Nothing Beats A Bucket Of Beers Poolside

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Going on vacation means spending thousands of dollars to change the scenery of my drinking problem from the comfort of my basement to a somewhat more relaxed tropical setting. And instead of casually crushing a 30 rack of tallboys out of the mini-fridge, I’m gassing back a bucket of beers before the ice melts.

The king of poolside containers retails anywhere between $12.95 to $24.50. Some of the higher end resorts will upcharge you to $35, but if you’re the special kind of trash that drinks Heineken, nothing’s too good for you.

I was in Vegas with the guys a couple weeks back on some chapter business for a fake convention I made up to bum a free trip from the alumni (a story for another time) and I had a powerful thirst for the mighty bucket.

“$12 for a marg, $10 for a rum and coke, or $14.50 for 5 Coors in a souvenir bucket? How is that even a question?” I said allowed.

“Do you ever wonder why they serve the beers in a bucket?” asked my boy Dobbs.

“I guess they expect like you’re supposed to take them back and share them with your friends,” I responded.

“But they have to know that nobody does that. Obviously, the person that buys the bucket is going to drink all the beers.”

“Yeah,” added our buddy Coop. “Like at some point, doesn’t the bucket and five separate bottles lose its utility and become nothing more than an obstacle between you and that sweet 10 a.m. buzz?”

“Huh. I guess so.”

“I’ll give you $20 if you drink all 5 beers at once out of the dirty ass bucket,” offered Dobbs.

I grabbed his $20.

“Easiest cash I ever made.”

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So I was officially off on my journey to find a bartender to serve me a literal bucket filled with beer. I was already 2 or 3 tequila shots deep from a water-bottle we filled with Silver from one of the pop-up liquor stores on the strip the night before, so I was feeling pretty confident.

I went up to the closest bar, a little shack at the edge of the lazy river.

“Hey what’s up? So I need to get a bucket of Buds please, and I need you to just pour all five of them straight into the bucket. None of that ice shit, just beer.”

“You want me to pour the beer into the bucket?” the bartender replied. “I can’t do that.”

“Dude, I need to win a stupid bet. Help me out.”

He pointed to a sign behind the bar.

2 drink maximum per person per transaction.

“I can sell the buckets but only because management assumes nobody’s stupid enough to try to chug all five of them at once. If you want a bucket filled with beer, you’ll have to do like everybody else does and just pour the bottles out into the bucket yourself where I can’t see you and therefore do not give a shit.”

I took off my sunglasses and folded them.

“Listen, dude. This has become a matter of principle. I’m a paying customer in the most un-judgmental and capitalist city in the entire damn country and I can’t find one person that will serve me these beers as God himself intended: naked and free. In one great undivided container. In a way, my dream of a single, unified bucket of beer is the same as the spirit of the American Dream. It’s that endearing, immortal notion that anybody — no matter how drunk or stupid — can have any dumb thing that he wants, served to him at fair market value by people that make significantly less per hour than he does. To deprive of me of this desire due to restrictive nanny state policies aimed at protecting my health, safety, and ensuring a sterile bathing environment free of fecal matter is to deprive of my rights as a GOSHDARNED AMERICAN. Do you see Jose? Do you see what your people came to this country for? FUCKING FREEDOM!”

The guy sighed deeply.

“If I pour your beers, will you promise to go away and leave my stand in peace?”

“On my honor as an American.”

“Alright, hold on.”

Like a true champion, the bartender poured all five beers into a bucket, sloshing around in beautiful sudsy glory as I walked victoriously back to the boys.

“Oh shit, he actually did it.” Dobbs exclaimed.

“Well he still needs to drink it,” added Coop.

I raised the round plastic chalice high above my head, chilled Budweiser glistening in the bright Nevada sunlight.

“Behold!” I shouted, drawing the attention of almost everyone in earshot, who turned to look at me. “As I chug this bucket of beer, I consume it as an act not just for myself, or simply to get drunk. I chug it for the dream and vision the Founding Fathers had for—“

“Shut up and down it, you pussy ass piece of shit!” a loud, nearby jacked dude in a Sigma Chi tank screamed.

“Alright, fuck.”

I opened my mouth and tipped the bucket down. I discovered immediately why most people don’t try to chug a whole bucket of beer at once, or if they do, they use a bong. The contents of the bucket sloshed back and hit me right in both nostrils like a tidal wave of hopped piss water. The flood momentarily choked me, making me lose my balance on the chair I was standing on and take a tumble directly into the lazy river. I spilled pretty much all of the beer and came up gasping for air like an asthmatic dolphin.

“Awww fucking weak!” the same Sigma Chi guy said, going back to his cocaine.

“Dude, that was so much better than I expected,” laughed Dobbs. “Definitely worth $20.”

“Ughhh shit,” I moaned groggily, climbing out of the lazy river. “Never fucking doing that again.”

But I did, like 2 days later. That time, I tipped my head back.

Image via Kaitlyn Baker/Unsplash

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Doctor Franzia

*Not qualified to practice medicine*

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