I like my beer the same way I like my women: wet, yellow and full of booze. I’m very particular these days. I’m not a fan of craft beers. I appreciate the time, effort, artistic merit and level of drunkenness that certain brewers dedicate to their passion, but craft beer all tastes like pine trees to me and gives me the flatulence of a bloated buffalo.

If you see me out and about, you will never see me with a PBR. That beer has become a lowly status symbol for hipsters and their trust funds. It’s the nectar of the mega-fags, and I would rather drink Hitler’s piss. And to settle the argument that “PBR is cheap and that’s why I buy it … blah, blah, blah,” well, so is Milwaukee’s Best and Busch, you cocksucking poseur.

When in public, I always drink Budweiser bottles—this is the first part of my beer-drinking routine. Why? Because they are my official beer sponsor and I’m a big fan of supporting brands that support me and my liver. That, and it’s good to have a weapon at most of the bars where I drink—if you are drinking a bottle, you always have one. If I’m feeling fancy or some rich idiot offers to buy me a beer, I might go for a Stella, but that’s about as fancy-pants as I get with my beers.

The second part of my beer-drinking routine is Natural Light at home. Again, Natural Light is like the kind of women I like: It’s cheap, stays cold, goes down fast and can fit in my freezer if needed. It’s also the retarded kid sister of Budweiser. Lately, though, my home-drinking routine has been disrupted by the Busch 16 oz. 4 packs—the cans look way cool and I’m a sucker for effective branding.

This brings me to what has become one of my favorite days of the year: Natturday! For those who don’t know, Natturday is the unofficial last day of the year at one of my favorite places on this big stupid Earth, Brighton Resort. Natty Light hosts a beach bash and turns the resort into a tailgate of legendary proportions. Neff headwear has been throwing down a rail jam to accompany the good vibes for the last three years as well.
The first time I discovered Natturday was a few years ago when I was asked to judge a bikini contest. It was great: I sat there and was fed beers while half-naked girls tried to win stupid prizes by dancing around in the snow. I got to tell them how dumb they looked. I treated the judging the same way I treat strippers in a strip club. I always tip the uglier strippers who are trying harder more than the pretty ones who aren’t working as hard. I applaud effort. Sure, I got a couple snowballs thrown at me from some of the prettier girls’ boyfriends, but the women who brought it and were doing angels in the springtime slush snow won my heart and my high scores.

If you follow my Instagram (which Facebook just bought for a cool 1 billion—don’t those dumbasses know they could have just downloaded the app for free), @Fagatron, you can literally see, through social media, how much fun I had this year. SLUG sponsored the event and I took the advantage of manning the SLUG booth for the first couple hours. This basically means I made Chris Proctor stay at the tent while I got fresh morning pow runs off of Milly (it snowed this year on Natturday) only to come back and start a massive personal day-drinking campaign—a perfect weekend day if an imaginary god could draw one up in the first place.

Natturday always combines a bunch of my favorite things: beer, snowboarding, more beer, Brighton, public nudity and more beer. It’s probably the only day of the year aside from my birthday (which is this month, by the way) that I treat like an
actual holiday.

I treat it like a holiday because of the fact that I actually look forward to Natturday every year now, unlike Christmas or any other day. I don’t have a real job at the moment, and my last real job was bartending. If you bartend, you loathe holidays because they just become excuses for puke-prone rookies to drink. They are the worst days to work.

I finally have a day I can tell my illegitimate grandchildren about. A special day to my heart: Natturday.