======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====
McDonald’s has always been an American Fast Food staple, and it was only natural to pair one of our country’s most patriotic beers with their deep-fried greasy goodness.
After a long night of Ameri-Can shotgunning and general displays of drunken patriotism, there’s nothing better than a sackful of McDoubles to take you from “Guy who runs naked through the quad with an American Flag” back down to “Dude who starts the out-of-place, but still completely appropriate U-S-A chant.”
There’s just something about the way those perfectly circular patties blend with the liquid form of American Pride that makes this decision as obvious as the choice to vote for anyone but Obama.
Before you oh-so-enlightened commentors start spewing “Anheuser-Busch isn’t American!” repeatedly, I’d like to point out that good old Bud Heavy is still brewed in America, by Americans, and for Americans. If you’re too stuck up to drink that Star Spangled Can, take a step back and realize that you might be a tryhard.
After drinking the overrated Mexican piss-water known as Corona, the next logical step is to stuff your face with whatever mystery meat product that Taco Bell is passing off as ground beef these days.
While I’m biased against Corona’s mediocrity, there’s no denying the drunken joy that a crunchwrap supreme, or three, can bring to your drunken adventures. It may only be 20% beef, but it’s 100% delicious. Sure, your digestive system will both feel and sound like a battle from the Revolutionary War the next day, but the drunken bliss brought by the layers of lukewarm nacho cheese make every queasy rumble worth it.
An added bonus: the imitation Mexican food will cleanse the shitty imitation Mexican beer right out of you. Hopefully you won’t make the same mistake twice.
PBR/Some Vegan Fast Food Place You Probably Haven’t Heard of
While I love this video this video and the overt American pride brought to PBR through it, there’s no denying that Pabst’s sub-par lager has become your average hipster’s beverage of choice.
Due to this labeling as “hipster-water,” PBR’s natural pairing is somewhat of a mystery. You probably haven’t heard of it, and neither have some of the hipsters, but that’s what makes it cool. The food isn’t great, in fact it’s terrible, but the hipster-faithful congregate there simply for the sake of irony.
You can’t get any meat there, and the whipped soybean-curd is just as despicable as it sounds. They once tried to ban PBR sales, claiming that its production was “too cruel to the wheat and barley of the world,” but when their sales dropped to zero they had no choice but to reintroduce the infamous hippie juice to the market.
If you’re drinking Colt 45, it is clear that your only hopes and dreams lie in an penny-laden styrofoam cup that you jiggle helplessly on a street corner.
What do you do when you finally collect that first elusive dollar? Finish up that 24oz can of misery and get yourself to a local Popeye’s stat. Sure, you might get a few concerned looks as you browse through each pocket of your six coats, but when you drop those shiny nickels on the counter there will be no doubt what’s coming.
The best part of this alcohol pairing is the undeniable fact that both products are best enjoyed out of a brown paper bag. Hopefully those three miniature spicy nuggets will hold you over until next week. In the meantime, if you’re really lucky, you’ll have enough coin left over to crack open another ice cold Colt 45. Throw in a couple zig-zags and a complete lack of skill and motivation? Baby, that’s all we need.
Ever since Natural Light and Pizza have existed, college students everywhere have been combining the two in a flurry of alcoholic consumption. Like peanut butter and jelly, eggs and bacon, and your parents’ money and alcohol purchases, the two combine so flawlessly that it’s almost impossible not to have one without the other.
After a long and prosperous Natural Light bender, your odds of successfully navigating a fast food parking lot drop to almost zero. Luckily, the pizza artists of our generation deliver straight to our doors, and we need not spend valuable drinking time in the sobering purgatory of a drive-thru line.
The subtle aluminum aftertaste of the Natural blend is sure to highlight the cardboard undertones gracing your slightly blackened crust. Is it the best beer you’ve ever had? Of course not. Is it the best pizza? Not by far. Does it matter at this point? Of course not, you’re drunk.
Though many parts of our noble country don’t get the chance to enjoy Yuengling, I’m here to report that like Chick-Fil-A, it is undeniably a step above the competition.
Stepping into a Chick-Fil-A restaurant is always a refreshing feeling (as long as you’re a heterosexual, white, and Christian, that is). While other chains rely on grease and incompetence, CFA prides itself on service and quality. As your teeth slide into the warm nirvana of an Original Chicken Sandwich, other fast food establishments will crumble into insignificance in your mind.
In a similar fashion, the surprisingly delicious taste of Yuengling will leave you thinking “Why can’t every cheap beer taste that good?” While its neighbors on the beer rack resemble carbonated urine, the powerful amber color of Yuengling will stick in your mind like watching Michelle Jenneke adjust her hurdling shorts.
Unfortunately, there are many places in the US of A that lack access to BOTH Chick-Fil-A and Yuengling. I have a personal nickname for these places, one that I’m sure many of you agree with. I call them “Places I Never Want to Live.”
Coors Light/Jimmy John’s
Cheap. Effective. Reliable. Both Coors Light and Jimmy John’s fit this description, and pairing these two conveniences is surely the right choice.
While there is nothing exceptional about Coors Light, there’s something about the ice-cold refreshment that blends perfectly with a hot summer day (possibly because I expect a giant ice-train to show up any moment). As that hot summer day turns into a night of reckless abandon, finding yourself beneath the familiar red brick of a Jimmy John’s is sure to bring you back down to the American earth we hold so dear.
Despite being unbelievably cheap and fast, Jimmy John’s actually sports some damn good ingredients, and even in your inebriated stupor you can’t help but notice the quality. Like the Silver Bullet, you can’t expect a gourmet experience, but the cost to satisfaction ratio is more than acceptable.
Jimmy John’s could probably be delivered anywhere in the continental US in five minutes or less. Coors, too, can be found almost anywhere, and those elegant blue mountains guarantee you’re in for a good time. Combine the two and you’re bound to be full and drunk enough to take on the world (or at least to climb up something dangerously high).
Miller 64/Granola Bars at your Sorority House
The only acceptable excuse for drinking Miller 64 is…shit I can’t even think of anything. Maybe if you’re a pudgy sorority girl that’s allergic to liquor working hard to shake your “Freshman-45. ” Even then, maybe it’s time to lay off the Cheetos Puffs and start having a little self-respect.
The lingering bile of Miller 64 pairs best with the sadness and regret of a half-eaten granola bar. You won’t get drunk off the beer, and you sure as hell won’t get full off of the shitty stick of cranberry-oat disgust. As you mix the two in the most depressing instance of double-fisting in recorded history, feel free to sigh and wonder why they don’t let you stand in the front row at recruitment anymore.
Despite their desperate efforts to brand themselves as a calorie-conscious “guy beer,” Miller 64 is absolutely nothing to drunkenly sing about. The only men who count calories when drinking are the same ones that shop for turtlenecks in the Macy’s Big & Tall women’s section, hoping to hide their gargantuan adam’s apple.
If you catch a self-respecting guy drinking this watery abortion of a beer, do us all a favor and request that he turn in both his Man Card and the microscopic boxer-raisins that he calls testicles.