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Amstel Light
Honestly, please, tell us more about your summer abroad. Yes, yes, it was time to get away from academia for a while, a way to really figure out who you are and what you're all about. Oh, you grew your armpit hair out that July: What self-expression! Well, heavens, no, we had no idea that Europeans had such different views on monogamy? Oh, that? Don't mind that? That's a skull-fuck: If you had made it until September, you would have been around for the historic Amsterdam Cranial Cunt Festival. They take little 22-year-old blonde girls and puncture their orbital bones with elephantine phalluses imported from Burgundy. You would have loved it. Should have stayed. Great way to get to know yourself a little better.

Rating: Tell us all about the youth hostels. Please.



Bass Ale
Say hello to the flat-front khakis of ales! We all remember the first time we tried this beer. It was a momentous occasion. It made you feel like an adult. Like you wanted to audit something and join a country club. Then, as you get older, you realize it's the lingerie section of a Sears catalogue -- another divorced man in an all-white room just sitting by idly waiting for its first prostate exam. Do not get fooled by the fancy brown bottle and the cursive handwriting. It means nothing. There is only heartbreak and eternal regret at the end of your journey. You are a failure in the eyes of everyone but yourself.

Rating: Warm, but alone



Brooklyn Lager
Brooklyn, as a borough, gets a bad rap among the collection of assholes who live in New York City, but we're not sure we understand why. What's better than Brooklyn? When you have to get rid of a body, we suggest the Gowanus Canal; it's shallow enough to make burial easy but expansive enough to make sure those stray hands are stripped quickly away to fill the yearning gullet of an area homeless man. Plus, you know what the incest laws in Brooklyn are like. Thanks to the famous Cobble Hill Constable Provision Of 1891, you can actually practice four different sodomy variations with underaged nieces, as long as they are no shorter than 47 clinometers (and do not own property). Lager? I barely even know her!

Rating: Grandpa is old and cannot hear you anyway.



Bud Light
You drive a Mazda. You watch "CSI." When you're feeling kind of edgy, you put on the Black Eyed Peas. Your closet is nothing but plaid sweaters. You can't wait until you get a promotion so you can take part in casual Friday. Your child is always hooked up with a car seat even though she's 28 and, well, uh, not actually your daughter. Your favorite dog toy is a thong made entirely of peanut butter. Your wife looks suspiciously like Short Round from Indiana Jones, except "she's" chained to the muffler of the old Dodge in Herb's garage down the lane. Stay the fuck away from this beer. You're not ready.

Rating: Nihilism.



Budweiser Select
Making a more "select" version of Budweiser is like a guy named Joseph who insists that the entire world call him "Joseph" -- not "Joey" or "Joe" -- but "Joseph." And when this guy named J-O-fucking-S-E-P-H walks into the bar, he'll confidently order a Budweiser Select, stressing the last syllable, ensuring that the mongoloid bartender is one-trillion percent clear that he wanted a Budweiser Select. Because if someone were to give Joseph a regular old fashioned Bud, or (the horror!) a Bud Light, he'd be just some ordinary schmuck, an average Joe, and that would mean that asshole Boonchu Chaturabatara was better than him.

Rating: Different, special.



We knew a guy named Carlsberg once. Harold Carlsberg. Strange kid: Spoke with a lisp, wore a Sammy Hagar-era Van Halen T-shirt, always carried a couple 12-sided dice with him. One time we caught him in the band room, in between seventh and eighth periods, when everyone was supposed to be either in study hall or away at lunch, trying to have sex with a tuba. It was the strangest thing, too; he actually was trying to hammer the blow hole rather than the large end. He was 15, one supposes. Anyway, it was, suffice to say, an uncomfortable moment for Mrs. Darimont; she ate her tuna salad sandwich packed by her invalid husband with a bit extra deliberation that day. What does this beer taste like? No, friend, not like the refuse we found in the mouthpiece, get your head out of the gutter. It's more like the liquid of indeterminate origin that the coroner later found in the between Harold's testicles and his anus, commonly known as the "taint." Actually, Carlsberg is somewhat saltier. But you understand the general tang we're going for.

Rating: Third Chair.



Corona Extra
Every day's a vacation when you're drinking Corona. Whether it's a random Wednesday afternoon at Applebee's or just a very early morning at your lonely apartment counting dead water bugs in the tub, one sip of McCerveza makes it all okay. Even without the squish of lime, there's an overwhelming sense of libidinous freedom that causes the most staid, homely individuals to whip out their monsters and attack the first quivering hole they come across. And you never drink only one bottle of Corona. Pretty soon it's 4 a.m., your pants are down and you're doing body shots off your buddy's bloated, furry stomach because HE'S. GOOD. PEOPLE. Then during the cab ride home you both assault the cab driver because you're convinced those cell phone calls he's making are jeopardizing national security.

Rating: Take that, you towel head faggot



Dos Equis
Anyone got a lime? Without a lime, this beer just tastes like water you know will eventually make you shit. "Crafted by a German brewmaster in Mexico in 1897," Dos Equis is a confused comingling of cultures rendering the same result you got when you tried to mix all the paint together as a kid: bilgewater. Does anything else in Mexico claim to be "Vienna style"? No. Have you had rice and beans and bratwurst? Exactly.

Rating: Dysenteresting



Faxe Premium

Holy fucking Viking shit, look at the size of this thing! Peter Dinklage could not only live inside this can, he would have enough floor space to throw in an elliptical machine and a kerosene heater as well. But do not assume that the size of this burly Danish lager can do anything to help its flavor. There's a strong possibility this beer is made out of goat tit milk. And we all know what that does for a complexion. One Faxe too many and you'll turn into Edward James Olmos.

Rating: Stand and deliver



How do I open this thing? Hey, Timmy. Do you remember how to open one of these for grandpa? You did it before, but I forget. It's something simple. You just flick something. Or part of this moves. Timmy, you want to take a turn at it? OK, here. Be careful. What are you doing, Timmy? Aw, son. Naw. Hey! Don't bang it against the table! Are you fucking retarded? Give it here, Timmy. Son, are you drunk? Have you been dipping into grandpa's beer again? You little fucker. No, I don't want to play G.I. Joes right now -- tell grandpa how to open this. Now, listen you little bastard. Open this for grandpa!

Rating: No, I don't want to play G.I. Joes right now.



Harpoon's Unfiltered Offering, a/ka "UFO"

Don't know enough about beer to determine the difference between filtered and unfiltered Hefeweizen, but Harpoon's version is crisp and clean. It's good even without the lemon that usually cloaks the congenital wrung-out-sock flavor of this variety. Drink UFO all night and you'll find yourself under the picnic table at the biergarten lovingly murmuring "Hefeweizen, Hefeweizen" in various accents that don't exist. The beer is from Boston, but it still makes Nazi Youth smile warmly at Jews after only half a bottle. What Berlin Wall?

Rating: Inalienable




Everyone equates Heineken with Germany, but you know what, dickhead? It's from Holland. So don't start shaving your head and goose-stepping after one bottle. You'll look foolish. But 10 Heinekens? Well, that's something different. By that time, everyone's a possible candidate for ethnic cleansing. Even our own parents.

Rating: Prussian Blue



Kisz Bier
Nothing good can come of a beer from Czech Republic, except that you have a 90% chance of there being a 'z' in its name. You also have a 90% chance of becoming "drunk socialist guy" at your next house party if you drink too much of it. And in this case, too much is two, as after half a bottle of Kisz there is an overwhelming urge to blow Ivan Lendl and beat the shit out of a Slovakian. But remember there is no place for these things at house parties or in central European diplomacy. Save all your wanton sexual urges and Velvet Revolution rants for your summer visit to Prague, where it can at least be used to seduce dim co-eds back to your hostel for Absinthe-induced ear fucking.

Rating: Kde Domov Muj, motherfucker.



Magic Hat #9
At first sip, man, this beer tastes kind of a lot like apricot breezes rolling along the amber waves of grain, you know? But then, like, this crazy big fruity disco hippie beer party explodes in your mouth and you suddenly want to move to South Burlington, Vermont just to be closer to the fantastical brewery that produces this stuff. It's just that wonderful. Gosh. Hey, did you know that in the state of Washington it's perfectly legal to have sex with an animal, provided you don't hurt it. So this guy got fucked by a horse and died. I totally saw it on the Internet, too, and it was horrible.

Rating: Play nice with Freckles!



Miller Genuine Draft
Remember when in History of Violence, that nice man came home, ripped off his wife's panties and then fucked her really hard on the stairs? And then she was in a cheerleader costume before that? Remember? That was a cool scene.

Rating: Silent but deadly.




Miller Lite
We once knew a woman who tried to explain to us that performing oral sex - more specifically, swallowing -- was much easier than we might have previously suspected. (Personally, it seemed like the act would be somewhat difficult.) She told us to think about it like taking a shot, maybe something like a cement mixer, or tequila mixed with maple syrup. "You how tough it is to keep down Robitussin? It's easier than that, because you have a little Binkie that takes care of any dripping excess." At this point, Mom put us to bed. We were four, after all, it was 8:30 and the nighttime lullaby was over. But not until she whispered, comforting, matronly, "Great taste, less filling, baby. Less … filling."

Rating: Milky.



Modelo Especial
What's so especial about this beer? Nada, pendejo. Only assholes who think South of the Border is actually in Mexico would like this swill. Or people who regularly drink Budweiser but want to look worldly. Take your pick. It won't make you shit yourself, but that would at least make Modelo Especial memorable. Instead, it's flat and boring and reminds you of how miserable it is to be poor. Modelo Especial is an embarrassment to its native land. Where is the dirty water, the corrupt police and valium sold OTC? Modelo Especial's only redeeming quality is its squat, fat bottle. It forces you to make a fist so big that you'll have to stick it up someone's ass, just to have something to do while drinking this flatliner of a beer.

Rating: Dishwasher safe



You know what's nice about this beer? It does not require teeth. You might think that's unnecessary for proper beer consumption, but, listen, bloke, it goes perfect with courgettes, crispers and various other cakehole accessories. Of all Brit sayings, "cakehole" is probably our favorite. That's what this beer is: It seems specifically designed to be poured into something called a cakehole. So you know: Just turn your head and cough. Perfect for sucking down a good fag.

Rating: Luvverly jubberly.



Old Speckled Hen
Morland Brewery is an English brewery that apparently is quite proud of its "Old Speckled Hen" collection-or, at the very least, takes pride in over compensating. As dotty and pretentious as it sounds, this beer is still unabashedly ghetto piss. It appears "Old Speckled Hen" may be British slang for "fried chicken and food stamps." But that may be giving the beer's flavor too much credit, as most malt liquors at least have the decency to blend its leaden consistency with some sort of fruity aftertaste. Not this time. But it is good to know that there is a beer out there that will satisfy the sensitive pallet of those beer drinkers craving the taste of shart splash.

Rating: Old Speckled Dick



Pabst Blue Ribbon
Somewhere out there is a man named Gus wearing a pair of $5 dungarees he bought in 1978 and a navy blue Dickies workshirt with his name proudly emblazoned on the front of it. Gus drinks P.B.R. because it's what he always drank and because it's always on sale at the Food Lion. He's never really thought about it, but if you asked Gus, he'd tell you that he liked P.B.R. because it tastes good, keeps pretty cold, and because it's not all fussy like those rich people up the street who drink Coors. And somewhere else, 2,500 miles away is a trendy dickhead drinking the same beer, the only one he could afford after spending $180 to buy a vintage navy blue workshirt with Gus' name on it.

Rating: What goes around, comes around.



Pilsner Urquell
The day you got your first passport, you bought a six pack of Pilsner Urquell to practice being European. Maybe you picked up a tin of Drum and brushed up on your Derrida. All in preparation for sophisticated conversations with exotic members of the opposite sex (or perhaps the same sex just for, you know, the experience) that you never actually had. But it's a bottle with promise, and that's why Pilsner Urquell is some tasty beer. Dark but not bitter, full-flavored but not bloated, Pilsner Urquell is like the semester abroad you couldn't afford, unlike those pretty rich assholes you went to college with. The great travel equalizer is available at a deli near you. Order it like you mean it. Order it like you've been there.

Rating: Czech, please!



Yeungling Light
For those wanting to stay trim while drinking, Yuengling Light guarantees fewer calories by making you piss out the beer within 20 minutes of cracking the bottle. The hills of Western Pennsylvania are reserved for Rolling Rock and Philadelphia and the eastern part of the state go for Yuengling lager, leaving Yuengling Light for … Delaware? Perhaps the brew, with its acidic tang and not-quite-beer flavor, is tearing up Philly's gayborhood. Or frequenting gatherings of high school girls with Tri Delt aspirations doing some "experimenting." Either way, Yuengling Light is a frisky beverage. Like drinking a basket full of kittens who scratch your hands and then pee on them.

Rating: Diuretic



In the mood for more beer?

Part One: Cheap Beers.

Part Two: More Beers.

Part Three: Summer Beers.

Part Four: Oktoberfest.

Part Five: Best of the Rest.