There I was, sitting on the couch, nursing that impending feeling of doom that every teacher experiences exactly one week before summer vacation comes to an end. After enjoying two blissful months of traveling, sleeping in, and loads of drunken debauchery, the grim prospect of returning to work felt about as enjoyable as a handjob from Edward Scissorhands. I had this epiphany of sorts that I needed to accomplish something of great magnitude in my last week off from school. As any intelligent 25 year old would do, I decided to spend the entire week drinking the absolute cheapest, nastiest, scummiest booze a person can buy. I call this “The Poor Man’s Booze Review”, a critique of the most disgusting shit out there on the market today. I knew this task would require great sacrifice, and incredibly strong fortitude. But since I am a man of the people, I knew it would be worth it; my liver and I decided to accept the challenge.

Rules:

Like any good scientist, I had to set a number of controls for my experiment. Each drink was consumed in a state of complete soberness, and these reviews are based on only one container being consumed per day. This allowed me to accurately gauge the effects that the different drinks produced. I also made sure to keep careful and detailed notes during my drunken proceedings so that I could effectively blog about them at a later date. I will be giving five different drinks a grade (the teacher in me, I know) based on four distinct categories: Packaging, Taste, Buzz, and Overall Performance. Some other rules I put in place:

1. The product must be limited to one container only (poor people can only afford one of anything at a time, everyone knows that). No six packs or the like.

2. The booze must cost $4 or less (only the bourgeoisie spend more on alcohol)

3. The alcohol must be consumed straight out of the bottle (duh, poor people don’t drink out of cups)

4. You must be able to buy the drink at a gas station (this is where poor people always do their shopping because…everything costs more?)

Okay, let the games begin…

Schlitz Malt Liquor – 40 oz., 5.9% alc/vol, $1.79

The famous blue bull label

Packaging: With that blue bull on the label, it could only be Schlitz Malt Liquor. The dark brown glass of the bottle helps to mask its tepid contents from sight. Plus, let’s be real, anything with a huge bull on it is pretty sweet. The 40 oz. bottle is aerodynamically crafted to ensure maximum chugability and street cred. The problem is that the Schlitz name already carries a reputation for being a pretty nasty malt liquor. Your friends will probably not be impressed.    Grade: C+

Taste: My first sip initially tasted okay, but the sharp blade of the aftertaste lacerated my taste buds with no mercy. It goes from “Hey, this is okay…” to “OMFG this is gross” in approximately 2.4 seconds. Just like anything with alcohol in it I suppose, once I drank enough of it (past the neck and label in this case), I found the inner strength to at least finish it. I wish I could find something more positive to say about the taste, but “meh” seems to sum it up best.               Grade: C

Buzz: Once I had managed to choke down most of the swill, I could feel the familiar effects of malt liquor beginning to affect my behavior. Before I knew it, I found myself on Facebook trolling people’s status messages that I didn’t agree with. Once the last drops of the Schlitz reached my lips and I put the empty bottle down, I realized I was in the midst of a Republican vs. Democrat debate over God knows what, and even a “secondary teachers work harder than elementary school teachers” argument. I wasn’t even all that drunk is the thing, and yet I had managed to absorb the most argumentative aspects of malt liquor. Totally lame buzz. Grade: D

Overall Performance: For how gross this beer is, 5.9% alcohol just doesn’t justify forcing this crap down your throat. I just wasn’t very impressed. Also, let’s face it, you’re gonna get copious amounts of “are you fucking seriously drinking that?” looks from others while you’re sipping on this. The only upside to this brew is its incredibly low price, the cheapest brew that I ended up sampling in this review. If you’re looking to get cheap, shitty drunk, there are other brands out there that taste better and have a higher alcohol content.  Grade: C-

Vendange Wine (California Merlot) – 500 ML (3+ glasses),              13% alc/vol, $3.49

And you thought NOTHING could be cooler than a Capri Sun

Packaging: Wow, this shit is fucking awesome. It is literally a GIANT juice box of wine! Whomever invented this revolutionary concept of selling boozed up juice boxes to adults should be living a life of lavish riches and luxury at this point. It fits right in the palm of your hand, and the design of the packaging allows for some serious wine chugging. Only a game of smack-the-bladder can top the Vendange in terms of the speed and sheer power of the flow of wine out of this thing. I was drinking this at a friend’s house, and no shit, everyone there couldn’t get over how cool this juice box of wine was. Stellar work, Vendange; your vessel is both efficient and a great conversation piece.   Grade: A+

Taste: To be honest, this wine actually tastes pretty good by boxed standards. Now, by this I mean that the first sip tasted like antifreeze, but by the sixth or seventh gulp it started going down real smooth. I would even venture to say that it eclipses the legendary Franzia that we all know and love. Needless to say, I made quick work of the Vendange. Grade: B+

Buzz: This is the category that kills this particular beverage. As great as everything else about the product is, at the end of the day, you’re still only looking at 2/3 of a bottle of wine. It’s a nice, friendly buzz, but it’s about eight Metro stops away from Crunktown. A bum would still face a long, cold and bitter night ahead of him at the end of this beverage. Grade: D+

Overall Performance: I’m so conflicted when it comes to assigning a grade here. I was ready to crown the Vendange champion of cheap, shitty booze until I finished it. It just left me…wanting more…booze. This would be great for a day trip to the beach, but I gotta say it’s a temporary solution to a permanent problem if you’re broke and looking for your fix. You can’t overlook the novelty and functionality of the packaging, and as I said before, it really doesn’t taste bad at all. It’s just a bit pricey at nearly four bucks for something that won’t quite quench your lust for the sauce. Grade: B

Steel Reserve “High Gravity Lager” – 40 oz., 8.1% alc/vol, $2.19

The 211 mark is based on the medieval symbol for steel

Packaging: As I stared at this label and wiped the condensation off the icy cold bottle, the large capital letters of STEEL RESERVE and HIGH GRAVITY slapped me in the face as if to say, “Welcome to the Thunderdome, bitch.” The high alcohol content is prominently displayed on the bottle, and the steel background just oozes intimidation.  I have to be honest, there was a time in my younger days when I was actually a little afraid of drinking Steel Reserve. The 211 symbol adds an aura of mystery to the brew (which is conveniently explained to you on the inside of the label once you’ve drunk enough of it). Presentation is such an undervalued commodity in the cheap booze market. Grade: B+

Taste: This is definitely the chink in Steel Reserve’s armor; it’s pretty damn gross. The taste is unbelievably malty and hoppy in the worst way possible. The trick to drinking one of these is temperature; your 40 oz. MUST stay cold.  You do not sip a Steel Reserve, you pound a Steel Reserve. As long as you maintain your sprint to the finish, the beer should remain cold enough to numb some of the piss poor taste. Seriously, if this gets warm, your odds of puking will increase exponentially. I will say, however, that the combination of amazed accomplishment and sheer relief you feel when you do finish is strangely gratifying. Grade: C-

Buzz: This is where the Steel Reserve really starts to separate itself from some of the other members of the pack.  Even at halfway done I had a noticeable buzz that was actually very upbeat and pleasant, unlike the rough edges of the Schlitz buzz. Upon completion of the Steel Reserve I was definitely drunk, not wasted or anything, but satisfied for sure. This is the first drink out of the bunch so far that did not have me immediately reaching for another (normal) beer afterward. Bravo. Grade: A

Overall Performance: All things considered, I was actually quite impressed with the Steel Reserve’s showing. Sure, the taste is pretty nasty, but we’re talking about cheap booze here anyway, so it’s all going to taste like crap. If you can chug your way to the promised land, I can assure you that it is a beautiful place. That’s not even taking into account all of the baller points you’ll get for just being seen with this bad ass bottle of Steel Reserve in your hands. You really can’t go wrong with this. Grade: B+

MD 20/20 (AKA “Mad Dog), 750 ml, 13% alc/vol, $3.99

Just seeing the bottle makes me want to dry heave

Packaging: By far the weakest label out of the whole bunch. It’s very nondescript, no company information, no awesome back story as to how MD 20/20 got it’s name. I have to squint to read the amount of alcohol that is present. Even the description of the flavor, “Red Grape Wine”, just screams that you are in for one shitty experience ahead of you. It’s almost as if they attempted to take themselves seriously, with the result of totally alienating their target audience (homeless people, poor college students, completely bored young professionals on summer vacation with too much time on their hands). Grade: D

Taste: Wow. And not a good wow either. This is a VERY, very bad wow. If the Vendange initially tasted like antifreeze, then Mad Dog tastes like gasoline with three heaping tablespoons of suck. The burn is downright awful right from the get go, and it really doesn’t get any better as you keep drinking. And just for the record, I cannot taste the grapes. In the beginning, Mad Dog will have you immediately wondering whether you will make it to the end without barfing. By about 2/3 of the way through, I was willing to completely renounce my atheism if any God were to swoop down and save me from my cursed fate. The last ten swigs or so were all literally followed by me wincing in pain and moaning expletives. This shit is bunk. Grade: D-

Buzz: Well, if your number one goal is to get drunk, than Mad Dog is surely for you. After I (somehow) finished it, I was sloppy drunk. And not the fun kind of sloppy drunk, where you have the time of your life monopolizing the karaoke microphone at the bar, singing your favorite country songs from your childhood. I’m talking that completely dirty, bottom of the barrel drunk that makes you feel like you really need to just go sit on a street corner and get a cardboard sign with “SPARE CHANGE” written on it. Even when you’re drunk, you can sense in your stomach that you are going to feel like absolute hell in the morning. But hey, to Mad Dog’s credit, the name of the game here is getting drunk, and in large part this low-end fortified wine accomplishes its mission. Grade: B-

Overall Performance: Stay the hell away from this crap. I’m serious. Screw waterboarding, just make the terrorists chug Mad Dog day in and day out. I guarantee that they will tell us anything we need to know; Bin Laden’s hideout won’t be so “secret” anymore, I can tell you that. Not only will you feel like a dirty person after drinking Mad Dog, but you will actually become a disgrace to society when you drink it. The only redeeming quality I can mention is that it will get you totally lit. But even a huge drunk like myself can’t bear to accept the consequences that go with it.  Grade: D+

Joose (Jungle Joose flavor), 23.5 oz, 9.9% alc/vol, $2.99

Welcome to the Jungle

Packaging: Jungle Joose comes in a “tall boy” style can that is adorned with exquisite artwork depicting, from what I can tell, a series of skeletons and flowers having sex with each other. Alright, so the artwork isn’t stellar, but at least they made an attempt at making an attractive label. They are also very clear on what you’re in for: an energy booze drink that packs a tremendous punch (nearly ten percent alcohol). Plus, anything that actually says “jungle juice” on it is going to grab my attention in a good way (pleasant flashbacks of JMU immediately come to mind). Hey, a pick-me-up energy boost and a shit ton of booze? You can count me in. Grade: A-

Taste: The first thing I noticed about the Jungle Joose was that it was…green?! What the hell? I have drunken a lot of jungle juice in my day, and every single time it was red. My brain was a little taken aback by that inconsistency, and the initial taste was slightly bitter. But once you have had a few sips of this stuff and your palette adjusts, this stuff actually tastes awesome. I’m not even exaggerating here…after about three sips I was housing this shit, lapping up its sweet boozy contents like a thirsty dog. I crushed this can of Joose in easily half the time it took me to finish any of the others. I would even go as far to say that drinking this was actually enjoyable. Fuck yeah, Joose. Grade: A

Buzz: The idea of combining energy drink and alcohol was pure genius (Joose was not the first, as fas as I know it was Sparks). When I cracked open my can of Joose, I was totally dragging ass from a long summer day of frisbee golf and playing videogames. After I was about half done, not only was I already feeling a steady buzz but I was totally wide awake. By the end of the can, I was noticeably drunk and ready to light the town afire. This is a double-edged sword, however, as it is both Joose’s strength and its weakness. Some quick math tells us that Joose has 10% @ ~24 oz  which equals about four 5% beers (remember, Bud Light is 4.2%). Couple that with a good taste that allows for quick consumption, and you’re gonna be feeling drunk afterward. While that is a great thing, the energy drink component of Joose gets you kind of jacked up and immediately ready for more booze. On the one hand, Joose is great at getting you drunk, but on the other hand it always leaves you wanting more. But hey, at this point I’m just nitpicking. Grade: A-

Overall Performance: I can’t say enough about how much I love Joose. In my opinion, it is the holy grail of pregame drinking, the perfect amount of alcohol to get you drunk and amped up to really have a good time at the bar. I have had some prior experience with Joose, and I can say that some of the other flavors are even better (orange, for example). The only thing that stands between Joose and a perfect score is the fact that you can never be truly satisfied with just a Joose by itself, even though it does a great job of getting you crunk. Like a child that has been given just one piece of candy, you just can’t stop after one. But hey, it’s hard to hate on a brand of booze that’s so good that you want more of it. Grade: A-

Closing Awards

Most Likely To Lose Your Job If You Drink One Everyday For A Week:             MD 20/20

Most Likely To Be Asked If You Need Food Stamps:    Schlitz Malt Liquor

Most Likely To Get You “In The Zone” (i.e. Awesome Enough To Bring A Girl Home):    Joose

Most Likely To Make People Afraid To Fuck With You:    Steel Reserve

Most Likely To Combine Booze With A Fond Childhood Memory:    Vendange

[all pics in this story are mine except for the homeless drunk guy pic]

This was a totally random friend request I got on Facebook today. I couldn’t help but laugh at this poor guy’s name. Even though I usually never accept a friend request from a rando, I accepted this one out of sheer sympathy.  Needless to say, something tells me I won’t be “poking” Pablo anytime soon…

Notthattheresanythingwrongwiththat.

The story is always the same when you meet the most amazing girl in the world. She walked in the room, and even though just looking at how beautiful she was made you nervous, you knew you had to talk to her. Three drinks and an hour later, it slowly dawns on you that this angel with the aqua blue eyes and the incredible smile is actually digging you. And not in that “I’m wasted, and I’m clearly going to fuck you” kind of way, either. I’m talking about an immediate connection that is electric, full of hope and fear and dizziness and excitement in such a way that you know your life will never be the same. This is how meeting a future girlfriend works; she will always feel like the most amazing girl in the world. Even though it ends up being wrong every time (so far), part of being a human being is accepting the illusion.

Inevitably you start dating, and everything is just dandy. Bar attendance plummets, odds of watching “Grey’s Anatomy” increase exponentially, and your friends will grow increasingly worried about who is really in possession of your balls. You and the girl will spend outrageous amounts of time watching movies, constantly hearing about her period, going out to eat, driving her around, listening to the minute details of every one of her godforsaken days, and just generally being completely up each others asses. Every relationship has its apex, it’s only sad that we never get to recognize and appreciate it until the slope of our love curve changes to negative. Whether your relationship ends suddenly, or whether it dies a slow and painful death, the end result is the same: BREAKUP.

Now you could try to be a mature person about the breakup, but we all know how completely unrealistic that is. Look at it this way: was the Soviet Union still cool with the Nazis after Hitler broke their peace treaty and attacked the Russians? Hell no, the breaking of a treaty (or a long-term relationship) clearly means war. After the breakup has commenced, any remaining loyalties should be considered useless. If love is a battlefield, then the breakup is the decisive battle, motherfucker (Samuel Jackson voice). Here’s how to win it:

• Initiate the Breakup: This will be the first skirmish of the long breakup war. Obviously, if things are going poorly in the relationship and there’s no salvaging it, you need to be the one to initiate the breakup. This immediately puts you in a very advantageous position when trying to win this bitter contest. If you were the one to get dumped, don’t worry, victory is not lost, you will just have to run tight breakup game to recover your position. When getting dumped, act disappointed, but not wounded. Make her feel sorry without being pathetic in any way. When you see her getting emotional and she starts crying, suddenly start emphasizing how excited you are about “starting a new chapter in your life with so many opportunities”. Executing the “this is actually a good thing” ambush once the inevitable tears flow just might salvage you some breakup points.

• Cut Off All Direct Contact: This is such a key facet of winning the breakup. Any direct communication with the ex will weaken you in her eyes. If you are going to talk to her, wait until she calls/texts you, and ignore at least one of them before responding. There is nothing more powerful than insisting that she can have no part of you whatsoever. You will have to take the necessary precautions of deleting her number out of your phone and removing (not blocking) her from your buddy list. One or two drunk texts is all it takes to be declared the loser of a breakup. Don’t worry about losing her number forever…if you completely ignore her, she WILL call you.

• Use Facebook as a Weapon: The use of facebook to supplement your game is one of the social networking site’s well known benefits. The site is even more effective, however, in gaining precious breakup points. First, change your settings so that even when you sneeze it will be shown in the news feed. Your goal over the next month or so is to tag yourself in as many photos with girls as humanly possible. Make sure to comment on the photos in ambiguously sexual ways too for bonus points. Example: “Wow, after those shots things got crrrrrrazy that night ” You will also need to start some wall dialogue with girls she doesn’t know very well. Facebook is a double edged sword, however, so be careful. It’s going to be painful seeing all of the horny ass dudes who will start hitting her up because they know she’s single now. No one said that winning the breakup would be easy.

• Lobby for the Mutual Friends: If you have dated long enough, there will inevitably be at least a small group of mutual friends that actually tolerated you and your girlfriend’s nauseating games of grab ass or “I love you more”.  You will have to strike quickly to get these people on your side. They will pretend that they aren’t going to take sides, and that is certainly the angle that you will project onto them. But deep down, we all know that when the dust of the breakup has settled, the friends must choose. Delicately feed them propoganda about how she used to talk shit about them. Since being someone’s friend essentially means you just talk less shit about them, you should be able to pull some ripe quote your ex made in the past. When she loses friends because she broke up with you, that is a major point boost to your breakup score.

• Bang a New Girl(s): Nothing will score you more breakup points than this tactic, albeit if the timing and execution is perfect. First, we aren’t talking about getting a new girlfriend. Doing so off of a fresh breakup really only exudes desperation, and will make her feel more vindicated about her new found life without you. But if you casually date one or more girls, and are able to rub it in her face when you run into her at the bar (with class, of course), your odds of winning the breakup will soar. It’s interesting how quickly you can get over somebody you loved so much when someone new comes along. But Jesus Christ you better be the first one to do this, because if she beats you to this punch, it’s going to be a tough blow.

• Secure Any Possessions That Were Once Deemed “Shared”: To be honest with you, I just threw this one in here because I’m bitter about losing Guitar Hero III (we’re talking guitar and game) in a breakup. God, I lost so many breakup points over that shit.

Winning the breakup is not about being a total dick to your ex. To truly win a breakup, yes, you need to score points in a manipulative fashion, but you also have to do it with the appearance of class. Greeting your ex with a smile on your face when you run into them, even when it hurts more than anything, is essential to winning the breakup. I know a lot of you are probably wondering: how do you know when you finally win the breakup? The goal is to look like you are having the time of your life without her, while hiding that you’re being an asshole about it. Once you do that, and once you really believe it, and you accomplish all of this before she does, then you have won the breakup.

[pic]

1. Spilling a Drink (as long as no one sees them):

There is some special property of booze that usually guarantees at least one spill of some kind during the evening. We’ve all been there…once the drunken spill has occurred, everyone has the same first move: check for witnesses. If no one saw you and it’s on carpet, not one drunk person on the planet is going to report the infraction. Of course if the spill is discovered, it’s all about plausible deniability. In desperate times when you’ve been cornered as the definite culprit of the strange wet spot on the floor, the veteran drunk will fess up but make the case that it was water.

2. Peeing All Over the Toilet:

I don’t know what it is, but for some reason alcohol has the unfortunate side effect of causing guys to pee everywhere on the toilet except in it. I hope you enjoy those valuable two seconds you are saving by refusing to aim for the bowl. Believe me, there’s nothing that I love more than cleaning up other people’s pee caked on my toilet. Girls are not immune to this necessarily; they treat the bathroom nicely under normal circumstances, but if it’s a party or a public restroom, the girls can be just as bad as the boys.

3. How Drunk They Are:

I love listening to a drunk person try to persuade someone else that they aren’t intoxicated. It’s about as convincing as a Prom Promise signed by Miley Cyrus. If the drunk is insisting on driving home for some reason, it’s just best to convince them to stay for one more beer/shot, which will give you ample time to steal their keys and wait for them to pass out on your couch.

4. Sending Texts to the Ex:

When text messaging was invented, drunk dialers around the world rejoiced. No longer were they required to leave the room to make their regretful phone calls, drawing the ire of their friends and missing out on all the fun. Now the party can continue unabated while the drunk gets to text “I miss u <insert gag-inducing pet name>” to their ex. When called out, the drunk will become very defensive and make a lame attempt to lie about it, and then mysteriously “call it a night” exactly twelve minutes later.

5. Eating Random Food From Your Kitchen:

Not one person who drinks can tell me that they haven’t raided the kitchen of someone they didn’t know on the late night at some party. What’s really funny is that what gets eaten is largely a function of how much time the drunk has before somebody spots them. If I’m shitfaced and the host goes to the bathroom, I’m rifling through the cabinet hoping I find a bag of Doritos that I can take a ridicuolously sized handful of and quickly stuff into my mouth. If the host has gone to play cards in the other room, then I am totally microwaving your Outback leftovers with absolutely zero sense of guilt. When confronted about the theft of your cuisine, I will blatantly deny it as I drunkenly lick the last remnants of your Bloomin’ Onion off of my fingers.

6. The Imminent Swamp Donkey Hook Up

You all know exactly what I’m talking about. Maybe you got caught up at the beer pong table for thirty minutes, leaving your wingman on their own for a bit. The next thing you know, your friend has his hand on the fattest girl in the room’s ass. The drunken denial in this situation is extremely powerful. A drunk guy could have his hand up the skirt of a 304 while concurrently looking at me in the face and telling me there is no way he is going to hook up with her. It’s a desperate last-ditch effort to save face, even though the drunk knows full well what is going to happen. In this situation, it is always more entertaining to “agree,” and then sit back and laugh as you watch your drunk friend suck face with Swamp Thing five minutes later.

7. The Plans They Are Making For Tomorrow Morning Will Never Happen:

I have never really understood this phenomenon, but it seems as if the drunker you are, the earlier you make plans with someone for the next day. What’s really funny is that not only is there a plan to wake up at some ungodly hour, but it ALWAYS involves McDonald’s breakfast followed by some outrageous physical activity like hiking or raquetball. I’ve noticed that when two drunk people make plans, there is almost never any follow-up with it the next day. Both parties see the futility of the situation and don’t bother to discuss it.

8. Being Wrong

All I have to say is thank fucking god for the internet and laptops, because I’m fairly certain they prevent 37,000 drunken fights per year. The rule for drunken arguments is this: the more petty the disagreement, the more heated it will become. Once the “answer box” (i.e. laptop with internet access) has proven one party wrong, the drunk will mutter a string of obscenities followed by a lame attempt to question the validity of the source. Popular examples include “anyone can write anything on Wikipedia, you can’t even cite it in a paper” and “and what year is that data from?”

[PIC]

I believe the proper spelling is "turkey nuggets"

This comes to me from a friend of a friend that teaches sixth grade in an inner city public school in Philadelphia. The student was instructed to write an essay on school lunch. This be hilarious.

Now is the time to strike.

The post Election Day climate in this country is a unique and fascinating thing that I’m glad I only have to relive once every four years. That last month leading up to the election is pretty intense: attack ads flying multiple times every commercial break, non-stop cable news coverage, political debates amongst everyone (even those that normally couldn’t care less about politics). The tension and hatred between the supporters of Democrats and Republicans really reaches a tipping point by the time Election Day rolls around. It’s a recipe for a tremendous uplifting feeling of joy for the winners, and a bitter cold emotional letdown for the losers. 

There is no better time to bang a Republican girl than in the next week or so. Anyone who has seen Wedding Crashers learned from Will Ferrell’s character that the total money spot for picking up chicks is at a funeral. The pain, the sorrow,  that frozen feeling of empty in the pit of your soul; these are feelings that I equate with the loss of a loved one or the defeat of your party in a presidential election. What this means is that essentially there are millions of Republican girls out there that are emotionally ripe for a lay. These are girls, mind you, that will be totally willing to dress up as Sarah Palin before fucking you. Do not underestimate the value of this.

That conservative girl at the bar that just passes your minumum Area Code threshold is much like a wounded antelope in the grasslands of Africa. Like any self-respecting lion, men need to pounce on the kill while the opportunity is there. I don’t want to hear any B.S. about staying loyal to your party’s beliefs, either. The last time I checked, guys will spit ungodly amounts of bullshit to get into a girl’s pants, and this will be no exception. Sex transcends all party lines, at least on the path between the bar and the bedroom. Here’s how you are going to star in your own version of “Nailin’ Palin:”

• The first task you have is to figure out which girls are the Republicans. While this may seem like a difficult task, it’s actually much easier than you think. Just walk up to her and after figuring out your in, say to her, “Can you believe that Obama won?” As long as you add the emphasis in a neutral manner, her reaction will be a dead giveaway.

• The next step is to determine how political this girl is, as your approach will vary depending upon the answer. Her response to the Obama question should tell you whether she’s a diehard neo-con or whether she’s just regurgitating what the money machine (i.e. Daddy) has been telling her. If she knows what she’s talking about, then you need to use the phrases “Ronald Reagan,” “pork-barrel spending,” and “the evils of socialism” as frequently as possible. Also, slip in a “trickle-down economics” sex joke to let her know that you mean business. If she’s just some dumb girl that voted for McCain for god knows what reason, then congratulations, because this is going to be a cakewalk. Just use the words, “Obama,” “terrorist,” and “9/11″ in the same sentence and you will captivate any uninformed Republican.

• Once you’ve gotten through all of the usual small talk that Republicans engage in about the laziness of the poor and such, you will need to make a power move to seal the deal. Here is where you really need to exploit the post-election vulnerability in the Republican girl. Play to her emotional side by lamenting how painful and difficult the next four years are going to be. You have to imagine that you are gaming a girl that just got out of a relationship with her boyfriend, as your approach will be quite similar. You are the one and only vessel that can navigate her out of the depths of despair. You want your Republican girl to feel like you are the Karl Rove to her George W. Something as simple as a personal invitation to come back to your place and read Drudge Report could go a long way.

• Now that you’ve talked her into coming home with you, make sure to rip out an Obama yard sign on the way back for dramatic effect. This is what we in the industry call “the clincher.” Once she’s in the door, grab a couple of drinks and make a toast to 2012 as you look deep into her eyes and give her your best “maverick” face. I think I can leave the steps that will inevitably follow up to you. Just make sure you leave Fox News on while you bang, it’ll keep her coming back.

Guys, now is the time to put aside our partisan differences, and come together as countrymen. Whether you are a Democrat, Republican, or Independent, we need to extend our hands across party lines and do what’s best for this nation: give these Republican women the rogering that they truly deserve. Our window of opportunity is limited, as the sting of McCain’s loss will begin to wear off in about a week or so. And then you may never get that unforgettable opportunity to screw a girl in a Palin costume.

[pic]

As some of you may know, I teach middle school for a living. Obviously, the presidential election has been a major focus of our Civics class this year. In the spirit of the season, I had my students make campaign posters in support of their favorite candidate. I received these two gems that could very well serve as legitimate attack ads for either campaign, and I just had to share them with you guys. Make sure to click on the pics for zoomed in images of the posters.

Obama Campaign Poster

Obama Supporters vs. McCain Supporters

Notice the license plate of the Obama supporter reads: “I love my hybrid.” The license plate of the McCain supporter (obviously driving a Hummer or some other big-ass SUV) reads: “I hate the planet.” I couldn’t make up shit this funny if I tried.

McCain Campaign Poster

Change we can believe in?

Please note the caption in the first panel entitled ‘High School’ that has Obama saying, “Dude, I am sooooo high now.” In the second panel, Obama is saying “I am a successful person.” The last panel is supposed to be a podium that a presidential candidate would be speaking from.

It’s stuff like this that makes me love my job to death.

I was having a discussion with a friend of mine recently about how much things have changed since our parents were twenty-somethings. Most of my friends’ parents were married and had at least one kid (often more) by the time they were my age. When I look at how my parents lived their twenties, I struggle to imagine myself taking the same path they did. In this day and age, what I call the “modern mindset” has emerged among the young, professional crowd. My goal is to try and define exactly what the modern mindset entails, and how it has greatly improved the quality of life for those of us in our twenties and early thirties.

If you had to nail down one aspect that truly defines the modern mindset, then it is the new perspective on marriage. It is truly comical to imagine myself married at the ripe age of twenty-four. For our parents, however, college was the place you met your future husband or wife, and the wedding and babies were to commence immediately upon graduation. In the modern mindset, there is absolutely NO reason to get married before the age of twenty-five (I recommend waiting longer).

If you ask me, there is entirely too much changing and growing up that goes on for people my age to make that ultimate commitment too early in the ballgame. I have a theory that divorce rates in this country will eventually drop as the modern mindset becomes more widespread, with more people waiting until they are older to tie the knot. There’s nothing wrong with having a serious gf/bf, as relationships serve as batting practice for the game that really counts. But to suggest that you are fully capable of determining compatibility for lifelong companionship in your early twenties is foolish. There is a 100% chance that the person who you marry at twenty-one will be COMPLETELY different from the person they will become by the time they turn thirty. Plan accordingly.

While we are on the subject of love, let’s discuss how the modern mindset has changed the dating scene. In our parents’ day, you dated one person at a time. If you didn’t then you were at the very least immoral, and if you were a woman, you were a straight-up whore. The modern mindset not only allows, but encourages young people to date more than one person at the same time. This does not make it okay to cheat on your bf/gf, but simply to casually date as many people as you’d like if you don’t have a commitment. Dating new and different people gives you a chance to truly understand what it is that you want and don’t want in a life partner.

When I was young and new to the drinking scene in high school, I thought that Bud Light was the best beer. I mean, it tasted like water, so it was so easy to drink! After many, many years of experience drinking beers, however, I came to realize that cheap American beer serves a particular purpose, but is by no means the “be all, end all” of beer. I argue that casually dating as much as possible is kind of like sampling beers from all over the world. If you only drank a few different kinds of beer in your lifetime, you would have a false impression that Bud Light is the best beer that you can drink. If you only date a small number of people before you marry, how do you know that there isn’t a Magic Hat #9 out there somewhere that you never even knew existed?

To complete our study of love and the modern mindset, we have to examine the whole “having kids” situation. Here’s the rule: DON’T HAVE THEM YOUNG. Nothing can ruin a good marriage like having kids too early. I find it scary that I can barely afford to take care of myself and have enough money to enjoy a limited amount of entertainment, let alone paying for someone else’s entire existence. If you have kids too young, then your life is over. I hate to be blunt, but the fact remains that doing so is very much a case of cashing in your chips too early. Kids are awesome, but having them too early can lead to inordinate amounts of stress or complete degradation of your social life, finances, and your relationship/marriage.

The modern mindset dictates that you really need to attend college and attain at least a four-year degree. I understand that not everyone needs to go to college to make a good living. In fact, I have several friends that never went to college that make a good living, making more money than I do as a teacher. The fact remains though that you gain a lot of academic and social knowledge that is imperative to the full appreciation of the life lived through the modern mindset. If your parents won’t pay for college, take out student loans to make it happen. Not only did I have outrageous amounts of fun drinking my ass off, but I learned a lot of valuable life lessons.  I also made a lot of permanent connections that will serve me well in a life that is viewed through the lens of the modern mindset. I will not date a girl that does not have a college degree or is not about to attain one.

The modern mindset perspective not only applies to love and education, it extends to our careers as well. Our parents got jobs out of college and held onto them for many, many years before even considering a change. Not so for the contemporary twenty-something, who will typically change jobs every three years or so. What in the past was viewed as ship-jumping is now seen as resourcefulness for always looking to improve upon the situation you are currently in. This results in employers having to do more to try to convince us talented young professionals to continue working for them. Job conditions and salaries will generally improve as more people adopt the modern mindset (assuming the economy’s tailspin is only semi-permanent). The key is that this new way of approaching our careers has the end result of a greater enjoyment with our jobs, which is so utterly essential to the quality of life.

While we are on the subject of jobs, I think it’s important to discuss the relationship between your career and marriage. The modern mindset tells us that one should have their career in a stable place before taking on the responsibility of marriage and children. Marriage (from what I hear) involves an enormous amount of dedication and effort to make it work; the last thing you need is the stress of financial uncertainty or job apathy to make it that much harder. I’m willing bet that there are a lot of young, married couples out there that don’t end up making it in large part because they end up bitching about money all the time. And if your career isn’t in a stable and successful place, good fucking luck being a happy parent.

That stage after college, before you completely settle down, is a sweet flavor that must be savored like a premium microbrew or a savory cut of prime rib. Whereas in the past there was an enormous amount of social pressure to settle down quickly, the modern mindset has granted us the freedom to not only find ourselves, but to give us room to thrive in our love lives and careers. I think that as more people get on board with this perspective, we will find a happier society as a whole, with longer-lasting marriages and a better life for our future children. The modern mindset isn’t the only way to live out your twenties, but it’s most certainly the best way.

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About a month ago, I had the pleasure of going back to visit my alma mater, James Madison University. Now I’m not exactly sure what older alumni do when they return to their old college campus. Take a walking tour of the grounds, point out to their kids which dorm they lived in, have a meal in the dining hall for old time’s sake, and maybe if they’re feeling randy, a stop at that favorite pub for a few pints in the evening. When you’re in your mid-twenties like me, however, the standard operating procedure is to dive right in just like it was senior year all over again. I’m young enough to still blend in with the college students at parties, avoiding the label of “that old ass dude” that is undoubtedly present at every keg party. At the same time though, I am old enough to utilize my superior wisdom and experience to theoretically make a killing on the coeds. What I found in my most recent visit back to good old JMU, however, was that I was going to commit an error that shrunk me to back to the status of a lowly freshman in one fell swoop.

It was an unseasonably warm Friday night in September, and we were pregaming at one of our buddies’ place before heading out to the house party circuit in Harrisonburg. While I was in school, I had always prided myself on being a pretty good beer pong player. In lieu of mentioning my hall of fame beer pong moments from my glory days as an undergrad (real or imagined), we’ll just say that I was a player that could always hold his own on the table. Now a common rule of beer pong is that if you get skunked (you lose the game without sinking a single cup), you and your partner have to do a naked lap around the house or apartment building. 

The naked lap rule is something that was invented many years ago by a bunch of dudes over a case of Natty Light who realized that the world needed yet another excuse for drunk girls to take their clothes off at a party. The naked lap rule is kind of like sleeping with a fat girl. You think it will never happen to you, and you will ridicule others for it to no end given the chance. Then one morning, you’ll wake up with that unusually piercing hangover and roll over to find that Shamu has somehow escaped from Sea World and has sought refuge in your bedroom. Having to run a naked lap is just as demoralizing and embarrassing as having to make sure the girl you brought home last night stays wet until you drop her back off at the ocean in the morning.

So anyway, my beer pong partner that evening was a good friend of mine by the name of T-Bone, another traditionally solid pong player. As you may have guessed by now, by some act of God we get skunked and are immediately called upon to run the naked lap. Now let me set the stage for you: we are at a gathering of about 25 people, equally split between guys and girls. I only know about a quarter of the people there, and there were plenty of cute girls that I had yet to meet. 

My first reaction was to just completely ignore this request for a naked lap, employing the “stay very still and quiet so the T-Rex doesn’t see rip your face off” strategy. I tried to downplay the situation as much as possible, and even slipped outside to “make a phone call” to buy myself some more time. Apparently, I completely underestimated the people’s demand to see me naked. I walk back inside and what started out with three guys demanding me to own up had now grown to every person looking right at me waiting for me to drop trough. My reluctance to do it was only made worse by my beer pong partner’s complete willingness and excitement about running the naked lap. After realizing that I was only making things worse by delaying the inevitable, I agree upon the condition that I get to cover my manhood with my boxers which I get to hold in my hand. 

So the entire party moves to the front porch, and I immediately grow worried at the number of digital cameras that are present amongst the crowd. I slip behind the corner of the house, strip down, and start sprinting after T-Bone, who had already begun charging down the block. Camera flashes are going off, and I soon realize in my dead sprint that the townhouse is connected to other units for what seemed like a half-mile. It was a long run, but I was kind of drunk, and for a moment it actually felt good. Yeah, no one wants to have to run a short marathon across a housing complex buck naked, but it was strangely liberating for a moment. That is, until reality hit me in the face.

I had turned the corner and was running down the home stretch behind the townhouses. It had rained the last couple of days, so the ground was wet and pretty muddy. When I approached the balcony of the house I started from, I immediately saw the paparazzi waiting with cameras flashing like I was Jamie Lynn Spears’ second baby bump. In the midst of a full sprint and trying to cover my face and my manhood so as to preserve a shred of my dignity when this shit ends up on facebook, I slipped and completely BIT IT in the mud on the final turn around the townhouse. Now everyone is pointing and laughing hysterically at me, where I then proceed to fall three times in a row in the mud. Like a cartoon character whose legs are moving to fast for its body, I couldn’t find traction in the wet mud. Amongst loud shouts and laughter, I finally made it to the front of the house, naked lap complete. This was somehow not, however, the end of my embarrassment. 

I’m standing on the front porch in my boxers, completely covered in mud and unable to come inside without covering the house in mud. Except now everyone has gone back to drinking and having a good time. Here I am in my underwear and covered in mud, meekly standing at the door asking someone who lives there to bring me a towel. I think it was at that moment when every girl in the house turned, looked at me, and confidently decided that there was exactly a zero percent chance that they would sleep with me. Even after escaping to the shower where I could wash off the mud and change my clothes, I noticed that on my ass I had scratches that literally could have come from a bear mauling. For the next week, the simple act of sitting in a chair caused outrageous amounts of pain and gave me a constant reminder of my utter drunken stupidity from the previous weekend.

Despite the unyielding embarrassment, the alienation of every girl within a half-mile radius, and the tough injuries I sustained, in the end the naked lap was an interesting experience. I learned that even I was capable of being skunked in a game of beer pong. I also fulfilled a rite of passage in life that I had missed out on while I was in college: getting naked and streaking in public. And until I completely lost it in the quicksand-like final turn of the naked lap, there really was a window of time where I was having a little fun. By the end of the night, however, when I was sleeping on a futon, no girl in tow and with my right butt cheek and leg searing with pain, I realized the true importance that one god damn beer pong cup can have.

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PLEASE don't go home with Greasy Space Invader

Admittedly, this site is both hilarious and accurate with its in-depth perceptions of the opposite sex, but I think the time has come to put one on the board for the girls. Not in a feminist “I wish I was capable of asexual reproduction” kind of way, but more of a way to give helpful insight into what girls typically deal with on a weekend night. My friends and I have had the pleasure of being approached by the good, the bad, and the ugly while out having drinks and fun. After a few shots of <insert name of fruity concoction>, it becomes necessary to discern who exactly is buying you those drinks. Are you going to wake up at 6am and be forced to cab it home in heels and an XL frat party t-shirt, or is it a match made in diet and rum heaven? Let’s hope for the latter. After being both an active participant and an amused bystander on the social scene, I have come up with four categories of guys that will give you a reason to have your local cab company on speed dial.

The Overconfident Narcissist – You know this guy, everyone knows this guy because he makes it a point to talk about himself 92% of the time. This amount of “I” statements is generally only found in therapy sessions, yet I’m not getting paid $75/hour to listen to him extrapolate on his many glowing achievements in life. Just got a big promotion, did ya? Captain of your college lacrosse team, huh? Do some modeling on the side, really? Let me teach you a new word: overcompensation. You should go ahead and reserve that red convertible for your mid-life crisis.  Maybe a mail-order bride too.

The Trust Fund Bro or Aging Philanthropist – Frequent any clubs lately? If so, you have met this guy, and you are fully aware within 5 minutes of how many cars/boats/houses/electronics he owns…wait, no, his parents own. Save your breath, Brody Jenner- I’m not remotely interested in a 20-something who brags about a playboy lifestyle that is daddy-funded. Do some respectable work and then maybe I won’t smirk in your face. For now, I’ll allow you to know your role and buy me and my friends drinks. Even worse is the senior citizen who wants to buy me shots, and then purses, and then boobs. Utilize the Viagra another day, pal.

The Muted Shy Guy - This type of guy is a mystery to me. I’m sure Maxim or Manswers informed him that having a wingman will grant him VIP access into Club Female, but unfortunately, I’m not into threesomes. Sending your seemingly cooler friend over to test the waters is never the way to go, because I will deny being fluent in English after hearing any sentence starting with “Hey, so my friend over there…”  Your friend over there what? Doesn’t have balls? Doesn’t have a tongue? Call me picky, but I find those appendages to be kind of necessary, so go ahead and report back complete and utter disinterest, thanks.

The Greasy Space Invader – Oh man. This guy. You think that if you make 100% eye contact 110% of the time you’re talking to me, I will be dying to take Jagerbombs and head back to Jersey with you? Wrong- I will label you a creeper and give my friends the secret signal to get me away from you. Your seemingly casual touch on my arm or waist does not make me feel the spark of our immediate connection; it makes me want to break out my antibacterial hand sanitizer. Your whispering in my ear severely tests my gag reflex. Take the hint- I’m not backing away because I’m playing hard to get, I’m just allergic to your hair gel and teeth whitener.

And there we have it, four categories of what not to do, boys. Sorry if I wounded any egos or destroyed anyone’s game in the process, but think of this information as helpful hints. Maybe make some flashcards and review them with friends while watching UFC. Guys, if you have a different approach that is not listed above and you think it’s working for you, please do share. Gals, are there any other types of guys that you cannot stand meeting out at the bar?

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