When the founding fathers finally found favor in founding freedom, they relied on their sense of morality and good judgment to establish those inalienable rights on which our country continued to thrive for thousands of years: Life, liberty, and the pursuit of pedestrians to splash who stand too close to the curb during rainstorms. In order to douse said pedestrians with a deluge of water, thus brightening up their miserable lives, it became necessary to establish a natural order of travel. And thus, driving on the right side of the road, and naturally, the TSA, were born. And walking. And cycling. And any other form of transportation that involves moving, which, by definition, is all of them. Oh, and back in those days, you could bring a whopping 4.3 ounces of Herbal Essences on the horse and buggy.  Ahhh, the lap of luxury.

But alas, somewhere along the road, we Americans lost our way. We lost our moral compass. We lost our dignity. We stopped traveling exclusively on the right side of the road. It’s complete chaos out there. People bumping into each other on the streets, entire stairwells being shut down for hours as an upward and downward traveler are caught in that “Which way are you gonna go? Left? Right? Okay, you go left, I’ll go right. No, wait. Oh, we keep taking a step in the same direction” dance that inevitably leads to bumped foreheads and bruised egos. I say this to you, oh weary traveler, thou are not lost in the sea of lawlessness. There is hope yet. What we have forgotten over the millenia is that there are rules and regulations upon which this country is founded, and when they are not followed, anarchy ensues.

And for all of you who can’t get it through your thick skulls that traveling on the right side of the road ensures smooth travel with limited accidents and far fewer dirty looks from yours truly, I offer you this short anecdote. Last week, I was walking down the sidewalk on the right (read: correct) side of the road, and a fellow traveler was coming toward me on what appeared to me as the right (read: wrong) side of the road. The following is an actual (read: not actual) photograph taken of the aftermath:

“Alright ladies! Time for another shot! Let’s pour the pucker, tonight is going to be armageddon on my liver OMG!” says the liquor loving ladies. Shots, mixed drinks, jungle juice, Irish carbombs, sakebombs, jagerbombs…whatever form you want to do it, liquor is a viscous drink which your liver can only respond with, “What have I done to deserve this!?” Okay, here’s the reason I don’t like hard liquor: it makes you do (or not do) three specific things which severely affect any night:

1. Forget anything (including the Fatty McFat-Fat you just sucked face with)(and no alcohol is NOT an excuse)
2. Urinate on anything and everything/one
3. Break the law in plain sight of as MANY people as possible

None of which, of course, have I ever participated in…of course. Anyways, upon your fifth shot of Jeremiah Weed within ten minutes (like we’re all prone to doing,) you’ll undoubtedly find yourself in the fetal position laying in a pool of liquid with the following proportions:

30% Urine
15% Fecal matter
60% Vomit

Yes, I know 105% because pounding shots of Skol will only yield one result which can only be summed up in a picture:

So why ruin your night with your obviously belligerent drinking, because let’s not lie, “Oh I’m only having one drink tonight,” is the biggest lie EVER! Be a smart drinker, take it easy with some beer to get you where you need to be, not a drunk that’s going to end up in a cell sobering up for the next 48 hours trying to flirt with the cop just in order to not post bail while begging Spike, the resident cell-mate not to slice your face open with the shiv hidden in her mattress.

Hard liquor brings out the crazy in all of us, so for the sake of everyone who hates anything annoying, keep it in the bottle, (so to speak) and keep with the suds. And if that didn’t prove my point, watch “My New Haircut,” in which the biggest tool ever is just pounding the Jagerbombs…Jagerbombs…Jagerbombs. Need I say more?

The Anti-Beer

“Dude! Kegstand!”

“I don’t know, bro, I mean, I just ate and all. And I’ve already had too much to drink. Plus, I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Duuuuuuuuuuuude.”

“Okay, hold my legs.”

Does this sound like a typical conversation you might have more than twice daily? If so, I have bad news for you. You’re a beeroholic. Much worse than just a regular old alcoholic, beeroholics have suffered the plague of losing all normal functionality of their taste buds. Instead of a tasty glass of Mike’s Hard or a Bacardi Breezer, they opt for the “Urine of the gods” (patent pending) (patent pending on inserting patent pending after phrases one hopes to patent without actually filing for a patent or having a worthy cause for patent).

Well, I’ve got news for all you beeroholics. Contrary to popular belief……and brace yourselves for this…..the amount of beer you consume is not directly proportional to the amount of people who will take pleasure in your company.

To put it simpler for all you beeroholics who might actually be reading anything, let alone this article, drinking beer doesn’t make you cool. This may come as a shock to you, considering you were pretty sure that your wife-beater and fake tattoo (you know, the one that’s supposed to look like barbed wire) put you in a class with the likes of Emilio Estevez and Napoleon Bonaparte (that little French dude, not the guy with the crazy cool fro that MTV made a movie about).

I’m not exactly sure what people find so enjoyable about beer in the first place. Supposedly, though, you were by no means the first. Supposedly, ancient civilizations made beer thousands of years before America was even invented by Albert Einstein (the dude was a genius). I would’ve liked to see the initial reaction to that first sip ever taken of beer. I’m guessing it went something like this, with language changed to English for the sake of our readers:

Ancient Chinese Dude 1: So Peng Tao, I just created this new drink.

Ancient Chinese Dude 2: Oh yeah? What’s it called?

Ancient Chinese Dude 1: Beer. I used all the finest ingredients, so it must be good.

Ancient Chinese Dude 2: Alright, lemme give it a try. (takes a sip) Ancient Chinese Dude 1, this “beer” stuff tastes like urine.

Ancient Chinese Dude 1: Haha! Me Chinese, me play joke! Me go pee pee in your Coke!

Now, how this snowballed into a multi-billion dollar industry is quite clear. Ancient Chinese Dude 2 was obviously upset by the trick played upon him, and found the only logical next step to be performing this trick on three others, who then performed the trick on three others, until it turned into the hit Hollywood movie, “Pay It Forward.” And that, in a nutshell, is why I hate Haley Joel Osment.