Every guy has had that moment when this question runs through his little reptilian one-track mind...

Should I buy that chick a beer?

Understandably, greenbacks are in short supply. I get that.

If you choose the wrong girl and squander all the precious beer money, you’ll be sober, poor, and horny.

BUT...

... should you miss buying the right girl a beer (and believe me, "right" goes wayyyy beyond the simple possession of a vagina!) you might miss out on a golden opportunity (no sexual innuendo there, perv!).

Here are ten reasons you should buy me -- a real live woman, not a blow-up doll like the one crammed under your bed! -- a beer.

Of course, I'm not going to really be there (please, God, please...) but these tips work on just about every lass hanging near the bar.

And, yes, we have covert discussions about this in the lady's room all the time.

Jennn Fusion's...

TEN REASONS YOU SHOULD BUY ME A BEER!

1. Because Wine will make me sloppy.

You’ll probably have to pick me up from the pavement more than once as my dizzy ass tries to put one foot in front of the other. At some point, I'll become overemotional and start crying about nothing whatsoever.

I'll call it "maudlin,” you'll call it "boner suicide."

2. Liquor will make me sicker.

Do you like holding back the hair of some quasi-stranger while she yaks? Puke breath a turn-on? Does picking chunks of vomit from the floor-mats of your car make you feel like a man? Guys often try to take the hard-liquor shortcut into a girl’s pants -- dude! That's a huge risk! We never feel the buzz. We just feel the joy of barfing to Bon Jovi’s “Livin On A Prayer,” with zero advance warning.

Good times!

3. Buying me beer shows that you are generous and kind-hearted.

I start thinking about how I could possibly pay you back for all this generosity. I also start-thinking about what sort of a husband and father you might make. At that point, you might notice me looking at you like this:

Surely you won't let that freak you out!

4. Buying me beer makes you funnier, smarter, and more handsome.

I don’t know exactly how it works, but it’s true. Perhaps you've become acustomed to my radiant beauty and more confident, which is the key to sex appeal. Or maybe I become less discerning and more friendly, which is the key to sex in general. Either way, good move. Systems are 'go' for launch!

5.Buying me beer gives you a chance to show your true colors.

Maybe small-talk was never your thing and you just want to “tell me something about yourself” by selecting a beer of choice for me. (See my previous article on “What Your Beer Says About You” for details and choose wisely!) You gotta open up to me. You wanna ride, Cowboy? It's gonna cost ya!

6. Buying me beer shows that you’re successful.

Here’s a little-known secret: Women are attracted to men that…

• Have a job;
• Manage their money; and
• Know how to treat a lady (and monsters like me… *wink, wink*).

If you came to SaveOnBrew, you most likely already fit that demographic. Congrats!

Sure, we may not seem like ladies when we’re guessing your weight by groping you under the bar, but regardless, spending a little money gives the impression that you’re doing okay for yourself… even if you're not.

7.Buying me beer gets you off the hook.

Let's say we're friends (or, in your testosterone-infused brain, fuck-buddies-to-be) and you totally forgot it was my birthday. This is how I like my cake. And by cake, I mean... cake:

In lieu of a card or suitable gift, just drag me to the bar for a birthday beer and I’ll consider all aberrations forgotten. In fact, you're my new best friend because you know me so well!

8.Buying me beer gives us something to talk about.

Yes, I am fascinated that you know how to pronounce “Smithwick’s” properly! I did not know you were an expert in beer and food pairing! That is ab-so-lutely FASCINATING! I love Guinness too! No, I have never gone to the local brewery for a tasting but I would love to! Do I want to see your room? Uh...

9.Buying me beer ensures a good long evening.

Beer is predictable, which is part of the beauty of it. I know how one beer an hour feels and how much I can push it to get a solid buzz. I’ll admit -- I’m not a cheap drunk -- but (GOOD NEWS!) inexperienced female beer drinkers are! We’ll have more time to talk if I stick to beer. And I know how you looooove talking.

10.Buying me beer is an easy way to put forth effort.

Who wants to buy flowers, buy dinner, buy a ring, or put any effort into reading my mind to know what I’ve been hinting at wanting for months? Buying me beer is always the right size, shape, and color. It’s always available. It’s as easy as ... oh, easy as ripping our clothes off in a fit of passion later.

So, cheers and let the beer drinking commence!

Wanna show me you're a real stud?

Show me how you can pick up a sixer at a steep discount via SaveOnBrew.

That's a panty-dropper.

Promise!

-- Jennn

P.S. - Don't be shy! Got something to say? Post it below!

Recently, we've been banned from our own facebook page for images deemed inappropriate by some faceless "fan" of the page (?). As much as we'd like to blame this on Facebook, it's really not them, it's the people that report the pages. Why those people simply just don't leave is a question for the ages.

First, let's consider the following...

SaveOnBrew celebrates all things beer. We love beer.

To drink beer in the United States, you have to be over 21.

To use this web site, you have agreed that you're over 21.

If you're over 21, you're an adult.

If you're an adult, you may see or hear things you find objectionable.

Just like in TV-land, you can change the channel. Go away. Don't come back.

But don't be a dick and ruin it for everyone else.

Make sense?

Here's the first picture that offended someone:

Really? REALLY?

It's a girl showing her tan line. Pretty much more tame than what you might see on prime-time TV. When I try to reason why someone would be offended by this, I come up blank.  My best guess is that the person offended by this is frightened by his own penis.

Here's the second (more recent) pic:

OK. This one DOES push the limits a little further. When we first posted that, we didn't really see that the girls breast was exposed. Seriously. That's the truth. BUT EVEN IF WE HAD we still would have posted it.

Why? Because it's the sort of side-boob you see on... wait on it... prime-time TV.

We like to think that the person who reported this was probably female, heterosexual, but still hates men. In high school, she had some sort of Carrie-esque experience and was hated by the entire student body. She'll spend the rest of her life surrounded by cats and watching re-runs of The Golden Girls. She secretly wishes Chuck Woolery still hosted Wheel of Fortune and thinks Vanna White is a tramp. She'll wear too much perfume and gossip about the sluts in church. She'll make some sort of dessert that everyone hates.

Then a fan posted a pic to our site and we removed it.  This is the pic:

Ha ha!  Nice one! Funny. Topical. We can all appreciate the picture. Nice looking adult female.If you're offended by that picture...

1) God hates you (sorry!)

2) We feel sorry that life has sucked the fun out of you.

3) Guess what!? Here's a bigger version!

Going forward!

Facebook is important to SaveOnBrew and we don't want to get banned from our own page. That would suck. We actually think that, if the page did get banned, we could get it back. But why take the chance?

What we'll do is to create a page here on the site called FUNNY BEER PICS and we'll put ALL of the pictures -- rated R and otherwise -- up for adults to view, laugh at, or simply ignore.

We are not purveyors of filth. We are purveyors of fun. If you find images on our facebook page, or on this site, in some way disturbing, perhaps leave and don't come back. We won't miss you.

Suppose that every day, ten men go out for beer and the bill for all ten comes to $100.

If they paid their bill the way we pay our taxes, it would go something like this…

The first four men (the poorest) would pay nothing
The fifth would pay $1
The sixth would pay $3
The seventh would pay $7
The eighth would pay $12
The ninth would pay $18
The tenth man (the richest) would pay $59

So, that’s what they decided to do.

The ten men drank in the bar every day and seemed quite happy with the arrangement, until one day, the owner threw them a curve ball. “Since you are all such good customers,” he said, “I’m going to reduce the cost of your daily beer by $20″. Drinks for the ten men would now cost just $80.

The group still wanted to pay their bill the way we pay our taxes. So the first four men were unaffected. They would still drink for free. But what about the other six men ? How could they divide the $20 windfall so that everyone would get his fair share?

They realized that $20 divided by six is $3.33. But if they subtracted that from everybody’s share, then the fifth man and the sixth man would each end up being paid to drink his beer.

So, the bar owner suggested that it would be fair to reduce each man’s bill by a higher percentage the poorer he was, to follow the principle of the tax system they had been using, and he proceeded to work out the amounts he suggested that each should now pay.

And so the fifth man, like the first four, now paid nothing (100% saving).

The sixth now paid $2 instead of $3 (33% saving).
The seventh now paid $5 instead of $7 (28% saving).
The eighth now paid $9 instead of $12 (25% saving).
The ninth now paid $14 instead of $18 (22% saving).
The tenth now paid $49 instead of $59 (16% saving).

Each of the six was better off than before. And the first four continued to drink for free. But, once outside the bar, the men began to compare their savings.

“I only got a dollar out of the $20 saving,” declared the sixth man. He pointed to the tenth man, "but he got $10!"

“Yeah, that’s right,” exclaimed the fifth man. “I only saved a dollar too. It’s unfair that he got ten times more benefit than me!”

“That’s true!” shouted the seventh man. “Why should he get $10 back, when I got only $2? The wealthy get all the breaks!”

“Wait a minute,” yelled the first four men in unison, “we didn’t get anything at all. This new tax system exploits the poor!”

The nine men surrounded the tenth and beat him up.

The next night the tenth man didn’t show up for drinks so the nine sat down and had their beers without him. But when it came time to pay the bill, they discovered something important. They didn’t have enough money between all of
them for even half of the bill!

And that, boys and girls, journalists and government ministers, is how our tax system works. The people who already pay the highest taxes will naturally get the most benefit from a tax reduction. Tax them too much, attack them for being wealthy, and they just may not show up anymore. In fact, they might start drinking overseas, where the atmosphere is somewhat friendlier.

David R. Kamerschen, Ph.D.
Professor of Economics.

Originally published HERE.

Pics added by SaveOnBrew.Com.

Moral of the story (also by SaveOnBrew): No matter how you slice it, taxes suck. Drink with friends. Share. Save money on beer with SaveOnBrew.Com!

To paraphrase Sir Paul McCartney, sometimes this ever-changin’ world in which we’re livin’ makes you want to cry. Not the case anymore. Instead, college seems to have a new rep as a breeding ground for sexual activities historically viewed as "weird" or "illegal." And faculty members are getting in on the act just as much as students. But enough foreplay. Here, courtesy of the good folks over at Best Colleges Online are ...

THE TEN WORST COLLEGE SEX SCANDALS EVER!

ONE: The Penn State Scandal

Calling this story a "scandal" is like calling Hurricane Katrina "a rainy day." On November 4, 2011, a grand jury indicted former Penn State football assistant coach Jerry Sandusky on 40 counts of sex crimes against boys.

This well-respected man who founded a charity for children to receive "positive human contact" was in reality a (possible) child molester alleged to have sexually abused eight boys over 15 years, maybe even one from his own family. Already the charity’s president, the school president, and a revered football coach have been shown the door, and more heads are likely to roll.

TWO: Duke Lacrosse Scandal

This one had all the makings of a classic scandal: rich white kids rape black stripper at house party. The story was headline news for days in March, 2006. Crystal Gail Mangum, an African American student at UNC, accused three members of Duke’s lacrosse team of raping her at a house party. Overeager D.A. Mike Nifong saw a chance to make a name for himself, and had all three men indicted on rape charges. As we now know, Mangum had gotten busy with several dudes before the party, but fabricated the entire rape scenario. The players were cleared of all charges.

THREE: Bernie Fine

In a still-developing story, assistant coach Bernie Fine of Syracuse men’s basketball team has been accused by two former ball boys and a third man of sexually assaulting them when they were children. The scandal widened exponentially when it was revealed that for 10 years, police and ESPN sat on tapes of one of the victims discussing the assaults with Fine’s wife, in which she also admitted to watching Fine molest the victim and having sex herself with the victim. The biggest scandal of all: the statute of limitations may be up for convicting Fine.

FOUR: Colorado Football

One has to be specific when discussing sex scandals and Colorado’s football program. It could refer to the six rape allegations against football players from 2001 to 2004, one by the team’s female kicker. Or it could refer to the program’s continuous use of strippers, sex (consensual and possibly otherwise), drugs, and booze to lure (underage) prospects to the school, for which head coach Gary Barnett was suspended. The players beat the rape raps, but still, it’s probably a good idea to pour your own drink at any CU football parties.

FIVE: Mistress Jade

By day she was Lisa Chavez, English professor at the University of New Mexico. By night she was Mistress Jade, phone-sex dominatrix. The lines between the two positions blended as Chavez began to recommend her students also take jobs as phone-sex workers. When photos surfaced of Chavez and one of her students in sadomasochistic poses online, with Chavez offering to be a "biker b****, an imperious goddess or a stern teacher ready to punish unruly students," Chavez quit the sex job and retained her position at UNM, which decided she had not violated any school policy.

SIX: David Epstein

Is there anything more scandalous than incest? Columbia professor David Epstein was put on administrative leave after he was charged with a third-degree count of incest for sleeping with his 24-year-old daughter. The consensual relationship lasted three years. Oddly enough, his daughter has not been charged with a crime, prompting some to wonder why consensual incest isn’t considered a two-way street.

SEVEN: Rick Pitino

Louisville basketball coach Rick Pitino had a one-night stand on a restaurant table in 2003 with Karen Sypher, a woman who would later become his equipment manager’s wife. When Sypher told Pitino she was pregnant, Pitino paid her $3,000 for "insurance," definitely not for the abortion she subsequently had. Eventually, Sypher tried to soak Pitino for $10 million or else she’d blow the story wide open. Instead, Pitino publicly confessed, and Sypher was charged with extortion. It wasn’t until then that she claimed Pitino had raped her, but officials weren’t buying it.

EIGHT: Methodist Hazing

Hazing usually involves copious amounts of alcohol consumption, but now and then in spills over into the sex scandal category. In 2002, five football players at Methodist College were disciplined by the school for holding a freshman player down, stripping him below the waist, spanking him and writing on his rear end with a Sharpie. Wide receiver Antonio Wilkerson literally took the Sharpie thing too far when he stuck it where the sun doesn’t shine.

NINE: J. Michael Bailey

To be fair, what human sexuality prof J. Michael Bailey of Northwestern did to get on this list was during an attendance-optional class where the students were forewarned about the graphic nature of what they would see. What they saw (and heard) was a naked woman on a stage brought to orgasm by a machine-powered saw with a phallus on the end. Understandably, scandal erupted. The New York Times and the Chicago Tribune covered it, and Northwestern’s president expressed regret for the incident.

TEN: Arthur Miller

It wasn’t Death of a Salesman, but death of a professor. Arthur Miller was a tenured science prof at the University of Iowa until he was rung up on four charges of bribery, specifically for offering women better grades for letting him see, fondle, or suck their breasts. The story took another scandalous turn when Miller went missing after being arrested, and police feared he had a rifle with him. In the end, both body and rifle were found in a park — Miller had committed suicide.

Cheesy, gooey, deliciousness… mac n cheese… saved my life on more than one occasion.

For 99 cents, you can’t get many other meals as totally satisfying.

One of the best stories my dad ever told me was how he once dumped a girl for making shitty mac and cheese. He shrugged, “Who knows what else she's incapable of if she can’t even make basic mac and cheese!?” It’s a perfectly valid question.

My advice: never follow the instructions on the box. You'll just end up with flavorless, senselessly fattening and butter-wasting crap. Cook it for no longer than 7 minutes. Add 2 tablespoons of butter (not half a fucking stick!) and make it extra cheesy. NEVER dilute it with milk: are you crazy?! I digress.

2. Tina’s Burritos!

Sometimes I eat foods just for the condiments… and I LOVE hot sauce. Tina’s Burritos will never let you down: they’re done in 2 minutes and even better slathered in sour cream. You can wolf down four of these suckers for TWO BUCKS, which is totally within your college budget. If you’re drunk enough, you won’t even care about the juxtaposition between molten outside and frozen middle.

Pro Tip: You can class it up a bit by switching from paper to plastic plate!

3. DiGiorno Pizza!

Didn’t you see the commercials? DiGiorno is the perfect date food. You can smile like a jack ass and sheepishly tell that sorority hottie that “It’s not delivery... it’s DiGiorno!” She’ll think you’re a chef, a gentleman, and a scholar.

4. Hamburger Helper!

Just because "mom" never made it doesn’t mean it’s not “authentic homestyle cooking.” The stroganoff’s powdered sour cream is both appetizing and appalling. Lasagna and cheeseburger macaroni will continue to be your nostalgic favorites, even after you’ve graduated to the “more mature” Pasta Ronis.

And in the immortal words of Cousin Eddy:

I don't know why they call this stuff hamburger helper. It does just fine all by itself!

5. Garbage Plates!

This is something you may be able to find at a reputable greasy spoon, but its rightful home is Rochester, New York – a city that knows no boundaries when it comes to grease consumption and grossness.

For a mere five dollars, you get: 2 hotdogs, 2 cheeseburgers, a heap of fries, baked beans and macaroni salad. They have a kick-ass slogan: It’s like a hobo vomited on your plate (tm!) What could be better than that? If you want to really impress your date, take her to Nick Tahou’s for the real deal.

As an added bonus, it looks pretty much the same going out as it did going in!

OK... I know you're asking "Jennn, where da Ramen Noodles, girlfriend!?"

Two things...

1) Seriously, stop talking like that. Seriously.

2) For the record, Ramen noodles are totally overrated and there is nothing worse than puking up shrimp-flavored ones after a night of binge drinking.

(Yes, they do come up the same way they went down into the pot… in a rectangular slab!)

Got comments? Oh, I know you looooove your commments. Bring it bitches!!!

-Jennn

One would think that ANY beer at all would be an excellent gift idea. However, there are a few winter imbibes that are worse than receiving ten lashes from a Krampus’s tongue...

... and being dragged away to his lair where (apparently) he’ll chain you and beat you until you apologize for being so terribly naughty.

With that idea in mind... SaveOnBrew.Com brings you...

THE FIVE WORST BEERS TO GIVE AS A GIFT!

1. SOUTHERN TIER KRAMPUS

Don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of raising kids who have the fear of the Krampus (who, by the way, is always drunk while he’s hobbling around on his bear claw and horse hoof). However, I’m of the opinion that fruit simply does not belong in beer. When combined with hops and pine needles, you get a concoction that even that red-faced jolly old drunk Santa wouldn’t drink.

2. SOUTHERN TIER PUMKING

Pumpkin beer is one of those things – like pumpkin coffee – that sounds like a good idea because you imagine delicious spices like nutmeg and all-spice… but ends poorly in the execution.

Forget these visions. You’re getting pure, concentrated pumpkin squished into your beer straight from the can, sans spice. Drinking one reminded me of cleaning out the urine-soaked litter tray of my pet bunnies as a kid.

* Note: I know you’re probably thinking, “Hey, that’s two from Southern Tier! That bitch is prejudiced!” To be fair, their Imperial Red Ale and Farmer’s Tan are fine by my palette.

3. SMUTTYNOSE WINTER ALE

This beer is an amateur science project gone wrong.

If you soaked cow pasture dirt, burnt biscuits, Dollar Store chocolate coins, nickels, raisins and lemons in water, you’d get something akin to Smuttynose Winter Ale. The makers claim it is “reminiscent of a Belgian Abbey Double,” but this only applies if you’ve had nightmares about Belgian Abbey Doubles.

4. ARROGANT BASTARD

Not only does this beer have insulting connotations when given as a gift (“Oh, so you think I’m an arrogant bastard?”) but it tastes like goddamn pine needles. Seriously, there is enough Eau de Pine in this room from the Christmas tree and grandpa’s cologne that we don’t really need to be tasting it too.

5. SAM ADAMS CRANBERRY LAMBIC

Drinking Sam Adams Cranberry Lambic tastes like your breath after puking up vodka-cranberries and stomach bile all night. It’s a haunting flavor that won’t soon leave your memory.

The Urban Dictionary would go so far as to call this “cranberry-flavored urine” and the good folks at BeerAdvocate.com have a slew of unsavory phrases to describe this beer – ranging from “unbalanced and misleading” to “hell in a bottle.”

People say it’s worse than watching re-runs of Survivor while being forced to listen to Vanilla Ice and having all their toenails plucked off.

It's that bad.

Got a comment? Sure you do. Sound off below!

Jennn Fusion.

SaveOnBrew.Com has released their 2011 beer price findings for all 30 NHL stadiums.

Not surprisingly, prices edged upward from 2010 but the good news is the average increase is less than two percent. Of course, when prices start at five dollars for a 12 ounce serving, every little penny tacked on hurts.

Five dollar beer can still be had while watching a Buffalo Sabres, Pittsburgh Penguins, St. Louis Blues, or Tampa Bay Lightning home game. The lowest price to grab a cup of suds was at a Sabres Game where $5.00 will get you a generous sixteen ounce cup.

The most expensive brew belongs to CentreBell, home of the Montreal Canadians, winners of 24 Stanley Cups. A 16 ounce cup will set you back $9.94 – that’s 62 cents per ounce (adjusted to U.S. dollars). To put that in perspective, a six pack would put a hockey fan back almost 45 dollars.

Two stadiums actually sell suds for less this year. United Center, home of the Chicago Blackhawks, went from a 16 ounce serving to a 20 ounce serving, but only raised the price for those four additional ounces by 25 cents. The Winnipeg Jets, recently relocated to the MTS Center, sell their for about 30 cents less this year.

The good news is that you can always find great deals on beer outside the stadium by checking our beer price search engine - go ahead and give it a whirl now!

Like any sport, NBA games were always a great opportunity to call your buddies (and their significant hangeronners) over for several hours of surly shit-talking, chip-munching, swearing, and (of course) binge-drinking.

Oh, you NBA fans are classy! Did the thought of missing out on a whole winter of... gorging on pizza all, placing bets on which of your friends will pass out drunk before the score reaches into the 80's, and breaking up EPIC beer-fueled arguments over LeBron vs. Kobe make you grimace in pain only the way a good swift kick to the goolies can do?

Well they're baaaaack! For better or worse. They're back.

And with their return, so many people other "little people" that were impacted during the lock-out will now have a chance to get back to making a living as well -- like all the whores who suffered SO deeply (ugh! Bad Pun!).

Imagine the pain and suffering those players must have felt without the ability to entertain us with their flashy new sneakers, new tattoos, racial slurs, never-ending groin injuries, and sexual epithets directed towards the other team, the ref, or the fans. Good times!

Here are my predictions for the 3 NBA players most likely to have been on wicked alcohol benders during the outage:

DeShawn Stevenson (Mavericks)

Over the summer, our friend DeShawn was seen wandering a Texas apartment complex, drunk and unsure where he was. I imagine he's still shit-faced, wandering around wondering where the courts are and contemplating his next presidential tattoo. George Washington on his back (the one from the dollar bill, yo. Cuz a pimp gots to get paid.)

Ben Wallace (Pistons)

Last month, Wallace was arrested in a suburb of Detroit for drunk driving his Cadillac Escalade (it’s a tank, right?) and carrying a concealed weapon (to bitch slap ignorant fans who want their money back for buying his jersey?). With felony charges dropped, he’ll likely get off with probation and community service, where he can wow kids at basketball camp with his impressive social skills.

P.S. -- I can never stop laughing when I hear Ben Wallace balls. Is that wrong?

Zach Randolph (Grizzlies)

One thing Memphis cops know for sure is that Zach Randolph is full of shit. His attorney assures you that Randolph is “not connected to any drug activity” and that his vehicle’s secret compartments are “just a safety precaution for concealing his valuables” (Miller High Life?) Meanwhile, his rap sheet consists of:

• A 2000 arrest for under-age drinking
• Two arrests in 2003 -- one for punching Ruben Patterson in the face and the other for driving without a license while unbelievably high on marijuana
• A 2006 arrest for drag-racing in a 20-mph speed zone.
• A 2007 arrest for sexual assault on a stripper (for which charges were dropped because, in lieu of murder, judges consider this par for the course and totally sympathize with the need to smack their bitch up when she starts mouthing off).
• A 2009 drunk driving arrest (but this time a Rolls Royce because, ya know, that's classy)
• Possession of stolen property (a gun… but it’s ok… he sold it), and…
• A 2011 battery charge for which he served 30 days of house arrest.

At any rate, we can only hope Randolph is black-out drunk and high as a kite right now and not out making mischief -- or another illegitimate baby! GOD BLESS AMERICA!

We have about a month until we get to see our “glorious heroes” back on the courts. More than exciting NBA basketball, we're looking forward to more humorous, yet tragically sad, news headlines detailing the drunken antics of our NBA "stars" on their long, booze-fueled benders.

Enjoy it now, fellas!  Bankruptcy at 30 can really leave a mark on that resume!

- Jennn Fusion

It happens to the best of us. We go to some hoity-toity beer tasting event and we walk away with a whole new appreciation for beer. I’ll never forget the first time I sipped a Stella Artois...

... and the light bulb went off over my head: Holy Shit, I actually LIKE beer!

From there, I found the world of German beers, Guinness, local brews, red ales... It was as if a veil had been lifted. My eyes were OPEN! I had to make up for lost time!   

Even the staunchest beer snobs will eventually concede that sometimes you gotta break the mold and there is truly no ONE beer for everything. Is it really sensible to drink Otter Creek Alpine Black IPA while eating hot dogs and chips?

No it is not. Take it from me, this looks a LOT worse coming up than it did going down.

I realized I had officially risen above my snobbery -- graduated, if you will -- when once, at five in the morning, I found myself guzzling a fishbowl of tomato juice, hot sauce, and Corona Light.

So without further ado, and with the hope that, as the great poet laureate Ice Cube once said, you can “check yourself before you wreck yourself," SaveOnBrew.Com presents...

Five Ways To Tell If You’re A Douche Bag Beer Snob...

If you see yourself in just ONE of the five key signs, we've got some bad news. D-Bag.

ONE: You consistently choose the stool closest to the taps...

... just so you can snicker when you hear “the lower classes” mispronounce the names of the following beers (the same ones you had to look up before ordering):

• Huma Lupa Licious IPA (“It’s hue-ma, not who-ma!”)
• Smithwick’s (“It’s smiddick’s, not smith-wick’s!”)
• Reinheitsgebot (“It’s Rhine-heights-guh-boat, not rain-heits-gibbit!”)
• Löwenbräu (“It’s lurvenbroyh, not lowen-brow!”)
• Leinenkugel (“It’s line-en-koo-gull, not lay-nen-koo-gull!”)
• Hefeweizen (“It’s hay-fuh-vite-zen, not hef-e-wisen!”)
• Hoegaarden (“It’s who-garden, not hoe-garden!”)

TWO: You “only drink craft brews, bro.”

Last year, it was all about the “microbrew,” but now it’s all about these one-hit-wonder craft brews made by artisans in basements. When you’re not listening to the works of Ian Mackaye, you're busy espousing how fucking “genuine” you are in a world of “posers” or eating your organic tofurkey.

("feast" my ass!)

THREE: You criticize your “cheap” friends for buying the thirty pack of cans instead of a twelve pack of bottles.

You follow that up with:

• I don’t like that tinny flavor of the can;
• Beer just tastes better out of brown bottles;
• Green bottles make the beer taste skunky;
• Clear bottles let too much light in.

By the end of the night, your friends want to smash the bottle over your head while they enjoy the time-honored tradition of stomping on beer cans like Godzilla.

FOUR: You never shut the fuck up about that month you spent in Europe. Never.

"You know, in Europe beer is served warm so you can appreciate the fine flavors. In America, the beer has to be served cold because they don’t brew it to purity laws."

You're the same guy who's still trying to figure out if Ireland is a town in England, or if England is a town in Ireland.

FIVE: You’ve taken to brewing your own beer and you keep telling anyone that'll listen that the rancid poison toad sweat in your basement is “better than anything out there.” You’ve made custom labels and named your brew something like...

• Marcel Mersault's Blessed Beige Slimemold Pilsner;
• Beazelbub's Viscious Porpoise Brown Ale; or
• Napolean's Poisonous Gnu Dopplebock.

Worst of all, you forgot to use filtered water and your friends have dubbed it “Band-Aid Beer.”

SO IN CONCLUSION...

Yes, Little Johnny, it IS possible to have a palate and NOT be a damned beer snob. Just sip your brew and keep your fucking yap shut. Don’t preach to others about their lack of taste or their inability to comprehend what “real beer” tastes like. If someone offers you a beer, just DRINK IT and quit being a doucher.

-Jennn Fusion

[Guest blogger Jennn Fusion...]

In my eyes, there is only ONE drinking game that is truly worth anything -– King’s Cup (or, as we like to call it in some circles, Boxhead.)

Pros: Super Funny, Lots of Drinking, Rowdy, Raucous, Fast-Paced, Creative, Exciting, Unpredictable

Cons: There Are Rules, You Can Be TOO Drunk To Play, May Cause Excessive Whining, Disorienting

This game has limitless variations and people will fight to the death over it, so we like to draw up all the rules on a piece of blinding poster board and say the host’s rules go. (And, in the words of a sweet-faced 7-year-old I overheard at the park last year, “If you don’t like it, you can just go ahead and suck it!”) So here goes…

The Basics:

You get out a deck of playing cards (I prefer the Chippendales from 1980 deck -- which makes every guy extremely uncomfortable.)

Shuffle up the deck and everyone picks one card for their turn, which corresponds to the following actions:

ACE: “Waterfall” – Everyone starts chugging and cannot stop until the person before them stops.

2: “You” – Assign someone else a drink.

3: “Me” – You drink!

4: “Floor” – Everyone puts a hand on the floor. The last person to do so drinks!

5: “Guys” – All men in the room drink.

6: “Chicks” – All ladies in the room drink.

7: “Heaven” – Everyone points to the sky. The last person to do so drinks!

8: “Mate” – Pick a drinking buddy to drink every time you have to.

9: “Rhyme” – Everyone must say a rhyming word. Whoever repeats or can’t think of a word drinks!

10: “Categories” – Everyone list something until someone drinks! (Ex: Brand of Beers, Breed of Dog, etc.)

J: “Make A Rule” – This rule must be obeyed until the end of the game.* Violators drink!

Q: “Questions” – Everyone must speak only in questions until someone messes up and drinks!

K: “Boxhead” – If you get this dreaded card, you must keep a box on your head until someone picks a K.

House Rules

The house rules when you pick a Jack can really make or break a game. Some of my favorite rules are:

• No pointing!
• No swearing!
• No laughing!
• Everyone must speak with an accent.
• Everyone must sing everything they say.
• The person who picked the card is “snake eyes” and whoever makes eye contact must drink.
• Do not drink with your right hand.
• Whenever you drink, you must do “the robot” dance.
• Whenever you drink, you must simultaneously do “the running man.”
• You must take a shot before using the restroom.
• Anyone who touches their face during the game must drink.
• You must remove an article of clothing if you pick an odd card.
• You must drink without using your hands.
• If you pick even, you must wear an item from the “prop bag.” (ex: glasses, wig, eye patch, etc)
• If you break a house rule, you have to give the player to your left a 30 second lap dance.
• The Boxhead must finish his/her entire drink whenever he/she tries to cheat by peeking.
• Whoever complains must drink.
• Every sentence you say has to end with “in my pants.”
• Players can only speak in a high-pitched falsetto voice.
• Every time you must burp, you have to say a word while doing so.
• Whoever breaks a rule must wear the box on their head until someone else breaks a rule.
• Before anyone opens a drink, they must first ask the rule maker for permission.
• Whenever referring to someone, you must call them by a new nickname.
• Everyone has to act like they have “t-rex arms” for the rest of the game.
• Whoever says the word “drink” has to remove an article of clothing!
• Whatever you say must rhyme with whatever the last person said.
• When someone puts their thumb on the table (the THUMBMASTER!), everyone else must do it too. Last one drinks!

• If players say someone’s name, they must go into a “timeout” with foreheads to the table until someone else breaks the rule.
• One person is designated as the “Timebomb.” Whenever the Timebomb has to drink, everyone must finish whatever’s in their glass.

Boxhead

Woe to you if you’re the unlucky sot who gets stuck inside the box!

At first, people think, “Oh that’s so stupid”… until you realize there is a method to this madness. Whoever is inside the box gets EXTREMELY DRUNK after a few rounds – mostly because their senses are diminished, they suddenly become the target for every card holder who has to dish out drinks, and furthermore, they can’t see what everyone is doing so they’re at an immediate disadvantage for 4/Floor, 7/Heaven, the thumb rule, and countless other tasks that involve some remote level of attentiveness.

Most box-wearers become sullen under the box, sweaty, drunk on the smell of their own breath, and enticed to cheat by peeking. It’s a terribly amusing spectacle to watch. I also strongly recommend drawing some kind of maniacal face on the box for added effect.

When To Play

Naturally, there is a time and place for every drinking game. The best time to play this one is after everyone has had a couple of drinks – say 3 or 4 – but haven’t come close to total annihilation yet. One year we tried to play when everyone was already pretty well drunk and it was like trying to get a classroom full of kids with ADHD to play Monopoly. I also highly recommend this game for groups of 4 to 10: the more, the merrier!

[Guest Blogger Jennn Fusion strikes again]

Seeing as it’s almost Halloween and all, I thought I’d reflect upon why mascots scare the living crap outta me.

So grab a brew courtesy of the gang at www.SaveOnBrew.com (Duvell on sale this week for me, Yum!) and let me tell you about how it ALL started with clowns. Clowns. Always CLOWNS.

They call the fear of clowns 'Coulrophobia.' I see one and I've got this gotta-go-now-RIGHT-NOW feeling. One time at Venice Beach, I took off at top speed when I spotted a hobo in a rainbow clown suit with half-melted-off makeup and a heroin syringe lodged in his gangly arms. EWWW!

Another time I booked it away from the Encinitas Christmas Parade when a clown with an oversized bulbous head, a hideous laugh and a terrible bounciness about his demeanor was driving the fire truck.

(What the hell are clowns doing at a Christmas Parade anyway!?

One time, I hid in my Wisconsin Fried Cheese Curd stand at the Erie County Fair when a whole gaggle of clowns thought it’d be cool to ride around me in circles on unicycles, just laughing… laughing away.

And how could I forget the time “DooDoo the Clown”( the clown who starred in Billy Madison if you’re into "famous clowns")

–- invited me to his private trailer for Chinese food. True story... and I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

It all dates back to a school field trip when, as I was innocently minding my own beeswax, a shitty rodeo clown lifted me by my cheeks.

He had sick red eyes, yellowed teeth, beard stubble, and smelled of moldy tennis shoes and flat beer. In other words, he did not look (or smell) good. He certinly didn't look like he belonged around children. And I couldn't get away from him! Ugh! Makes me shiver to this day.

Seeing Pennywise the clown...

... from the movie “IT” at the tender young age of seven and reading stories of John Wayne Gacy probably didn't help.  I hate them… God, I hate them.

Many moons ago, my high school basketball coach (Coach Pintkin) confided to us that he was a shape-shifting warlock who morphed into Buffalo’s NHL mascot, Sabres Tooth.

You’d think that would have made me LESS scared of mascots, except for the fact that Coach Pintkin hated children. I mean -- hated with a passion. He fantasized kicking their annoying heads like basketballs down the ice. He thought dead baby jokes were the funniest thing since “two girls, one cup.” He wouldn’t even babysit his own niece! “Kids are dumb as shit,” he once told me. “I just do it all for the money.”

So to face my fears and understand the fact that “mascots are people too,” I once worked for Disney in Toronto and dressed up as Stripes, the Racing Stripes Zebra.

It didn't help.

There’s just something so awkward and odd about being inside there. You feel detached from your own body – invincible, even. It wasn’t long before scaring people trumped entertaining them. No one wanted their picture with this big dumb zebra.

Kids ran away. They didn’t want free candy from some Disney character they’d never heard of.

You may very well say I’m an ass (not an ass, a zebra ha ha!), but you don’t know what it’s like when kids gaze up at you and try to peer into your eyes -- it's like they're trying to steal your soul. It’s as if God sent these little angels down to judge you and stare at you with a mixture of instinctive fear and desperate inquisitiveness.

I couldn’t wait to take my zebra head off. Look at myself in the mirror. Sweaty hair hanging in my face. Looking as if a damn zombie had been hiding within that zebra skin. Zombie Clown Mascots! Ewww! Creeps me out!

And THAT is why mascots scare me!

[Jennn Fusion returns!]

Alcoholics (or “alcohol aficionados” if you want to be an uppity jackass about it) are an incredibly resilient class. No matter how many times they’ve worshipped the porcelain god...

... or made a complete ass out of themselves, they are quick to hop back on the wagon for another night of carousing, philandering around town, and otherwise "fucking shit up."

I’d like to think I’m somehow a better person for all the alcohol I’ve consumed and all the stupid things I’ve done.

You “live and learn,” right? Yet, deep down, I know that I've merely gotten older, not necessarily wiser, and that every night out is just a few Irish Car Bombs from yet another epic mistake. On second thought, “live and learn” is a bullshit motto. Let’s go with “you only live once” because, honestly, the worst times make the best stories later.

So without further ado...

Top 10 Signs The Party’s Over (Sadly, All True Stories!)

ONE: You have to literally crawl to the refrigerator to get your next drink.

When someone asks you what you’re doing, you try to articulate what it is you’re after, but you forgot the name of the goddamn drink.

TWO: You’re drinking red “devil juice”...

(Which some may call a frozen strawberry daiquiri) that is somehow full of broken glass but it’s the only booze left in the house at 4am, so you just say “Fuck it… bottoms up!”

THREE: You piss on your friend’s floor and promptly pass out drunk…

...and when you wake up, your friend’s dog is pissing on you.That's just sad.

FOUR: Upon arriving to the party, you realize that everyone is drinking from a cauldron of “jungle juice”

... that consists of everything from wine, bourbon, and rum to vodka, beer, and gin… we’re not talking premium shit, either, Charlie. Yet, you, with all of years of drinking, conclude, “It tastes like Kool-Aid, so who cares?”

You’ll spend the next 48 hours puking up black bile (see top picture!) but you weren’t "one of those pussies who backed down!"

FIVE: You tell your friends, “Don’t worry. I’m just a little bit drunk. I'll just drive around until I’m sober – and then I’ll go home.”

On your drive (MISTAKE! DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE!!!), you have a run-in with the cops… when they ask you where you’re going, you respond, “Another bar to meet my friends”… and when they ask you to recite the alphabet, you get to a certain point and instinctively start spelling your last name. Lucky for you, the cops let you go because it’s the end of their shift, they don’t want to be bothered trying to guide your Neanderthal mind through the paperwork, and they happen to like the bar you’re headed to. (P.S. -- again, don't drink and drive, ya bozo!)

SIX: You lose your friend at a crowded concert…

... when you try to text her to ask where the fuck she is, you accidentally delete her phone number… as the crowd comes pouring out, you spawn like salmon, running down the street with your hands in your pocket like you’re “running with the bulls” or some shit… and before you know, you’ve tripped and face-planted, leaving a bloody gash on your chin… your friends follow the trail of blood and ultimately find you… serendipity.

SEVEN: For a late night snack, you decide you’re going to heat up some leftover pizza pizza box and all…

... needless to say, your life turns into a fiery inferno… and in the back of your mind, you’re wondering why you didn’t just eat that shriveled up sausage you left on the floor of the microwave after your last drinking binge.

EIGHT: When you come to, you’re making out with some mystery guest...

... hunched over the bar’s bathroom sink -- which is full of chunky pink vomit that smells like raspberry vodka, shrimp tails, Ramen noodles, and an undigested portion of a Big Mac. 

NINE: Your sister drives you home after a long birthday night of boozing and Jameson...

(not that one!... THIS one...)

... and when she tries to help you to your bed, you call her a “Devil Woman” and proceed to try your best to rip every evil hair out of her head… but with one on-the-button retaliatory punch, you’re down for the count… when you awaken, the last thing you remember was arriving at the bar to celebrate your 21^st birthday. (The black hole is vast, my friend!)

TEN: You’re so drunk, you don’t even question why ten guys wearing nothing but aprons and chef’s hats...

[Pancakes with cream cheese iceing! Yum!]

... and carrying everything from eggs and bacon to bowls of pancake batter and Old Crow have just crashed the party (which is happening in a college apartment complex, by the way)… and even though you thought you saw one of the guys, uhm, "having relations" with the pancake batter a few moments earlier, you were totally charmed by the frat brother’s toothy grin and peer pressured by the fact that everyone else was unknowingly eating the spluge pancakes.

So my friends, learn from my mistakes (none of which I take back, by the way). Now that I'm out of school, things are a little more sedate. Now it's beer now and again (and again) and a few laughs at my wild-child past. Trust me, check out www.SaveOnBrew.Com, buy yourself a sixer and enjoy. You'll thank me in the morning.

NFL BEER PRICES EDGE UP FOR 2011

SaveOnBrew.Com (www.saveonbrew.com) has released their 2011 beer price findings for all 31 NFL stadiums.

Not surprisingly, prices edged up, but not as much as you might think. The average increase across all teams was just four percent. Of course, when prices start at five dollars for a sixteen ounce serving, every little penny tacked on hurts.

The lowest price to grab a cup of suds was at a Cleveland Browns home game ($5.00) while the stadium that commands the most expensive brew was Edward Jones Dome, home of the St. Louis Rams, at $9.00 per twenty ounce serving.

It's not all bad news, though. Three stadiums actually serve beer for less this year than last. You'll save a few pennies while watching an Atlanta, Kansas City, and Oakland home game.

While nine bucks per twenty ounce serving in St. Louis is pretty shocking (that works out to 45 cents per ounce), it's not the worst deal in the league. That badge falls squarely on the wide shoulders of FedEx Field, home of the the Washington Redskins, who serve twelve ounces for seven dollars -- that's 58 cents per ounce.

To put that in perspective, at 58 cents per ounce, a six pack would set you back forty-two dollars.

[Guest blogger Jennn Fusion!]

You’re a guy at a bar or a party. You pull out a beer. Whether you realize it or not, you’re immediately labeled and greatly impacting your fate for the evening. So before you pick out your next beer, think carefully about how women may perceive you. The happiness of your little pickle may very well depend on it!

Budweiser: You are a man of simple taste.

Be prepared for women with horrible cooking skills or who plan to pack on the pounds once they’re married to approach you. They know you don’t really give a shit about much of anything and will be easy to appease in a relationship too.

Mich Ultra or Bud Light: You are an appeaser.

You don’t really like the taste or lower alcohol content of light beer, but you want to appear sensitive to women who are forced to drink this hideous devil brew to avoid blowing up like a huge blimp. Women who like to dominate their men will be attracted to you… that is, if they don’t think you’re too much of a pansy.
 

Coors Light: What you’re really saying is that you don’t like beer at all.

In fact, you prefer water with a clump of animal hair sitting at the bottom. You once dirty drank pond water, swallowed a tadpole, and love how Coors Light brings back all those childhood memories. You’ll attract women who don’t like beer also. This could be a win for you because, while you’ll be constantly chastised for drinking a 2-4 of Coors Light in a vain attempt to get drunk, you will also have a guaranteed designated driver. 
 

Bud Light Lime: You’re are several steps away from being a homosexual…

... but not a real, natural born homosexual – one of those fly-by-night college-age experimenters who is just “lost” and bumbling around in whatever pair of pants happens to show an interest. If you don’t want men grabbing your butt, it’s high time you find a manlier beer.

Blue Moon: You are a total hipster.

Someone once told you that drinking beer with fruit is civilized and you fell for it hook, line and sinker. You look down upon the common man’s beers and live off your parent’s money or NYU loans. You’ll attract other hipsters who will waste your time all night trying to one-up you.

Labatt: You’ve got Benedict Arnold written all over your face.

The only good things to come out of Canada are hockey and Hayden Christensen. People in Canada don’t even drink Labatt: they drink imports! You are going to attract the frumpty dumpty Budweiser type of girls, but maybe ones who want a Pleb who is a little more “exotic” in his beer choice.

Molson Canadian: You’re still kind of a traitor...

... but you at least have a sense of taste. Molson is, at least, manageable. Girls sense that you want to drink premium beer and appear exciting, but you’re too cheap. You’ll probably be approached by women who hope you’re Canadian standing there in your tuk and plaid button-down. At the first hint of an American accent, they’ll be rolling their eyes and moving on.

Sam Adams: You are a gentleman and a scholar, a man of history.

You know an honest domestic when you see one, which is rare. You’ll attract women who like culture, history, traveling, and affordable, tasty beverages. 

Dos Equis: Do you really think you can be the most interesting man in the world?

You’ve got tough shoes to fill, pal. Women are going to expect you to actually hold a conversation. You’ll attract the college-educated, but you’d better hope the floozy who went to Cozumel for Spring Break is looking your way too or it’ll be a long time before you talk your way into those pants!

Busch: Ew, what are you – my dad?!

Expect a 40-something in Daisy Dukes and a crop top to saunter up to you, propositioning you for sex in her trailer (which also happens to be full of 15 yapping Chihuahuas.)

Miller High Life: You could be a simpleton that stumbled upon the best of the worst beers…

or you could be a man who truly likes the finer things in life. If you drink “the champagne of beer,” you probably won’t get an A-list stripper... but you could get a B-lister!

Natural Ice: If you drink Natty Ice...

... you will have full selection of ANY chick at Alcoholics Anonymous, provided that you’re the one trading your food stamps and buying!

PBR: If you’re a lover of the P.B.R....

... it’s presumed you either:

1. Don’t have a job;
2. Are an alcoholic;
3. Both.

Even if you do hold down some sort of job, you’re probably a hipster who is just trying to parade around as a poor-ass mo-fo to avoid buying women any drinks. Any woman with a good head on her shoulders remembers her dad’s saying: You can love a rich man as well as a poor man. You’ll attract women with a whole trunk full of baggage, most likely with kids outside of wedlock who were taken away by the state.

Corona: You’re one dirty son of a bitch.

You probably even throw that salmonella / e coli infested fruit rind down into your bottle too, don’t ya? You probably slapped your last girlfriend around, but only because she had a choking fetish. And it’s to be assumed you are definitely going to piss into the bottle when you’re done. You’ll attract the wildest skanks and Cozumel Spring Breakers with this beverage. Hope you don’t mind if she pukes up bean burritos in your car on the way home!

Heineken: You’re not too bad for choosing Heineken...

... but you may have questionable taste. If you’re drinking out of a skunky green bottle, then you clearly have no taste buds or it’s presumed you enjoy suckling the scent glands of a skunk. However, if you’ve found yourself a pint of Heineken, then you know all the secrets of life. You can find a real curious cat.

Stella, Beck’s, or Harp: You’re a bit of a trendy beer snob...

... but there’s something confident and sexy about that. If you’re the first to offer a girl a Stella, you can pretty much guarantee she'll fall madly in love with you. It’s like popping her beer-binging cherry. Many a woman who thought she didn’t like beer found Stella as her “gateway” drink. You may also attract a well-traveled woman who will rock your world. However, do note you’ll be paying a lot of money for your new beer snob bitch to drink her fill too.

Franziskaner, Warsteiner or Spaten: It’s presumed you’ve traveled...

... and come back with the best tasting brew German purity laws can legislate. You like to party, but you believe “life is too short to drink cheap beer.” It’s possible you’ll inadvertently saddle yourself with a tortured artist who is looking for a sugar daddy to fund her dreams, but you could also get lucky and find a successful young nymph who just wants to bone and travel and do both at the same time. Lucky you!

Guinness: You are an uncommon man with a refined palate...

... that enjoys the taste of bogwater and chocolate, a frothy milkshake of a beer. You’re a man of details and you’re not afraid to let people know  – especially if that bar wench forgets the shamrock on the top of your beer! You like to savor and enjoy your beer. It’s about quality, not quantity. You’re downright sexy and will attract your female counterparts.

Magic Hat: You’re a wild card!

Women presume you have a carnival of tales to tell and an ever-evolving palate that can handle all sorts of oddities. All different types of women will be curious about you. If you’re good, you can talk them into a weekend camping trip where “what happens in the tent stays in the tent.”

Obscure Microbrew: You’re a total brat who always has to win every argument...

... humiliate his friends to look better, and be the first guy to own everything. That’s also terribly hot. Women who want to compete with you and be the one to win you over will come out of the woodworks. Should you accept their challenge is entirely up to you.

Not sure which beer you are? Use www.saveonbrew.com to find the best deals on ALL of them!

[John the Angry Scot returns...]

I clearly remember my first tentative steps into the drinking arena when, as a mere slip of a lad, my friends and I would pool our money and get some stinking drunk old man to buy us a six pack of beer and a 2 liter bottle of cider.

We would then make a vicious concoction we dubbed snakebite...

(rrrrriiiiide the sssnnnaaaaake....)

which would have us reeling and swaying like ecstacy freaks at an all-night rave after just one pint. What sticks in my mind, more than anything from that time, is the decision making that went into buying the drinks -- we could easily have made our beer money stretch further, much like the SaveOnBrew people do (God bless 'em!), by opting for a cheaper, nastier beer, but it was only the best for us.

The mix was usually Tennent’s Lager and Strongbow Cider, a delicious combo that tasted almost as good coming up as it did going down!

Perhaps it was the fact that we were Scottish (have I mentioned that before?)...

(Stand up when you see that flag, boy!)

... and we recognized the big part alcohol plays in our heritage that made us so choosy. Or maybe beer was just better there than here, but what I find is that today’s younger crowd (although not as young as we were, thankfully) seem unable to spot a good beer even it if jumped up and found its way down their throats in a delicious amber tidal wave.

Maybe it’s just restricted to the area where I live now, but the good Southern boys seem quite content to throw back inferior light beers and PBR’...

completely ignoring the craft microbrews that book-end the Miller and Coor’s taps.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a total beer snob, and I like a nice, cold, light beer every now and then, but given my druthers, I’m opting for something that comes in a wooden keg, aged over smoky coals, that pours with a head smoother than Vin Diesel’s.

I don’t care that the color of the brew doesn’t match my shirt, or that the can it comes in is the same shade as the popped collar on my Abercrombie and Fitch shirt -- I want flavor. I want body -- and lots of it, thank-you-very-much.

I have, on occasion, engaged in conversation with some of these whiplings. They all tell a similar tale. A talke of how they can pound back X-number of said inferior beers without feeling a thing, and how that impresses the ladies, yet when I look around, it’s usually a sausage fest with no women in sight.

I fear for the younger generation, and am sending out the call to all men 40’s and up -- let’s start a Beer Big Brother group.

Take the time to mentor one of these future college dropouts by pointing them in the direction of a real beer. If all else fails, and they insist on sipping their lights, then the least we can do is send them here, to SaveOnBrew, where they can at least find thier go-to brew at bargain basement prices.

Don't hate 'em. I don't. They don't know any better.

[The Angry Scot speaks again!]

When it comes to scoring freebies, women have it easy. The simple act of undoing one more button on their shirt than is legal in most public places...

.... or using that whiny baby voice (which, by the way, guys detest...) is usually enough to get a free drink or piece of expensive jewelry, depending on how whipped her target is.

God created cleavage, and then man created air conditioning which, when combined, is a one-two punch that would have floored Tyson back in his pre ear-biting days.

Us poor blokes have to settle for the consolation prize, albeit a great one, of our favorite beers at budget prices, courtesy of the good folks here at SaveOnBrew, but does it really have to be that way?

Isn’t there something we can do to turn the tide in our favor and have the ladies dipping into their fake Coach purses to buy us a drink or two... or three? I believe there is, but it may require morethan a little faking and shenanigans on our part, but hey -- isn’t that what we do best when it comes to the fairer sex?

We are not blessed with the soft, silky skin and flowing locks of the girls, instead we are reduced to hairy ears...

and male pattern baldness. But if we can get the ladies to cast a glance downward -- just for a moment -- we can take their minds off our imperfections with a simple, well placed and shaped sock stuffed inside a pair of, one size too-small, jeans.

For full effect, and to add a touch of realism to the fakery, stick one of those small crabapples inside the toes of the sock; equal parts devastating and hypnotic. I'm bettin' it'll separate woman from cash quicker than you can say Ron Jeremy.

Another great way to reel in the ladies is by adopting a phony accent, with French, Italian, Scottish (my favorite), Australian and Irish the most likely to get some play. Rent a couple of foreign movies. Braveheart, maybe.

Set your DVR to record every ad for Foster’s Lager and the Outback Steakhouse and practice your chosen accent until you have it down to a passable level.

Be sure to scour maps of your new home country, locate a town that is completely obscure and tell them that’s where you were born and raised. While you're slopping back the free beers she buys you...

...be prepared to repeat her name on request. Over and over again. Nothing seems to get them going quicker more than hearing their perfectly normal name butchered by a bloody foreigner.

If you employ these tactics and happen to encounter a smart female who's hip to your BS, then simply tuck your tail (or apple stuffed sock) between your legs, head home, and hit up SaveOnBrew where they seemed well-prepared to show you the way to cheap beer heaven.

[Another one from John, our Angry Scott]

Two things that go hand-in-hand with beer -- beautiful woman and food. (I guess, for the fairer sex, a beautiful woman might not be your preference, but if it is, that's what we fellas call "bonus points.")

There's nothing quite like a bite to eat after a hard night of chucking back a St. Arnolds, a Guinness Black, or my old standby, a Newcastle Brown.

(All of which I still find on SaveOnBrew -- thank you my friends!)

In my travels, I've found where you live seems to have a lot to do with what you crave after a good night of hard drinking.

In my native Scotland, vans parked 'round the big pubs and clubs, dispensing hot sandwiches to all the wobbly lads and lassies. Bacon sandwiches were a big seller, but my personal favorite was a fried egg and bacon sandwich, served on a warm roll -- the egg barely cooked.

I'm drooling just thinking about it.

I ruined many-a-shirt with runny yolks. More, by far, than fell victim to beer spillage or vomit spatter!

In Canada, hot dog carts were always scattered about outside the pub, the smell of mystery meat an assault to the senses that was only vanquished by eating as many as humanly possible.

Here in the US, seems that food is always the best excuse when all that alcohol makes a bee-line for the closest exit.

I’m sure we’ve all used one of these gems, “I should have ate something before I drank all that Drambuie,” or “I should never have eaten those two microwave burritos.”

NEVER BLAME THE BEER! That’s a sign of weakness. Always shake your angry fist at the food.

Sometimes though, food is just an accessory, and chefs are to blame. You ever watch those shows on the Food Network where --

... wait a minute, are you questioning my manhood because I watch the Food Network?

Listen, my young friends. Listen to the voice of experience. Watch it with your lady during the "bad week." That food can become a powerful aphrodisiac (I speak from many-an-experience).

On TV, those big shot cooks prepare fancy dishes with a beer reduction.

I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I do know that reduction means cutting down on something.

DUDE, lose the big f__king hat, drop the duck confit in the trash, and get the goddam BBQ going; use that beer the way God intended it to be used!

I have run out of time today, unfortunately, but don’t forget to remind me to tell you all about a legendary KFC gravy story. It may fall into the urban legend category, but it is one of the greatest, most nasty food/beer combo stories of all time. It's EPIC.

[Another Guest Blogger... this time it's Jenn...]

We all know the mid-life crisis dude.

Fifties. Bright red corvette. Baseball cap hiding the bald spot. Hawaiian shirt.

Or the divorced forty (or fifty) -ish lady hanging at the bar.

Maybe a leopard print mini-skirt. Teased hair. Bad dye job. Black leather boots. Surrounded by a horde of twenty-something dudes trying to by her shots of Goldschlager, Axe-drenched bodies pushing and shoving for their chance to take a shot at the un-caged “cougar.”

Yet, there's another type of life-crisis --

The-mid-twenties-I-just-got-out-of-college-and-now-what-the-fuck-do-I-do? crisis. That's one they don't really warn you about.

You're suddenly out of school. Whole spread before you like an open oyster...

... On the edge of getting your first real big-boy (or big-girl) job. But there's always that one last hurrah. A travel lust. You've gotta see it all before life digs its grimy claws into you.

So off you go. Broke. Maybe squeeze a precious few last dollars out of mom and dads credit card. Loving life. Finding your way through random, bizarre cities, thirsty for a beer, a party, a friendly game of beer pong with a bunch of equally confused strangers.

In my travels, I found -- just like here at SaveOnBrew -- beer prices swing wildly across the country. An East Coast Treasure is a West Coast Swill, and vice-versa. It's the 2011 version of Pabst. Hipsters think it's the best thing ever. Most of you, though, still think of it as grand daddy's swill.

One might presume Canada has pretty good beer prices since they’re snowed in 9 months a year with nothing but beer and hockey and deep-woods creatures to keep them company.Your presumption would be wrong, my young beer-buddy

My findings, from Quebec to Toronto, were beer prices that sucked harder than the Kardashian girls. Too much? Deal with it.

That one on the left looks a lot like a hairless Chewbacca. Decide for yourself:

Anyway... where was I? Oh yeah... Beer in Canada...

You’d be hard-pressed to find a cheap beer under $6 anywhere (and, yes, that includes local). I had my first Stella Artois in Toronto… FOR $7!!! … and I found myself appreciating “cheap pitchers” for ten bucks at a place called Squirrelys.

This is no way to live, friends, even if you can stumble any which way and get a $2 felafel, two slices of pizza for $5, or all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet (all the cat you can eat!) for a handful of toonies. Plain and simple, the beer in Canada is outrageously overpriced! Makes me want to break into my heart-warming rendition of God Bless America. Moving on...

I’m from Buffalo, New York -- home of that special sort of chicken wing and (sadly) President McKinley’s last stop and (little known fact) home of the “we-have-nothing-to-live-for” beer prices.

Got two bucks? You've got a PBR from any local bar. (See picture above!)

Wanna splurge? Say $3 or $4? You'll pull down any American or Canadian beer in a frosty pint!

Yum!

Solid imports might set you back $4, sometimes for $5 -- rarely much more. Twenty-four packs of Canadian (Molson, Labatt, Moosehead) beer sell for less than a buck a pop and my personal favorite has always been the Buy-One-Get-One War of 1812 micro-brew deals from Consumers.

But in all of my travels, Wisconsin, home of the gigantic wheels of cheese...

... has some of the rock-bottom cheapest beer known to man.

Let this just hang in the air for a moment: 25 cent drafts and $1 pitchers.

Wisconsin takes the concept of bargain beer to a whole new level! I felt nervous, excited, confused and disoriented all at once. How could this be!? Yet, looking from left to right, I could see the lay of the land – you’ve got bar, brewery, bar, factory, bar, brewery, college, bar, cheap motel… that about makes up the entirety of your surroundings.

So it only makes sense that you’d work your factory job and head next door for your $1 pitchers made by local breweries, and then attempt to stumble home – or at least to that cheap neighborhood motel that serves as a drunk-tank.

Milwaukee, you get two thumbs up in my book!

My travels aren't done. But my broke-days are (hopefully) behind me. I'll always remember those days fondly. Those days when where we drank depended on how much money we could scrounge from the bottom of our purse.

Drink wisely, friends!

[Guest blogger John aka "The Angry Scott" is back with his take on American beer commercials]

I think we all agree beer commercials are some of the most ridiculous spots ever produced for the small screen, but that doesn’t stop us (it seems...) from believing that they are, in any way, real.

Listen, I'm on the bad side of 40. A little thin on top. A waistline that completely obliterates a favorable view of my junk from any angle.

No! Not THAT FAT! C'mon!

Yet, somehow, the Good Lord above blessed me with a smoking hot wife!

This did not happen because I had the common sense to drink the correct lite beer. I'd say it's wrapped around three primary reasons:

• Scottish accent;
• metric shitload of tattoos;
• a little something "extra" down below

Oh... and I guess it helps that I’m NOT a complete PBR guzzling doucher.

Beer commercials are a magical world where women flaunt perfect bodies concealed by barely-there bikinis. Like this:

A place where horses and dogs play in perfect harmony. A place where the simple act of cracking open a can will send a huge bullet train crashing through your house!

It’s absurd and lacks any sense of taste or subtlety... But sometimes... SOMETIMES... the beer folks get a little creative and sneak a gem past the milquetoast (look it up!) American public.

I’ll get to that in a moment, but I have to say that I am entirely bemused by Americans. I live in the US and am married to an American woman who seems perfectly normal, but it seems to me that this nation goes out of its way to show the world how appalled they are by the quest for beer and pussy which, to me at least, is the birthright of every red-blooded male.

With all that said, I get great delight when that image is shattered; the furor over the Janet Jackson titty slip at the Super Bowl a few years back made me a little giddy, although I think we can all agree it would have been even cooler if one of Katy Perry’s dirty pillows had made that same slip.

The areola anger killed my joy a little, but recently those pesky beer dudes snuck a beaut' past the American public, yet everyone I tell says it didn’t really happen -- that I have a dirty mind. (Everyone who says that is American. Coincidence? I think not.)

The greatness came during one of those awesome “Most Interesting Man In The World” Dos Equis commercials. You know the guy...

There are a lot of great lines about The Man. My favorite?

He once received a blowjob from Oprah Winfrey just so he could anchor the number one on his ten-point scale.

In the Most Interesting Man commercial, a quick scene shows him leave a private cabin on a train. In the background, lounging within, two hot European chicks.

Now here's the trick...

Keep your eyes on our main man. Watch. Closely. THERE! He just wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.

Odd, as he's not leaving a buffet car. Odd, indeed. You connect the dots.

Admitedly, this whole thing works a little better if I can profer up some proof. But hey, you're a college kid. Harness the Googles or whatever it is you do!

While I can't find that exact video, in my research for the post, I came across the Gayest Man in the World and had a chuckle. Maybe you will, too:

[Guest blogger John tells us (maybe a little too much) about his younger, wilder days... -- Ed.]

Beer lovers the world over have one thing in common; we all want to find our favorite frothy brew at the cheapest price possible. That’s great but if your favorite beverage is some obscure Belgian wheatgrass concoction, stored in an oak barrel, and flavored with chunks of the brewmaster’s scrotum, then your chances of finding a cheap sixer are pretty much slim to none. At least the guys here at SaveOnBrew are helping find some of the better beers at a discount. Thanks, guys!

Let’s face it, there's a big difference in taste between a craft European beer and a six-pack of Budweiser, but at the end of the day, the average college kid seems to just want to wake up in a pool of his own piss and vomit. Any type of beer will take you to this glorius destination, just in varying degrees of time and vomit acidity.

I was born and raised in Scotland. Beer is in my blood. Literally in my blood. Anyone looking to extract a pint of my red stuff will have to tilt the syringe, slow pour, and expect a full head on top when finished. I know what it’s like to chase down that dream on total inebriation, the sort that turns you into a living legend among your friends and the regulars at the local bar.

I won more than my fair share of free drinks by engaging in bets that would a  MADD moms head spin faster than that Exorcist chick on a tilt-a-whirl.

Good time to tell you: I NEVER drank and drove and neither should you. It's a shit thing to do.

Some of those bets now fill me with shame (... and yet still a twinge of admiration for my younger, albiet dumber, self). Bets like...

Drinking 5 pints through a straw in 10 minutes or less won me a free night of binge drinking at my local bar, paid for by the kind patrons who issued the challenge. Good times. Or...

Shotgunning a keg can of Kronenbourg 1664 got me 10 free drinks at a bar where I was participating in an around the world in 80 beers challenge...

... and, while not necessarily a challenge of drinking prowess, diving headfirst into a fountain got my tab paid for by the issuers of the challenge, but also got me barred from that lovely, family friendly establishment. Sad.

There are other tales, but the statute of limitations has yet to run out on those. While I no longer engage in such ridiculous bouts of binge drinking, I still like the saving a few bucks on my favorite suds, and the good people here at SaveOnBrew may end up becoming responsible for me falling off the maturity wagon and send me straight back to old 'sparky, the only girl who'll still sleep with me when I get my drink on.

Glory days well they'll pass you by

Glory days in the wink of a young girl's eye

- Bruce Springsteen

Everyone likes to feel special. In my younger years, I was no different.

The problem, though, is once mommy stops telling you how amazing your crayon drawings are, or how proud she is that you managed to (finally) properly wipe your own ass, tie your shoes, or get your own damn bowl of Cocoa Krispies, there just aren't a lot of opportunities left in life to really feel special... Unless...

Unless you happen to be a blue chip football. Or basketball prospect. Or ridiculously well-endowed. Or both.

Sadly, you'll probably complete your go-round on our big blue ball in somewhat mundane fashion. Just like all of us, you're an Average Joe. Oh, sure, you're a "super nice guy" and "really fun to be around," maybe even "super funny" or "smart."

But, know what? So is everyone else. You're no Brad Pitt or Jay-Z or Stud De Jour. You'll probably never get to experience the superf_ckingamazing life those guys get to live. Sad.

As we say here at SaveOnBrew, you're going through life with craft beer taste on a mass domestic budget.

Well fret not, Average Dude! Because we're here to tell you... THERE IS a way to get a taste of the awesome sauce. THERE IS a way to feel slightly superior to the rest of the Average Dudes that make up 99.99% of the world.

It won't last forever, but while it lasts, it's YOUR golden moment. Cherish it.

We publish this nugget of gold free of charge! Your job, though, is to tell your brothers. To spread the word.

Here's the secret...

DO WHATEVER YOU CAN TO BE A BARTENDER WHILE YOU'RE STILL YOUNG AND RELATIVELY GOOD LOOKING!

The 5 Reasons being a Bartender is even more awesome than you thought:

REASON NUMBER ONE! Chicks dig you. Seriously, it's not even funny. Every college girl that came up to the bar to order a beer immediately went into flirty/naughty/leaning-over-on-purpose-to-let-you-look-down-her-shirt mode.

Kind of like being in a reverse strip club. On a Thursday night in a college town, broke coeds are essentially like junkies, and you, as the bartender, are the Man. It's fun. I'm not going to lie. This could actually be all 5 reasons. IT'S THAT AWESOME.

REASON NUMBER TWO!

Old men treat you with a mixture of respect and awe. To the 50 and 60 year old local guys that frequented the dive I worked at, I was their hero. This was mostly because of the college girls. It was also because I treated those guys like it was their bar, and made sure I went out of my way to take care of them.

REASON NUMBER THREE!

 People give you things. Just because you're the bartender! Drugs. Tickets. Dates with people's sisters. This never got old.

REASON NUMBER FOUR!

Everyone wants to drink with you and you just can't say no (well... I guess you could...). More nights than most, I was the most wasted come closing time.

Maybe that wasn't very smart. Or professional. But it was a helluva lot of fun! (P.S. -- I never... never ever ever ever... drank and drove.)

REASON NUMBER FIVE!

Did I mention chicks dig you?

Walk-in cooler. Up against a 6 foot stack of Corona Light Bottles. Time of my life. That's all I can say.

So there you have it, my SaveOnBrew friends. YOU can live the golden life!

Contests are afoot!

We've been steadily growing and acquiring a whole lotta cool stuff that we want to give away to YOU just for playing along.

Our first contest...

First (if you're not already...) follow us on Twitter!

Every couple of hours, we'll tweet something.

Here's where you come in. You retweet our tweets. Simple and it only takes a second!

You will receive ONE entry into the contest for every TEN retweets. Since we tweet so much, you could get entered into the contest TODAY. Or you could stick out the whole two weeks, retweet everything we say (Why not? It's easy!) and have a TON of entries. Because we KNOW you're gonna love our prize:

TWO CASES OF BEER!

Which beer will you be sipping on courtesy of SaveOnBrew?

So what are you waiting for!? Get retweeting and GOOD LUCK!

For full contest details, including some REALLY important rules and regulations, click on THIS LINK!

Good luck!

Now that all that silly March madness whatever-it-is is over, it's time to get to a REAL sport!

The good folks over at Maxim have again bailed us out by pointing out five ways to improve the game.

Despite a record 6.6 billion in revenue in 2009, Major League Baseball is still battling the perception that it's a declining pastime.

Here are five ways to once again make the game the dominant force in American sports.

1. Play one game a week. Listen, we love baseball. But they've flooded the market with product. It's as accessible as pool boys on John Travolta's property.

If they played only on weekends, they'd make every game an event, just like the NFL does. Plus, updating the roto squad wouldn't take nine hours a day.

2. Cheerleaders, dammit! Why are there no boobs on the field? What, you think you're special that you're above a little cleavage, baseball? You're above nothing! There are at least 17 half-innings every game. No sport could benefit more from having chicks dancing on the field during long breaks.

You race sausages already, for God's sake. Give us the womanfolk.

3. Bring back the 'roids. Let's face it: Everyone liked the steroid era better.

You know you did. You know who's happy that steroids are gone? Three assholes from the Baseball Writers Association of America. The rest of us don't give a shit. More juice, please.

4. Fire Joe Morgan.

What's that? They did? Holy shit, we're halfway there!

5. Make charging the mound legal.

If a pitcher hits you and you charge the mound and bring him down, they should also award you second base. Remember: The reason people love football is because of the head-crippling violence. How many ballplayers do you know who suffer from post-concussion syndrome? That proves the game is too easy. America loves collisions, Bud Selig.

Thanks again, Maxim!

And if you're going out to the ballpark (they should make a song about that!) remember to check out www.saveonbrew.com FIRST to stock up on your favorite beer at a GREAT price!

Ah. March. The air ripe with potential of spring. And... and something else: allergy spores!

Of course, in the SaveOnBrew-averse, sports and beer go hand-in-hand. Before you head out, or have the gang over, be sure to check out all of the great beer deals at www.saveonbrew.com!

Here's a one-two punch on March Madness courtesy of the good folks at Maxim Magazine. Some people call it "plagiary." We prefer "homage."

First, from the March 2011 edition ...

Five People You'll meet during March madness.

THE GUY WITH "THE SYSTEM" -- "You see, statistically speaking, if an 11 seed goes up against a three seed, there's a one-in-five chance that... Hey, where is everyone going?"

THE PAINTED FAT GUY -- "Hey, dude, can you grab an orange sharpie, I need a touch-up under my left man tit."

[NOTE TO SELF: Do not party at Tummi Yummies]

THE GUY WHO CAME WITH EVERYONE FROM THE OFFICE AND HAS NO IDEA WHAT'S GOING ON -- "I hope the fellows in the blue-and-white costumes win. Touchdown!"

THE GUY WHO KEEPS TRYING TO SNEAK IN ON YOUR TABLE'S ORDER OF NACHOS -- "Hey, I think someone is towing your car! ... Crunch."

THE GUY WHO KEEPS CALLING "TRAVELLING!" OUT AT THE TV SET -- "Oh, come on, how much do you have on the game, ref? Because I bet my kid's college fund."

Second, from the February 2011 edition, a few beer terms you might work into a conversation ...

THE SPECIAL RESERVE: Half-full beers left by strangers, still kind of cold, not totally backwash (we tell ourselves).

SMOKY THE BEER: The random bottle or can you pick up and drink from at a party, only to discover a cigarette butt in it.

BREW-HOO: A mocking rejoinder to someone whining about the quality of beer purchased.

SCROOGE McDICK: The guy who lets everyone else buy rounds but disappears just before his turn.

WIKIDRUNK: The guy at the bar who thinks he knows everything.

PETER PISSBUDDY: The dude who insists on trying to make friends with you at the urinal.

BEER GOOGLES: When you drunkenly scour the internet looking for the girl from the bar who gave you a fake name.

FOOT SPA: The half-inch pool of spilled beer, vomit, and mystery soup on the floor of the men's room.

JERK BOX: The guy who puts $20 into the jukebox so you have to listen to his shitty music all night.

EAU DE REGRET: The lingering mix of ammonia, skunked beer, and B.O. of which all bars reek.

IRISH DISCOUNT: The act of stealing pint glasses from pubs. As in, "Did you get 'the Irish discount'?"

SINK PISS: When you piss in the sink.

Thanks to the folks at Maxim for making our job easy this week!

Enjoy MARCH MADNESS!