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Fall has arrived, my friends. Sure, it’s still hot and muggy. And yes, the leaves are still a lush green. But that’s not what fall is about. Fall isn’t merely a few months on the calendar, created by some centuries old pope. It isn’t just a season when farmers harvest crop. No, it’s something much more important, more sacred. It’s the world’s longest drinking holiday, and it runs for weeks.
Football Sundays. Football Saturdays. Tailgating. Spiked cider. Pumpkin-flavored beer, if you into that sort of thing. That’s just on the normal weeks of course. On top of that we have Thanksgiving, the top holiday for getting hammered with your entire extended family. Preceded, of course, by Black Wednesday, America’s biggest drinking day of the year. Throw in Labor Day Weekend, Halloween, and a few Monday Night Football games that get out of hand, and you’ve got yourself a 12-week-long bender. And as fun as benders are, they don’t come cheap.
But not this year. This year, I say enough. Enough spending a couple bills every time I want to go spend all Saturday watching every college football game from my favorite booth at the sports bar down the street. Enough of being scared to check my bank account on Monday morning as I recover from yet another Sunday Funday. And certainly enough spending any more of my hard-earned money lining the pockets of apple farmers for when I inevitably have to spend a whole day paying them to pick their own goddamn fruit for them. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Fuck apple picking.
This year, I’m saving my money. It’s Flask Fall, and I’m all in. From now on, when I head out to the bars, I’m not walking in naked, just begging them to rob me of my money. Nah. I’m keeping that motherfucking thang on me – my trusted flask. Holding between four and six shots of whatever alcohol I desire, but most likely whiskey, that shit will be tucked in my back pocket 24/7. Well, not 24/7, since I’m not bringing it to work. That’s an easy way to get fired. Plus, there’s free booze in my office, so it’s unnecessary. But anytime I’m going somewhere where alcohol could be purchased, you know I’ll be holding. 24/2, I guess, would be more accurate.
I can see that many of you reading this have questions. You’re questioning whether I’m a genius or a cheapskate. And to that, I answer – Yes. They are not mutually exclusive. In fact, most of human ingenuity was a direct cause of being too lazy or cheap to do things the hard and expensive way. The word “visionary” may have been thrown around, but I’m not willing to accept that. I am but a man doing what he thinks is right. I deserve no praise. Okay, maybe just a little praise.
“But if you’re so worried about spending money, why don’t you just stay at home?” You ask. Easy answer. I don’t go to bars because I like drinking, I go to bars because I love the ambiance. The people. The energy. I’m an extrovert, and I thrive off crowds and people. Also, my cable package blows and I get, like, two football games a week. Fuck you, Comcast.
“Don’t you feel bad denying the hard-working bar staff their tips?” Is another question you may have. No. No, I do not, because they’ll still make plenty of money off of me. It’s not like I’ll be drinking straight, room temperature whiskey all night. I’ll need to order some soda to put my booze in, and you can be sure I’ll be tipping a dollar on each of those. Combine that with the many Coors Lights and inevitable bar food I get, and I can assure you that my commitment to #FlaskSZN will not be making any bartenders go hungry.
“Aren’t you worried about being patted down and/or kicked out of the bar?” You ask, because you get off on asking too many fucking questions. Well, don’t worry, I have answer for you. Not at all. I don’t know what bars y’all are going to, but any bar that pats me down before I enter is not a place I want to chill and catch the games. If you’re planning on going to clubs all fall, you shouldn’t be reading this column, because we’re on entirely different wavelengths. And if a bouncer happens to see me pouring my flask into my drink, that’s ok. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been kicked out of a bar, and it probably won’t be the last. Worst case scenario, I have to walk a few hundred feet to the next bar. I’ll survive.
Flask Fall isn’t just a way to get cheaper bills. It’s a lifestyle. Rolling into the bar with 10oz. of warm booze tucked into your back pocket says, “I’m here to get drunk and unwind. I don’t take myself too seriously. I’m not here to impress anyone by buying rounds of top-shelf liquor. I’m not here to sip on a martini. I’m here to get my buzz on with my friends, relax, dance, watch sports, and maybe get a little too rowdy for this particular establishment. You may say a lot of things about me, but you’ll never say I’m not having fun.”
If that sounds like a trend you’d like to be a part of, I invite you to join me, internet friends. Find your trusty flask from college. Buy a new one if it smells like something died in there, which I’m sure it does. Fill it up with your favorite liquor, and enjoy the bars this weekend. Hit me up on Twitter or Snapchat, Flask Fam. Flask Fall has officially arrived..