(Notice the Bud can with lid cut off, being used as a whiskey cup...)
Sometimes us a$$holes are too broke, too lazy, or just plain don't care enough to shell out for fancy beer, whiskey, liquor, wine, whatever.
Many many many years ago I learned an important lesson about light beer. On my first salmon fishing trip with my uncle and some of his friends, good 'ol boys for sure, I was offered my first Coors Light at 4AM while packing up the truck to head to the river. I declined, preferring instead my very "white-collar-nephew-that-must-be-from-the-city" Sierra Nevada. We got to our fishing spot at about 4:30AM, waiting now for the salmon to start moving in the darkness. Our second beers were cracked...again, my Sierra Nevada and their Coors Lights. A few fish, many hours, and even more beers later, I was trashed. My uncle and his friends? Steady as ever, a nice clean buzz going. Me? I was ready for bed at 9AM. Now that I knew how they drank, the next day went better. I stuck with Coors Light, drank from before dawn until after midnight, and had a great 18 hour buzz. I didn't realize until later that it was a little insulting to them, as a guest, that I would turn down their beers, for something I brought for myself. Since then, I don't show up at my uncle's without at least a case of Coors Light to share. Gladly.
When in Rome, do as the Romans...
I'll happily share a can, bottle, barrel, cask, jug, fifth, or vat of anything, in any quantity, with anybody, anytime, anywhere...and love it all up.
I guess turning down cheep liquor is what happens when punks grow up. I'm still trying to resist!
Three guys are riding in their truck, drinking bottle of Coors Light, having a good ol' time.
The driver looks in the mirror and sees the flashing lights of a police car so he pulls over.
The other two are real nervous, "Oh $hit, we've got open containers!"
"No," the driver says, "just do this: pull the label off of your beer bottle and stick it to your forehead and let me do the talking." So they all pull the labels off their bottles and stick 'em to their foreheads.
The policeman walks up and says, "You boys were swerving down the road. Have you been drinking tonight?"
The driver says, "Oh, no officer," and points to his forehead, "we're on the patch, trying to quit."