Picture the scene: It's late.

You've had a few too many. Cold,

isolation, and loneliness wash

over you. You think of lost

love, hurtful love, unrequited

love. You want a pal. You do the

one thing that only a drunk

would do: you try

www.budweiser.com.

You start to think, "What is this -

one huge gif? I ain't got time

for this in my life no more!",

but the 85% of your brain

usually made up of water has

been replaced by fermented malt

and hops and you only make it as

far as, "Wha?" Instead, you

scroll down the page. "Making

Friends Is Our Business."

Friends. You go to the page.

There's a bunch of words.

Blah, blah, blah.

Scroll down. "Thirst for

Knowledge" It's not of the

Biblical sort. Yeah, you came to

a beer site to learn something.

Fuckheads.

Bud Boards. A conferencing

system. Lonely men and women,

coming together all over the

world after last call. Erm, no.

A repurposed hypermail archive.

Frogs suck.

Somewhere there's a party. The

pad.. The sign is blinking.

Cool. Interactivity. Oh, wait.

Didn't do anything. That's not

interactive, that's blinking.

Oh, the pad is the official home

of the Budweiser frogs, Bud, Weis,

and Er. Frogs suck.

The cloudy image focuses before

your eyes: Clydesdales. Gee,

gotta piss like a race horse.

Maybe they do get it. Pissing is

good. Now, why are there so many

songs about peace, love, and

understanding, and hardly any

about urination? KBUD. An

announcer talking about Bud.

That's not "Buddy Kay", that's

Adam Curry. How big of an idiot

does he take you for? A song.

Ostensibly the Chili Peppers, it

sounds like a car crash. Don't

know what the fuck they're

singing about, but it's probably

not about pissing.

Who's responsible for this dreck?

Curry's Onramp, Inc.. Adam

Curry's one lucky slob, a real

Midas for the 90's - he turns

shit into gold. Jerk.

That beer labels page from back

in 93. Is it still around? No,

it's not there anymore. More for

the dust-heap of history.

Something different. Zima.

Bartles & Jaymes Original

Premium Cooler without those E &

J Gallo Winery shills Bartles

and Jaymes but some curly-haired

Coors Brewing Company stooge who

likes to say Z. Watch J make a

Slimeball. Send mail to J - "J.

You rock." Check out the rest of

Ian's recipes. Send mail to Ian -

"Ian. You rule."

11 am Monday morning. You wake

with a start, jerking your head

up from your keyboard which,

curiously, fails to break the

string of drool, a sturdy

umbilical cord providing a link

between your waffled lips and

your F-keys - though not hyper

by any definition. The space bar

will prove to be non-functioning

the next time you use the machine -

adding a repair bill to the

massive AOL bill accrued from

your drunken failure to

disconnect. Worse yet, you've

failed to amuse your boss for

the last time by not showing up

before lunch - you'll be eating

Netscape cookies for a while.

But while tendinitis, visual

deterioration, back cramps,

unemployment and general

despondency may beset you like a

concentrated jolt of delirium

tremens, you can take solace in

the knowledge that as long as

you can scam a beer and a net

connection - you've still got

your friends. Bud, Weis, and,

um, Er.