If you haven’t seen it, it contains everything you need to know about me:

I like to be happy.


Click the link.

Home Dive Bar Ep. 1 – watch more funny videos


Look, if you’re still getting six-packs of beer, I have a secret to tell you:

1. You are overpaying.
2. You are being moderately wasteful with all six of those bottles.
3. You could have it a lot better.

A growler is sold by beer people. They know what it is, and if they claim not to know, that means they probably hate you. It’s 1/2 gallon of your favorite beer that you have to drink before it goes flat.

It looks like the photo below.

Go get one and stop wasting your time making noise by throwing your six pack bottles around. Seriously, those are some LOUD bastards at 2 in the morning, you inconsiderate jackhole.


This is a Growler in Diagram Form


This is a growler, like I said it would be.

Follow Me On Twitter.

The ID is @rickbanjo. You ought to know that.

The Weekly Banjo: Drinking Heavy Metal Style

I’ll disclose to those of you too retarded to have figured this from my extended absences and lack of posting:  I don’t get out too much, and when I do, I have three beers where I live that I enjoy, leaving several hundred that I absolutely do not.  I could be wrong–no, wait.  I’m not.  The leftovers suck.

This is going to change next summer.  TWB will be moving back to beer heaven: Seattle.

Before that happens, Montana should probably be referenced at least, say, twice.  Here’s the first:

Butte, Montana is a hard-assed city.  Most extant buildings are from around 1900 or earlier, and each of its nearly 35,000 residents can fight on cage and curb.  Butte is renowned for its St. Patrick’s Day parade, nearly doubling in size for the occasion.  If you do choose to attend this event, it pays to know a local.  Such a person can help you from being buried upside down in a shallow grave.

Butte is the only location in the United States where you can see a half-mile wide open pit that will kill you if you touch it.  Apparently, George Hearst’s ghost wanted the place to close.

Butte people live with it all, though: the pit, the loss of prosperity, limbs, decent cars, the prolific shanty-towns, and a fair reputation for being one of the drunkest cities in a heavily drunken state.  Being that I was there, it was time to drink.

I went to lunch at Fred’s Mesquite and ordered a mushroom burger and a pint of Open Cab Copper Ale from the Quarry Brewery.  What I got was a pint of Open Cab, and the next Mastodon album cover:

Blood And Thunder, anyone?

While the sheer nuclear volume of the burger colored the flavor of the beer, the local ale was not to be denied: deep, red, and likely poisonous in sufficient doses, much like the pit to the east.

I ate and drank it all.  It was an ass-kicking.

Not Quiet.

It’s coming soon now.  I know what you’ve been drinking, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself.  If you want to stay on it (AND YOU DO), follow the Banjo on Twitter @rickbanjo — or, you could just slack and fail at drinking.  The choice is yours.

Fairly Quiet.

I should tell you that I’ve been out with a health issue on reserve from drinking for the past 90 days.

I also have to tell you that I know what you have been drinking, and I’m pretty fucking disappointed in you right now.

More to follow.