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No one will kill you for not drinking Beer.
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Beer doesn’t tell you how to have sex.
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Beer has never caused a major war.
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They don’t force Beer on minors who can’t think for themselves.
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When you have a Beer, you don’t knock on people’s doors trying to give it away.
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Nobody’s ever been burned at the stake, hanged, or tortured over his brand of Beer.
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You don’t have to wait 2000+ years for a second Beer.
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There are laws saying Beer labels can’t lie to you.
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You can prove you have a Beer.
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If you’ve devoted your life to Beer, there are groups to help you stop.
True. True.
Mmmmm… beeeer…
— G. Raven
Beer is safer than Jesus… oh dear.
Kitty
You’ve obviously never tried asking for a New South Wales brand in Melbourne. :eek:
Being a big fan of beer, I must say that you make some good points Dave. 
The best reason is that you don’t have to wait until you’re dead to meet Beer.
You also know that when you’re recieving fake beer, you realize not to devote your life to it.
And, if you like beer, then it justifies being Jewish. 
Damn it, this thread is missing something.
Where are all the Fundies trying to convert you to the One True Beer?
So why isn’t Beer tax exempt??
Sadly, this isn’t true.
Beer once told me to have sex on an outdoor trampoline beside a huge replica of an arrow. Beer told me it would be great and bouncy fun. Beer told me I could match my rhythm to the undulating tramp and achieve godlike capabilies. Beer told my I didn’t have to worry about springs or extended body parts or inadvertant headbutts or things getting pinched. Beer lied. Bastard.
What’s the world coming to when you can’t trust your beer?
You know, I could be down in the dumps with all of the wolrd’s problems over my head but all I have to do is open up the SDMB and I can always find somethinf that will make my smile. Thanks, you sacrilegious bastards.
Christ is on the cross, and Peter is down the hill comforting Mary Magdalene when he hears in a faint voice, “Peter…Peter…” Peter said to Mary, “I must go and help my Savior.” And he went up the hill, only to be beaten and kicke d back down by the Roman centurions guarding the cross. But soon he hears, “Peter…Peter” in even fainter tones, and he cannot ignore the call. Peter limps up the hill leans a ladder against the cross, and is halfway up when the Centurions knock over the ladder, beat him brutally, and toss him back down the hill. Again he hears, “Peter…Peter…” ever fainter, and he cannot sit idle. He staggers up the hill, drags himself up the ladder, and finally gets even with Christ’s face. Just as the centurions ar e reaching for the ladder, Christ says, “Peter…Peter…I can see your house from here.”
I heard that one from a priest, actually…
…ah, the jokes they’ll tell you over a pint.
I believe in what beer in my life will do for me.
Jesus wasn’t filled with yummy hops, malt, and barley. Except possibly on weekends.
I have a friend in beer.
You can’t amuse yourself by peeling the label off Jesus while sitting at a bar at 3 a.m.
Jesus doesn’t hit the spot on a hot summer day.
I’ve never seen a string bracelet or a lanyard that said “W.W.B.D.”
Beer never told anyone to shoot an abortion doctor, unless the abortion doctor in question cut in line for darts or stole the killer’s money off the bar.
Four out of Five gentile politicians in the U.S. do not cite “beer” as the force behind their choices,
although two out of two presidential twin offspring apparently do.
Sadly, Jesus, unlike beer, IS available before noon on Sundays.
Depends where you are. Up here it IS available.
After a week in the fridge, Jesus starts smelling bad. Beer: still fresh as a daisy!
Beer makes everyone appear attractive. With Jesus, you’re only supposed to be attracted to geeky virgins.
Beer inspired the Clash, the Ramones, the Pogues and the Replacements. Jesus inspired Amy Grant, Celine Dion and Whitney Houston.
Beer is quite refreshing and filling. The body of Christ is a tiny stale wafer that wouldn’t satisfy Kate Moss.
Beer actively destroys brain cells. Jesus just asks you not to use them.
If you lose faith in Jesus, the hangover is an eternity in hell.
If you stop drinking beer, the hangover is one day in hell.
— G. Raven
I went to a baseball game last night. whoo hooo! Saturday night at the local minor league ballpark!
What’s a baseball game without beer?
Before the first pitch was thrown, I bellied up to the beer cart. Happily, I was greeted with Bass on tap.
“Whoa, Bass! Cool!”
The kind red-headed lass pulls me a tall one and I plunk down a five dollar bill. “That’ll be four seventy five.”
Whoa, Bass, cool indeed.
So I thank her and walk away sipping my scrumptiously cool refreshment, while thinking to myself, “okay so Bass is kinda expensive, I’ll switch to a domestic after I down the first one.”
Third inning, I’m ready for another round.
I head back to the beer cart. The sign (which I failed to read on my first trip), lists the prices for the premium beers and the freaking team logo cups, but it doesn’t list the price for a plain old Bud.
“Uhhh, how much is a Bud?” I aksed sheepishly.
She winks and me and says, “four twenty five.”
“I’ll have a Bass.”
… and to bring it back to Jesus …
Midway through the eight inning, my church-going friend turns to me and says, “well, I know where I won’t be tommorow morning.”