcoholic community, and no matter how hard they fight to keep from sucking off the German shepherd in the backyard or being passed around the room like a pecker piñata, in the end, booze will conquer all, leaving them face down in a dumbass puddle of bodily fluids with varying DNA.
The thing is, true beer drinkers do not suffer from this insanity. They are not born into some bloodline of degeneracy that serves to savagely grudge fuck generations of the diseased and withered on the filthy floors of alcoholics anonymous meetings across the country. Hell no, all the great American beer drinker wants to do is have a few cold ones with his brothers, get some fast-ass pussy, and then eat his weight in tacos at the end of a really good night.
After all, that’s why booze was invented in the first place - to make life more enjoyable by making sex dirtier and food tastier - not to convert us into seething casualties of the bottle, dry humping a reoccurring wet dream of cocktails by sunset without the fear of jail, cirrhosis of the liver or full-blown dog AIDS.
Remember this, being drunk doesn’t make you an alcoholic - it’s when you wake up repeatedly at the ass crack of 3:00 PM with the taste of dried cat shit in your mouth and pecker gnats that it may be time to admit that you’re doomed. In the meantime, we’re grabbing another beer.
Cheers - you fucking degenerates!
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[Beer vs Liquor image via ShutterStock]