Thursday, November 21, 2013

Bottomshelf Beer: Bud Ice

Everything about this picture is great.  Worthy of it's own blogpost.

I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of time travel; Dr. Who, Back to the Future, and my desire to go back to the 1970’s and motorboat Pam Grier’s big black boobies.  Scientists have speculated that time travel would require the force of an exploding sun, but I managed to accomplish said feat with a twelve pack of the 1994 classic Bud Ice.  I might not have actually gone “back in time” per se, or I would have brought an iPad with me and made millions of dollars, but it doesn’t get more 1994 than Bud Ice. I was drinking history.  
I think this also sums things up pretty well

Other cultural milestones of 1994 included that whole John Bobbitt thing, that Tonya Harding thing, and that O.J. Simpson double homicide thing.  In music it was the high-watermark year for alternative, which was as popular and culturally relevant as it was ever going to get.  To drive the point home Kurt Cobain blew his fucking brains out.  In hip-hop Biggie, 2Pac, Nas, and Outkast all released groundbreaking albums.  At least that’s the way we tend to remember 1994.  The top ten singles for the year paint a different picture:

Hello Lisa Loeb's butt.
1. The Sign, Ace Of Base
I Swear, All-4-One
I'll Make Love to You, Boyz II Men
The Power of the Dream, Céline Dion
Hero, Mariah Carey
Stay (I Missed You), Lisa Loeb and Nine Stories
Breathe Again, Toni Braxton
All for Love, Bryan Adams, Rod Stewart and Sting
All That She Wants, Ace Of Base
Don't Turn Around, Ace Of Base

Barftastic.  The only thing I remember about any of these songs is how much I hated them, the rest I don’t even remember at all.  Gun to the head I would have guessed that Ace of Base had one top ten single.  Even the alternative radio of the day was polluted with plenty of multiplatinum selling, utterly forgettable, suicide-inducingly-awful bands like, Candlebox, Live, Collective Soul, Counting Crows, and  The fucking 4 Non-Blondes.  Keep in mind that 1994 was still sort of a banner year for alternative.  The Goo Goo Dolls lurked just around the corne,r and alternative rock’s musical equivalent to the Anti-Christ, Limp Bizkit, had already been born.  It was all downhill from there.
Even  this album cover makes me so fucking mad.

In 1994 Bud Ice was also everywhere, promoted heavily by Budweiser as they attempted to seize the high ground in the Ice Beer Wars. (See Milwaukee’s Best Ice for more info on the conflict.)  The multimillion dollar ad-campaign featured a singing penguin who murdered people for their Bud Ice.  At least I think that’s what they were going for.  Birds are scary, but a penguin can’t even fly in your mouth.  I guess most birds don’t actually fly in people’s mouths, nevertheless the thought terrifies me.  Anyway, even if the penguin was merely larcenous and not psychotic it was still kind of an odd choice for a marketing campaign.  
flightless bird; water-fowl; serial killer; spokesman

I was all but positive Bud Ice had been discontinued sometime in the last 20 years when I saw it at the liquor store.  Not wanting to pass up a relic from a bygone era I purchased some immediately.  An internet search revealed that it was Bud Ice Light, not Bud Ice which had been discontinued in 2010. One sip and I could tell why a beer once featured in the lesbian seduction scene in Bound (1996) had fallen so far out of the mainstream that I was all but sure of its extinction.  It tastes pretty much like Budweiser but boozier.  That’s not a good thing.  The shit’s bad.  I have no idea how or why Bud Ice was ever popular.

If I had a time machine I don’t think I’d stop myself from drinking Bud Ice, but I’d sure as shit buy some ranch sauce to go with the pizza rolls I had for dinner the other night.  I guess I’d probably kill Hitler to.  Bud Ice is about as low on my “time travel priorities” list as it is in real life.  I can only recommend Bud Ice to hardcore  bottomshelf completionists and 1994 enthusiasts.
Time travel often leads to The Nazis winning WWII, but I'd risk going back to 1994 for some P.B. Crisps.

Speaking of 1994 did you check out Tonya Harding's website out earlier?  I've seen "ate my balls" pages that were more up to date.

Monday, October 14, 2013

My Favorite Bumper Sticker

I bet this peace creep wonders why he doesn' tget invited to parties
No one’s ever asked me about my all-time favorite bumper sticker, but if they ever do I’ll answer without a second’s hesitation.  I encountered my favorite bumper sticker exactly once in my life, back in 2006, when I was working in a printshop.  The walls of the place were decorated with examples of our shops printshopping skills.  One bumper sticker in particular caught my eye: “Will trade husband for Beanie Babies.”
I didn't have a camera phone back then so you'll just have to settle for these college girls of varying levels of attractiveness

At first I was struck by the anachronism.  2006 was about a decade after Beanie Baby Mania had taken hold of this country as Beatlemania had done three decades prior to that.  For those of you who didn’t live through BBM let me just say it was a wild time when little stuffed animals, not too dissimilar from the kind you can still acquire 50 cents and some mad-claw-game-skillz, became collectibles worth literally a few dollars.  The bumper sticker in question is actually a great example of what set Beanie Baby Mania apart from previous toy fads like pet rocks or hula hoops.  Beanie Babies weren’t just for kids.  Kids don’t have cars or husbands (I hope), and yet someone believed there was a big enough market for women with both of those things who also wished to express a rabidly pro-tiny stuffed toy sentiment on the back of their car.
Scrooge McDuck would love this room if he cared about Beanie Babies instead of worthless money
As big as Beanie Babies were, what was the creative process for writing the funniest bumper sticker of all time like?  Was is it a bunch of writers sitting around a table at one of the major bumper sticker conglomerates with the prompt “Will trade husband for ____?”   Rollerblades?  No.  Crystal Clear Pepsi? Forget it.  Beanie Babies?  Fuck yes, promotions for everyone! Or was it a lone genius, who recognized that he had a million dollar idea on his hands and quit his day job to take his chances in the rough and tumble world of bumper sticker publishing? 
"Will trade husband for a spaceship ride behind the Hale-Bopp comet?  Too soon?"
I don’t know how many bumper stickers he sold but I have a lot of fun picturing the clientele: chubby middle-aged ladies with jean jackets, jean jackets with Winnie-the-Pooh back patches or perhaps a sassy Tweety bird.  In addition to the Beanie Babies I picture her cubicle littered with the flotsam and jetsam of various short-lived trends of the late 80’s to early 90’s: Chia Pets, troll dolls, and Garfield everywhere.  She has no idea why anyone would find it funny that a lady such as herself has a ceramic pig cookie jar.  She finds the notion of trading her matrimonial partner for a stuffed animal plausible or at the very least humorous.  This is a woman who shouldn’t be driving.  This is a woman who shouldn't be voting.
When I was a janitor there was a woman with tacky shit like this all over her cubicle.  Almost every day she complained we didn't vacuum all of the cookie crumbs and candy wrappers under her desk.  If I was her I would've been too embarrassed.
I didn’t have to use my imagination to picture the woman’s husband because the bumper sticker had thoughtfully provided me with an illustration.  The gentleman in question was depicted on the sticker as a fat bald guy, complete with easy chair, bottle of booze, and cartoonish drunk-guy bubbles popping over his head.  Did the hypothetical woman who purchased this bumper sticker turn to Beanie Babies to escape her loveless marriage to a drunken louse?  Or was this guy drunk as a skunk because his wife was a fucking moron who collected stupid toys?  The chicken or the egg?  The line between comedy and tragedy begins to blur.  Then I picture the poor guy picking the kids up from soccer practice in his wife’s Subaru with this sticker on the bumper and it becomes really funny again.  

“Will Trade Husband for Beanie Babies” is the funniest bumper sticker I’ve ever seen in my life by a wide margin, like ten times funnier than “Coexist” or “Google Ron Paul.”  One of my only regrets in life is that I did not think to take a picture of the bumper sticker to share with all of you on a blog many years later.  Oh well, tune in next week when I review my second favorite bumper sticker “Abortion is Murder.”

Monday, September 2, 2013

Bottomshelf Beer Reviews: Freedom Salute

What a country!

Freedom isn’t free.  The heaviest price for our freedom is paid by soldiers on the battlefield, but the most common price is probably abject stupidity, more accurately dealing with stupidity.  If Obama can run for President so can David Duke, and the dumbest people in the world will fill up the comments section of a New York Times article about the subject.  Alcohol isn’t any freer than freedom itself; fortunately Freedom Salute only costs a little over $4 at the local Walgreens.
Ben Franklin: patriot; philosopher; drunken pussy-hound
Our founding fathers understood the importance of ”the pursuit of happiness,” and if you’re not drinking you’re doing it wrong.  There are few freedoms I enjoy more than the freedom to get drunk on the cheap.  I guess I enjoy the freedom to vote too, but I only do that every couple of years and if I’m really being honest with myself it’s kind of a chore.  I know voting is more important than drinking, but if you look at the blood drenched years of prohibition or the whiskey rebellion the freedom to drink is a freedom we as a nation also take pretty fucking seriously.

FUN FACTS: in the U. S. women couldn't vote until 1920 and minorities were legally bared from voting in some states as late as 1965.  Actually come to think of it, those facts aren't very fun at all.

As I alluded to in the introduction, freedom has a price.  I am eternally thankful for those who pay it.  I’ve always been a big supporter of our Nation’s armed forces, and for their part Freedom Salute boasts that they donate a minimum of $25,000 dollars annually to Operation Homefront.  It sounds impressive until you consider the 8,000+ Walgreens stores selling four tallboys for $4 and some change.  By my math Walgreens would be coming out ahead even if they only sold one 4-pack per store per year.  Personally, I always throw in a few bucks when they ask me to make a donation at Petsmart, but I don’t make a big deal out of it.  Honesty, I always feel kind of embarrassed when the lesbian behind the counter thanks me for my meager $2 donation.  Still, there’s worse ways for Freedom Salute to spend the money, after all $25,000 can buy a lot of cocaine, er…some cocaine.  I don’t do drugs, but it sounds like a lot.
Some cocaine
Freedom Salute has that cheap rotten apple flavor, which I find hard to describe to people without beers like Camo Black Exxxtra or Gameday Ice in their taste lexicon.  I mean, I think I do a pretty good job describing it, but it’s like describing an orgasm to someone that’s never had one, only the opposite of that.  Gross sour apple is kind of its own branch on bottomshelf beer tree, and if you’ve never had any of its gut wrenching fruit you should consider yourself lucky.  Freedom Salute is probably one of the better examples of the genre, but that’s kind of like calling the principle from Ferris Bueller my second favorite child pornographer (after Gary Glitter.)  If you think it’s just a matter of personal preference and I’m being an asshole, just try some for yourself.  I fucking double dare you.
The Physical Challenge

In high school I had to write an essay on what freedom meant to me.  I got a C, mostly because I just kind of described the plot of First Blood Part II.  As for what Freedom Salute means to me, I’d say D to D minus.  They may take our lives but they’ll never take our Freedom Salute, unless they ask for it in which case I’ll give it away for…for freedom!
They drew first bloood...not me.

Friday, July 26, 2013

Bottomshelf Beer Reviews: Boxer Lager

Now that's what I call marketing

In the Patrick Swayze classic Roadhouse, his character Dalton says, “no one ever wins a fight.”  A bit later in the film he wins a fight by ripping a dude’s fucking throat out, which kind of shits his point I guess; not just because he totally won the fight, but because he looked awesome doing it.  Preach all the pacifism you want, violence is entertaining.  Even In our “enlightened” modern society two dudes punching each other in the face AKA boxing is considered a sport that rakes in millions of dollars a year.  Not that they’ll need the money with Boxer Lager selling itself at “the lowest legal Price.”
You read that right.  I guess in Canada they have laws about how cheap you can sell beers.  Not to get too political, but if laws like that are the price of free healthcare I’d rather fucking die of a treatable illness.  Cheaper beer and free healthcare impact the poorest people of our society the most.  America might have more bums than Canada, but at least they’re all sleeping drunk on the sidewalk most of the day.  Personally, I can’t think of anything scarier than a bunch of homeless dudes in peek physical condition, battle-hardened by the harsh Canadian winter; except maybe Freddy Krueger because he lives in your dreams.
I'd hit it, even if I was pretty sure it was Freddy disguised a a hot babe, which says nothing good about me.
I love the whole “lowest legal price” thing.  It’s like they’d give the shit away for free if it wasn’t for the fucking Mounties, and that “fuck you” attitude goes a long way with me.  The owners of Boxer Lager don’t “stick it to the man” by making esoteric beers for neck-bearded Sonic Youth fans, they just make the cheapest beer they can legally sell and put it in a 36-pack.  A fucking 36-pack.  It’s a case of beer and a 12-pack at the same time, kind of like when you see an arcade machine that’s both Ms. Pacman and Galaga.  The only thing better than beer is more beer; and tits I guess.  Boxer Lager is Union made too, so somehow they manage to pay people a living wage, make a profit, and charge the lowest price in the British Commonwealth of Nations.  Also, Boxer Lager has what may be the best beer commercial ever.  It's "Simpsons parody of a beer commercial" good:

Fuck you Tim Burton.
On paper Boxer Lager should be one of my favorite bottomshelf beers, and if it would be if it wasn’t for the flavor.  It’s bad, like almost undrinkable bad even ice-cold.  It goes down sour with a sweet aftertaste.  Boxer Lager’s taste is like all of Tim Burton’s movies for the last 15 years: disappointing in every single way.  I wanted to like it, but it’s the flavor equivalent to Ape-raham Lincoln.  That being said, as disappointing as Boxer Lager may be, nothing about it feels like they pointed a camera at Johnny Depp and said, “act really fucking weird for the next two hours,” which is to say you can tell they’re not phoning it in.  Minhas brewery might not be making the best beer on the bottomshelf, but they really care about what they’re doing.  In that regard Boxer Lager is more like a David Lynch film:  I appreciate everything it’s going for, but Blue Velvet sucked.
Seeing Isabella Rossellini naked is almost as good as seeing Ingrid Bergman naked.

 You know what didn’t suck? Roadhouse.  The film did try to inject a nonviolent message into a movie about a philosophy major that beats people up for a living, but I think it worked.  Boxer Lager tries to be a high quality beer at the lowest price imaginable with mixed results.  At least they got the second half right, and it’s not like they go around killing people, at least as far as I know. 
A polar bear fell on me.

Friday, June 21, 2013

Bottomshelf Beer Reviews: Labatt Blue

 I love hockey and since it’s playoff time I thought I’d celebrate this occasion the way I celebrate everything: by drinking.  Of course I don’t need much of a reason to drink.  Honestly, I have a tough time coming up with reasons not to drink, but I thought a review of Canada’s own Labatt Blue would be a fitting tribute.  When I think of hockey I think of Canada, and when I think of Canada I think of idiots getting drunk in the woods on Labatt Blue. 
Idiots like Zap Rowsdower

Canada is an interesting country (not really.)  It’s a lot like regular America, but a foreign monarch is still legally the head of state.  I’ve been there a few times, and it’s honestly a pretty nice place despite the fact that their football field is 10 yards too long and they were gowns in court.  In genre fiction the frigid Nørthlaënds are typically the domain of half-human barbarians, but in reality Canada is just full of dudes in flannel shirts, like a less hip version of Seattle.  Canadians might be half-human, but they’re more like Cylons; they seem completely normal until it’s too late. Then they’re all like, “Hey Broomhead, how’s aboot a Tim Horton donut, ‘eh?”   In point of fact, people as normal seeming as Sarah Chalke, Todd Macfarlane, Cobie Smulders, Shenae Grimes, Dave Foley, Bronko Nagurski, Mike Myers, Leslie Nielsen, Peter Jennings, Michael Ironside, William Shatner, and Dan Akroyd hail from the Great White North.
Tricia Helfer:  Canadian/Cylon
Old time hockey

As I alluded to in the introduction, the most popular sport in Canada is ice hockey, which is understandable. Hockey combines the grace and majesty of figure skating with people beating the shit out of each other.  Even when there aren’t any fights everyone is knocking each other over all the time.  When you consider the fact that every player is holding a giant stick it’s actually kind of amazing that it only comes to fisticuffs.  If Ihave one criticism of the game, it would have to be the stupid nicknames.  They just add a “Y” sound or an “-er” to the end of your surname, so if Night Train Lane played hockey he’d be “Laner” and Christian Okoye would be “Okie” instead of the mother fucking Nigerian Nightmare.  For their sake maybe it’s a good thing black people don’t play hockey.
Don't bother him he's trying to listen to the fucking song

Labatt opened their doors in 1847, survived Canadian prohibition, and now they’re owned by Anheuser-Busch InBev.  Of more important historical significance, at least on this blog, is the fact that LaBatt launched the career of Pamela Anderson.  You’re not a “real 90’s kid” unless you pounded one out to Pamela Anderson Lee.  According to gawker and half the shit I see on facebook being a “real 90’s kid” is something very important which I had previously taken for granted; however I would conject  (and I think most psychologists would agree) that what you beat off to says way more about you and the social norms of the time and place you grew up in than whether or not you’ve seen the commercial for Crossfire.  Pamela Anderson isn’t even really my type but at the time I came of age her tits were prominently displayed on basic cable and every other magazine cover.
Labatt actually ended up buying 1000 copies of this unofficial poster to meet consumer demand.
Beerwise, Labatt is 5%ABV.  Fucking choice.  It’s a little better than most domestics, but be warned the whole bullshit fucking metric lamewad fucking system conversion means you only get 11.2 fl.oz. in a bottle, so you might want to stick to the 12 oz. cans.  As far as flavor goes it’s easy to see why Labatt is the number one beer in Canada.  It’s got a lot of flavor; crisp with a slight hint of beer flavored bitterness.  A welcome change from the sweet, sour, or just plain watery variety I often end up drinking.  In the interest of journalistic integrity I’ve actually taken upon myself to drink a few cases of the stuff over the last few weeks.  It’s great.  I can’t recommend it enough.
I'm not sure how to convert metric to regular, but either way I think they're big

I think I’m going to celebrate the end of this review by watching a little playoff hockey, and drinking an ice-cold Labatt blue.  While Canada might not be as good as the U.S. at fighting wars or keeping French separatists in line they do know how to make a tasty brew.  Go Blackhawks.
You can't let yourself get pushed around by a guy like this

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Advice for Teens 3: Dream Warriors (2013)

Stay in school!

I haven’t sat down and read an issue of Rolling Stone in years, but as far as I know they still have celebrities write an open letter to that year’s graduating class.  I thought I'd do the same. The only difference is, I give harsh advice about the real world instead of empty platitudes.  Also I'm not a celebrity.  Check out the last two I did here and here.

Drink coffee

Coffee keeps you awake, and warms you up on a cold morning.  All real adults drink coffee.  When someone says they don’t drink coffee I assume they’re either a fucking baby or a religious weirdo.  It’s not fair, in fact it’s kind of a dick move on my part, but if “society” wants to call me an arsonist just because I start fires I’m just as entitled to my own opinion.
More hot coffee
If you can juggle, please juggle

It’s happened at least two or three times in my life that I’ve been talking about juggling and the person I’m talking to says, “I can juggle.”  And then they do.  As someone who can’t juggle I am always very impressed, and perplexed.  If I could juggle I would do it every time I saw three of something, and I’d earn a reputation as “the guy who juggles.”  Why do they keep it a secret?  And why do people that run marathons never shut the fuck up about it? I can picture myself training and finishing a marathon, but juggling?  Forget it.  If you can juggle you owe it to yourself and the world to share your gift.  Same goes for those of you that can ride a unicycle, walk on your hands, or play the drums.

Too fucking cool for words

If you know karate keep it to yourself

Conversely, no one likes a braggart.  If you keep talking about how crazy-good you are at fighting someone is going to take you up on it.  If your hoping that informing others of your martial skills will stop fights before they start you’d do a lot better to tell people you fight dirty.  Lots of dudes are willing to try their luck against a self-proclaimed badass, but no one wants to fight someone that pulls hair and gouges eyes.  Besides, it’s better to surprise your opponent and as Confucious say, “let your fists do the talking.”
A ninja of the American persausion

Those so-called “Nigerian Princes” that send you e-mails are probably just regular black dudes

That being said, you should probably send them some money.  You wouldn’t want word to get around that you’re a racist, would you?  Also, by the law of averages one of those guys has to be telling the truth.

X-Ray Vision > Invisibility

A common hypothetical question is “if you could have one super power what would it be?”  Personally I’d go with invulnerability, but a lot of people say “invisibility,” which is kind of a dead giveaway that you’re a pervert.  Don’t these people realize you can just wait for a girl to fall asleep and take her clothes off?  I’m joking of course, but it’s just as creepy.  You have to turn invisible, get naked, sneak into a girls house and wait for God knows how long to see her naked?  And what if it’s cold outside?  With X-ray vision you can take a discreet peek in broad daylight and no one would be the wiser as long as you carry a book around to hide your boner.  The only answer creepier than invisibility is mind control.

Put on the glasses

Be on time

If there’s one thing punctual people hate it’s people that don’t fucking show up on time.  Don’t give your boss a stupid reason to fire you.  Give them a really good reason and burn the place to the ground.    

Let people call you whatever they want

I don’t know how to get cool nicknames like “Pussy Slayer,” “Stone Cold” or “Bo Jackson” but I do know that the best way to end up with something shitty is to flip out when someone calls you “Buttstink.”  Also, if your name is Jonathan and someone calls you John or Johnny don’t correct them for not using your full fucking Christian name.  It’s a bigger faux pas than the coffee thing I mentioned earlier, you look like an asshole, and if you don’t like the name Johnny people might decide you’d like the name Buttstink more, especially if you have a stinky butt.  Also, shower regularly.
Or Stinkbutt as the case may be

Add some sour cream to your nachos
I didn’t try it till I was like 20 and I gotta say I was missing out.  My biggest regret in life is not putting sour cream on my nachos sooner.  Don’t make the same mistake I did.

Friday, May 3, 2013

Bottomshelf Beer: Protips & Helpful Hints

I’ve been drinking pretty regularly since I was 17.  I like to think I’ve learned a thing or two since then; for example I don’t drink Icehouse anymore.  Recently I’ve noticed that the internet was full of something called “lifehacking,” which seems to be a really stupid name for what used to be called “helpful hints.”  Never the one to pass up an internet trend , I present these helpful hints, for the conscientious beer drinker…
Speaking of internet trends, remember the Harlem Shake?  

 Keep a beer koozy in your pocket

If you’re anything like me you’re always ready to drink, but are you prepared?  Keeping a beer koozy in your pocket ensures that no matter what situation you find yourself in, it will take slightly longer for your beer to get warm.  This is a definite bonus if you’re the kind of guy that loudly explains the plot of Roadhouse to people who’ve already seen the movie, but don’t appreciate it on the same level you do. Plus it’s kind of cool to be the only guy in the bar, at the ballgame, or in the unemployment office parking lot who thought to bring a beer koozy.  And it lets ladies know you’re the kind of guy that…keeps a beer koozy in his pocket.  Also carry a condom, because you’re gonna need it,  STUD!

Let alcohol be your anti-drug

Drugs are illegal, and anyway no one likes a hippie.  Anytime you feel tempted or peer-pressured to smoke a “jazz cigarette” just reach for an ice cold LacrosseLager instead.  Some have countered that marijuana unlike alcohol is not physically addictive; well neither is jacking off, but try going one day without peeling one off.  Like masturbation, drinking is harmless fun, which is why you can find positive references to it in the texts of every major religion (every cool one that is.)  As a side note: raves and jam band concerts are pretty much the worst things in the world.  Anything that would make those activities “fun” is fucking wrong.
'Nuff said?

Get super drunk

For centuries men have been using alcohol to lower the inhibitions of the fairer sex.  What I’m advocating is a total role reversal.  Instead of feeding that college freshman shots in tandem, drink them yourself!  I find that I am more confident and boisterous after I’ve “had a few.”  Maybe you can parlay that into a little sumthin’ sumthin’ (I never did.)  Even if you don’t get laid, at least you’ll be drunk and you probably won’t give a shit, or you’ll end up crying in your beer.  Hilarious!
I don't know if this guy is gonna get laid or not, but I can pretty much guarantee he doesn't care one way or the other

Your cellphone is a tool

Waiting in line for the bathroom is for ladies, so if I have to take a piss I go outside.  Unfortunately, pissing outside is socially unacceptable and can easily lead to a drunk and disorderly ticket.  I get around these problems by pretending to make a call on my cell phone.  Instead of focusing on the fact that you definitely didn’t wash your hands after you took a piss, people assume you were courteous enough to make your phone call outside.  Also, if you learn to take your dick out and piss hands free, you can really sell the talking on a cell phone pantomime and most pedestrians and cops will be none the wiser.
"Honestly officer, I was talking on my cellphone...wait a minute.  Aren't you Christopher Guest?"

“I never turn down a shot”

That simple phrase is your ticket to free drinks.  If you let people know early and often that you “never turn down a shot” they will be much more inclined to buy them for you.  Be warned: this tactic may not cost a lot of money, but you will definitely pay.  Oftentimes, the free shots your so-called friends buy you will be disgusting (e.g. prairie fire, cement mixers, or malort) or embarrassing (e.g. blowjob shots.)  Worse still they will often buy you these shots when you’re already on the verge of throwing up or at least on the verge of not knowing that you’ll look like a total poof if you take a whipped crème shot off the bar using only your lips.

Drink a beer in the shower

We can all agree that drinking beer in a hot tub is the bee’s knees.  Unfortunately, I don’t own a hot tub and
Or take a beer shower
most hot tubs available to the public have pretty specific rules pertaining to the consumption of alcohol and wearing a fucking bathing suit like it’s the 1890’s or something.  So I do the next best thing: shower beer.  It’s relaxing and refreshing.  Even if you do own a hot tub you probably don’t want to pee in it, which you’ll certainly want to do after drinking three or four beers.  In the shower there are two types of people: people that pee in the shower and people that lie about peeing in the shower.  You’re secret is safe with me!

Stay cool everybody. 
A smart person clearly following my advice