The Drinking Future of Our Nations Youth
The Fair and Balanced Opinion of a Gifted Drinker
by Finnegan "Where's My F---ing Drink??" Schall

Throughout my career as a professional drinker many people have asked me how I developed my amazing tolerance for that sultry mistress, alcohol.

Normally I lie, but now, because of my overwhelming concern for The Children, the truth must come out. I developed my skills in the alcoholic arts through long years of hard work and effort, starting when I was just a child.
Early on, my father recognized my talent and thirst for greatness. Accordingly he gave me the position of beer retrieval specialist at the double wide we called home. This position allowed me to observe experienced professionals in their natural drinking habitat as well as earn up to a quarter per beer in tips.

Soon I began a quality assurance program or Q.A.P. (involving the careful extraction of a sample followed by manual ingestion) to ensure I was delivering the best damn canned P.B.Rs the refrigerator had to offer.
And so, as the necessary sample volume steadily increased I was on the path to the fulfilling and satisfying life of a professional drinker at the tender age of five.

To be entirely honest I don't particularly care for children. Direct contact with the midgets is usually stickier than sex in a bar bathroom stall, but with more of a toilet smell. I must also mention their conversational skills are absolutely pitiful. To whit; recently when visiting my friend, Hector Gonzalez Rodriguez Gildenputz (this is NOT a fictional name), I was unforgivably left alone with his child.

I am not sure of the child's age or gender, but I was reasonably sure he/she was too young to provide sex or to buy liquor. Opting for conversation as a desperate last resort, I began with the subject of gin versus vodka for those nights when you just don't feel like drinking).

Nothing.

After several similar attempts I was disappointed to discover the only available topics were an unlikely purple creature referred to as Barney or the kid's drawings made in school.

I ended up opting for the drawings after the first horrifying musical sample from the "Barney" repertoire.
Though the drawings themselves proved to be of very poor quality (colors strayed way outside the lines and major details such as hands and feet were represented by nothing more than crosshatched black lines), that still did not explain the growing sense of terror that being in this child's presence caused me.

Something was very, very wrong with this child.

Later, I had a drink or 12 with Hector (which, by the way, was his "apology" for leaving me alone with a child for more than 23 seconds. 23 seconds is the court-mandated limit. Apparently there are a great many things that are illegal to discuss with a minor. Who knew?).

Moving on. While sharing sed drinks with Hector, I realized where the underlying horror that had haunted me through the entire event actually came from.

As my friend laid out the details my blood ran cold. Due to the current social climate, the child, although well on its way to six years old, had never been drunk.

In fact, it had never even sampled alcohol. Further more, there are apparently anti-inebriation brainwashing programs in place in the very schools and churches these children are subjected to on a daily basis.

Having finished my own schooling some time ago, and avoiding churches ever since the first rain of toads, I had been entirely unaware of this growing fascism.

But because of these programs parents can no longer drink in front of their own children for fear of betrayal and legal retribution. Hector told me how, after one tiny two-week bender, his kid had the temerity to ask him if he had a drinking problem.

Parentally crippled by a society where he can no longer educate his own children about the beautiful sins of alcoholic excess, Hector cried.

My first impulse upon learning this was to simply say "screw this, I'm getting drunk!"

And then quite suddenly, the full implications hit me. This situation might affect MY Drinking! As I get older these children are going to have to people the factories that make my booze. These children are going to have to provide enough of a market that I can still afford a liter or two of Irish whiskey per day while on a pension. These children are going to have to bartend at my bars. All these jobs require at least a rudimentary understanding of the beauty and majesty of drunkenness.

So I implore you, for my sake, get your children drunk! Get other people's children drunk! Get Drunk!
What was I talking about? Hey, have you seen my drink? No, that's an empty glass; I said "my drink". Well, get me another one then. Jesus, do I have to think of everything myself?

- www.KCDrinker.com - 2003 ©

Finnegan Schall  has great hair. He is perhaps most famous as Rasputin’s decadent love child, with a day job as a mad scientist (while not crazy per se, his antagonistic feelings toward farm animals is considered by some to be deviant). He works a promising night time career in the male stripping industry, and is currently negotiating a lucrative stripping contract with Paris Hilton’s lawyers. His drinking credentials include: Out drinking the Russian, German, Irish, and Australian teams at the International Tag Team Drinking Championship (with the help of Ike Hill). Most famous quote: “Hey that’s my shoe, it’s full of booze, and what’s your name lover?”