Pro-life vs. pro-choice, god-fearing Christians vs. atheists, fashion vs. function: all classic debates. But what about the cheap beer vs. boxed wine debate? Agatha and I decided to tackle this controversial issue with the gusto of an underage coed halfway through her second power hour. Onward!
CHEAP BEER RULES!
By Toby
Ah, cheap beer. The drink of champions! And the breakfast of alcoholics. This noxious, carbonated beverage has been there for me when my bank account and self-esteem were running low. It has been the catalyst for innumerable power hours, misconceived hookups, and reckless sprints to the bathroom. And so it is only fair that I step up to the keg and defend cheap beer's superiority to boxed wine, not to mention hard liquor, Mountain Dew and purified water.
Here are a few reasons why your next frat party, pre-party or funeral party should be fueled by the 5.9 percent alcoholic goodness of cheap beer:
1. Unlike liquor, heroin or a therapist, cheap beer won't burn a hole in your wallet. It will, however, burn a hole in your gastrointestinal lining. But aren't the caustic properties of a good ol' Natty Ice worth its economic value? A family-sized 12-pack of cheap beer will cost you only $4.99, whereas a box o' wine can be priced upwards of $10. Do the math, people! Because I'm too hungover to do it myself.
2. Short of sloppy fistfights and the condescension of women, there is nothing manlier than cheap beer. I would know! I drink cheap beer all the time, and just look how manly I am. Find out for yourself: pound a few Beasts and see what happens. Beating up on your friends yet? Making racist jokes? See, cheap beer can make anyone a man ? even a gutless wimp like yourself. Unfortunately for the boxed wine connoisseurs, cheapo vino is about as testosterone-laden as a PTA meeting. Drink that stuff and you'll be watching "Golden Girls" reruns and smoking Virginia Slims in no time.
3. Cheap beer comes in a convenient container that can be opened (almost) anywhere, at anytime. Can you say the same of boxed wine? No, I didn't think so. Imagine cracking open a box of wine during a barbeque or at a football game or during your evening block class; there's just no way to be discreet. With cheap beer, you just stick the can in a brown paper bag and you're good to go. They even make cute little foam cozies for beer cans. Do they make foam cozies for boxed wine? Not from what I know, and I know a lot.
4. OK, tough guy, try crushing a box of wine against your forehead. Lesson: People who wish to avoid head injuries drink cheap beer!
5. I'm sorry, but boxed wine is arguably the most pretentious beverage in the world. I'd say expensive seltzer is more pretentious, but at least Perrier comes from France, not northern New Jersey. Consider who drinks boxed wine: tacky people who are too poor to afford real class, but still wish to mask their trashiness with the thin veil of an ersatz zinfandel. These are the same people who buy fake handbags and put ice cubes in red wine. Let me tell you something: that box of Franzia is not fooling anyone. Why not embrace your third-class status and serve cheap beer with those microwaved hot dogs? Cheap beer might be trashy, but at least it's not pretending to be something it isn't.
Considering most people will drink anything with a proof higher than that of mouthwash, I'm not sure how many cheap beer loyalists this editorial will garner. But if you're smart like me, you'll choose the can over the box. At least when you vomit, it won't stain your bed sheets.
BOXED WINE RULES!
By Agatha
The bearded economist Karl Marx once infamously stated, "Religion is the opiate of the masses," presupposing an innate desire for dependency in men, regardless of class. Over a century later, opium remains dishearteningly expensive, and religion is "sooo Pre-Enlightenment." Thankfully, in a city so diverse that store clerks admire the curious Roman letters on one's fake ID, rather than examining its obvious flaws, boxed wine provides a crutch to the weak so class-unifying that Marx would certainly approve. However, capitalists too can enjoy boxed wine for its innumerable joys, many enumerated below:
Efficiently spend parent's money: From the lowliest high school student suspiciously loitering in Tenleytown to the spoiled college student "rebudgeting" the money granted by caring parents for books, boxed wine offers an alternative to cheap beer with a considerably more favorable and arguably "flavorable" ratio of dollars to pure alcohol. For example, an $8.99, five-liter box of Vella's "Delicious Red," cheaper than actual grape juice, contains 11.5 percent alcohol, amounting to quite a splendid ratio.
Augment overall drunkenness: Traditionally a compulsory component of the redneck wedding, the nectar of northern New Jersey's majestic vineyards intoxicates the ever-growing stratum of "desperate alcoholics without standards." After two or three glasses, the slightly fruity and mildly "vinager-esque" beverage tastes quite like juice, albeit from an unnervingly non-extant fruit rather than the assumed grape. Although overly robust in body, and subsequently disgusting to swallow at first, the noncarbonated drink remains slightly less filling than beer; able to drink more, one will get drunker.
Impress other people: Like a proudly vinyl Louis Vuitton clutch purchased from a Georgetown street merchant, boxed wine offers a distasteful and tacky guise of sophistication. Though all students unquestionably share the desire to go to the school cafeteria drunk, the "trashiness" element deters a startling amount, or so one might assume given the lack of statistical research on the matter. Emulating one's yuppie parents, or yuppie parents on television in the case of unfortunate students, one might demand a glass of wine before dinner as an "aperitif." The ambiguous definition of "glass" provides a refined opportunity to "get drunk and go to the school cafeteria," and the notion of drinking an aperitif certainly will raise a few eyebrows, as well as wine glasses. Being sketchier than Picasso's later works has never been so posh!
Violate school policy: In case a pesky RA should disturb one's rabble-rousing with the dreaded knock, the only tactic to avoid yet another wretched drinking violation is concealment of any evidence. With a floor cluttered with empty cans and a malodorous stench, a night of drinking beers produces a chaotic scene, almost impossible to tidy before the uninvited guest finally enters. Offering a significant amount of alcohol in an efficient packaging, a student can easily hide the box in his or her fridge, and reusing of plastic cups, readily available at the convenience store, significantly diminishes the clutter.
Cheap wine - The Pope does it: Although one's parents might contest this excuse for drinking, after their son or daughter has endured a stomach pumping at Sibley Hospital, the knowledge that a moral leader of the western world condones drinking cheap wine certainly reduces the following morning's shame and self-loathing.
Now that you know the facts, it's time to cast your vote! Choose wisely.
Classy. So anyway, tonight I am dressing as a witch. That's right -- green skin, pointy hat, displaced self-hatred appropriated to forest-dwelling gnomes. Of course, this is all just a thinly veiled excuse to wear eyeliner and a cape, but whatever. I'll be the hottest pagan this side of the Elysian Fields.
At the risk of sounding insensitively accurate, I would like to bring your attention to America's favorite god-fearing freak show family, 
The video for "Me Against the Music" takes place in what appears to be a really bad dance club with inexplicably themed rooms. A room filled with leaves? A room with an abandoned bed frame? A room with "urban" 1980s nostalgic graffiti sprayed onto wall? This is the last time James Joyce is allowed to design a sound stage. There is no place for extended metaphor and symbolism in music videos!
Anyway, the girls chase each other around, only to conclude their journey with a would-be kiss -- too bad Madonna disipates before Britney gets the chance to lock lips! Man, that would have been so scandalous. Can you imagine it? Two girls kissing! I can't think of anything more controversial. Except for maybe Britney giving Christina Aguilera head while Madonna pours goat's blood over their naked bodies. They're probably saving that for the Grammys.
I had such a shitty workout yesterday. My biceps were being total bitches. I tried doing three sets of 10 pull-ups, but on the last set, I could manage only five. Damn it! Yea, and I really felt like a man when I could barely curl a fucking 15-pound dumbbell. My god, 15 pounds! I am becoming such a wimp.
Argh, I have nothing worthwhile to blog about. Which would make this entry no different from the others, so let's continue!
Anyway, we filled the shopping cart with the usual groceries -- four cases of my beloved Natural Ice. The woman at the register recognized Agatha from past transactions and chatted with us as she rang up our unlawful purchase. So sketchy, dude. She was taking her sweet ass time, so I kept an eye out for any approaching po-po. Phew, no cops! On my way out of the store, I heard the register lady tell Ag to have a nice weekend. A nice weekend? Honey, tell us to have a nice night -- we'll be coming back tomorrow!
Not surprisingly, I was late to work again today. But whatever, let's keep in mind that I am interning for, um, FREE, and that I really shouldn't care. However, the overachiever inside of me subscribes to the idea that punctuality at the workplace is a good idea, so I feel guilty for never being on time. It should be noted that I was late this morning by only 20 minutes, which doesn't even come close to last week's record of three hours.