The Drinking License

Yesterday we addressed the non-debate swarming around the legal drinking age. As usual, I have a much better way of approaching the question of when people should be allowed to drink.

Age limits are somewhat arbitrary. Not all twenty-one-year-olds are created equal. And what's so special about twenty-one, anyway? Do people magically wake up on the morning of their twenty-first with a suddenly more capable liver? And what's really the difference between eighteen and twenty-one? Has anyone ever met a twenty-one-year-old that's significantly more mature than he or she was at age eighteen? Why am I wasting an entire paragraph on what should probably be a bulleted list?

Yesterday I said I was against lowering the drinking age to eighteen. However, I'm a big advocate of offering a drinking test first available whenever the hell people want to take it. Like a driver's test, but not as easy. Applicants will be tested on:

• Rate of inebriation.
  
• Belligerence levels.
• Beer pong skills.
• Conversation style with random drunken strangers.
• Frequency of swaying, stumbling, teetering, and tottering.
  
• Beer goggle intensity.
• Puke and rally ratio.

Following this intense battery of tests, drinking licenses will be issued with ratings similar to driver's licenses. Like driver's licenses restrict motorists to only certain types of vehicles, drinking licenses will dictate the types and amounts of alcoholic beverages the bearer is legally allowed to order. The breakdown is as follows:

• Class S. S is for sober, stinky, and sad. This is the default.
  Drinks Allowed: O'Doul's. Cutter. Virgin Bloody Marys.
  Shots Allowed: Are you f'ing kidding me? Get it?!?!?! F'ing? Why the heck isn't anyone paying me to write this stuff yet?
• Class A. A is for amateur, asshole, and aren't-you-supposed-to-be-studying. Your generic douche bags and slut rockets who can't handle their liquor.
  Drinks Allowed: Shit light (up to four). Wine coolers (up to five). Captain and coke or Cape Codder (up to three).
  Shots Allowed: Kamikaze. Woo-Woo. Buttery nipple. Although the Cement Mixer is recommended.
• Class W. W is for wine-o. This is a special class of license similar to that of a motorcyclist.
  Drinks Allowed: Wine. Two bottles.
  Shots Allowed: Oh just put the bottle in a bag and go to town. I'll get you a straw if you want.
  
• Class B. B is for bonehead, bitch, and better-get-a-bucket. These people can handle their beer but should never, under any circumstances, be given liquor. To do so would be worse than feeding a mogwai after midnight. Your cute, curious, probably furry friend will immediately transform into an annoying tool shed that breaks shit, starts fight, and oozes all kinds of disgusting fluids.
  Drinks allowed: Beer. Any kind. As much as they want.
  Shots allowed: Irish Carbomb. It's mostly Guinness anyway.
• Class L. L is for lush, liver disease, and let's-go-back-to-my-place. The few. The proud. The ones who can handle their shit.
  Drinks allowed: Anything goes.
  Shots allowed: You don't even want to know.

Wow! As if you needed another reason to someday make me your corrupt mayor, unqualified school superintendent, sketchy governor, womanizing senator, or Director of Homeland Security!

Barpocalypse!

http://bostonherald.com/news/columnists/view.bg?articleid=1331312

Here's an article that caught me a bit by surprise. When's the last time you heard someone argue that the drinking age should actually be lowered? Leave it to the good old Herald to try to be provocative douche bags merely for the sake of trying to be provocative douche bags. Don't forget to read the article's comments for your daily dose of tea baggers turning a non-partisan issue into a discussion about how it's all Obama's fault!

I'm torn on this one. On the one hand...

• ...if there's a chance it might do some good by bringing the drinking out of the locked dorm room and into the bar, where drunk kids can be taught not to act like assholes by professional drunks who will punch them in the face when they get too stupid, why not give it a whirl?
• ...experts in the field agree that gold digging and cradle robbing rates will skyrocket, effectively tripling in six months or less. This is great news for dirty old men, NBA stars, and those of us for whom people watching is a spectator sport.
• ...it creates a whole new class of bar patron to make fun of.

But it's not all peaches and cream, and I'll tell you why, dagnabbit...

• ...incidents of man-on-jukebox violence due to overexposure to Justin Bieber will intensify seven-fold.
• ...many middle aged hoochies will find themselves either out of work or settling for men in a much lower income bracket (which, come to think of it, might actually be a good thing for most of the people I associate with).
• ...teenagers are stupid.

I think the cons have it. The thought of being in a bar full of eighteen-year-olds is enough to make me want to give up the booze and switch to cocaine. We cannot allow this to happen under any circumstances. It would be the barpocalypse, and I don't think I've got enough Maker's Mark stashed away to survive.

Things I can't do because I don't have an ass

Let's face facts: although I like to tell people who can't actually see my derriere that it is voluptuous and delicious, in truth, my butt is flatter than an Olson twin. There's just nothing there, and in certain situations this has proven to be a serious handicap.

• I can't sit in Fenway Park for more than three innings. I don't actually want to spend $8 on a warm Bud Light, but it gives me an excuse to get up and move around and let my cheeks de-compact themselves.
• I can't make it clap. I've tried. It doesn't work. Nor can I shake what my mama gave me or back that ass up. I can pop it and lock it, but under no circumstances can I properly drop it. My asslessness has relegated me to a rather pale set of dance moves that include the Sprinkler, the Lawnmower, the Bus Driver, and standing in the corner looking awkward and trying not to make eye contact. I'm really good at that last one.
  
• I can't ride the stationary bike for more than 20 minutes. This is not good for my physical fitness. I may start bringing one of those inflatable donuts.
• A round of birthday spanks is like a trip to Guantanamo Bay. No, thank you, I really don't need you slapping me in the ass bone 28 times. Just buy me a High Life or a shot of Jameson and go away.
• I can't take the atomic drop. It would probably break me in half. Just finish me with a DDT or a big elbow instead.
• I can't change the dead bulb in my ceiling light. NO THIS IS NOT BECAUSE I'M A LAZY SHIT. It's because I have nothing soft to land on in the event I fall off the ladder. Opening the curtains is easier, safer, and better for the environment anyway. And the ladder's all the way upstairs. And I don't remember where the light bulbs are. And the Red Sox are on. And I have things to do.
  

Perhaps someday, when my hordes of loyal blogonauts number in the thousands rather than somewhere in the low tens, I will host a benefit gala for the purpose of raising money for some butt implants. But then I'll probably just spend the money on beer and pretentious sandwiches with dumb names.

The World's Best Crapper

The Kohler Numi is so awesome it inspired not one but two blog posts! Very few things on this planet can get me this motivated to write. Most of them are some sort of liquor.

As amazing as the Numi is, it could be even better. Here are some features that should be added to make it even more perfect:

• Cup holder. Whoever forgot to include this in the original design is an idiot.
• Customizable entrance music. As noted in my previous post, the Numi can be configured to play its theme song when it detects someone approaching. It's a soothing, friendly tune accompanied by gently crashing ocean waves. But that's not going to help me get the job done. I want to be able to reprogram it to play something that will pump me up and get me ready to go to work. Something that will tell the digested remains of my lunch that it doesn't stand a chance and might as well just give up. Preferably something with a Lil Jon cameo. Oh, and I want fireworks, too.
• The Mr. Hanky Early Alert System. The Numi will tell you the progress of the things that are going down, but what it really needs is a means of alerting you to the arrival of things trying to come the other way. No more being surprised by Christmas poops or baby alligators that the rich neighbors ditched in the sewer.
• A less square design. This thing couldn't look anymore like an Ikea foot stool if it tried. My boycott of all things Swedish is still in full effect. Those bastards bulldozed Good Times. Put some curves on the Numi, please.
• Seat cooler. Ever sit down on the john immediately after a fat person used it, only to be greeted by that disgusting warm feeling radiating from the seat that says "Haha, someone else's ass was just here, and it was heavy and fat and now you're basking in its afterglow?" The seat cooler will automatically dissipate excess fatty heat to make your crapping experience as pleasant as possible.

This is the part where I would write a few sentences of conclusion if I felt like doing so. I don't. Be glad you even got this update, you ungrateful jerk.

I Know What I Want for Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!

Check it out!!!

Sweet Baby Mother F'ing Jesus. What force on this green earth could possibly be powerful enough, poignant enough, and bad ass enough to wake me up from my blogging malaise and spawn the first update in the month? A toilet with a touch screen and all kinds of ridiculous features, of course! It's as if heaven started delivering port-a-potties. Seriously, let's just run right down the list of features.

• Two different flush settings. One uses less water. Officially, this is just to appease the hippies and let the marketing folk use words like "eco-friendly." We all know the real reason this is attractive to your average consumer: because it's fun to flush things at different speeds. I had a burrito; do I need flush-eco or flush-full? What about during the morning after a trip to On the Hill Tavern? How many action figures can I flush with each setting? This feature will surely make the Numi a mainstay in high school science fairs sometime in the next ten years.
• Automatic cover lifting. If you stand in front of the thing, the seat raises for you. Then the entire thing closes when you're done. This is great if you live with someone who's easily frightened by the sound of a slamming seat.
• Adjustable bidet. F toilet paper. The bidet can even be programmed to clean itself every night, either with water or with UV rays. That's right, ladies and germs: this is the first toilet on the planet that could conceivably give you skin cancer if you stuck your head in it, making the swirly oh so much more threatening.
• Dryer. Again, F toilet paper. No longer shall your delicate bottom be scraped and scoured with extremely thin lumber byproducts! Air dry it, the way nature intended.
• It can be programmed to play its theme song when you enter the room. I'm not kidding. It says hello.
• Music. Because poop just comes out easier when you're listening to Ke$ha.
• Heated seat. Nobody likes a cold bum.
• Flush progress reports. That's right - it's got a gosh dern progress meter. No more tentatively lifting the lid to make sure the dessicated remains of last night's chili con carne made it all the way down.

And all this...ALL THIS...is controllable via touch screen. This is the most amazing thing on the planet. Thank you, Kohler, for making all of my commode dreams come true.

Author's Note: This is what happens when you drink tequila after working out for an hour.