Category Archives: BEER

“No man is so gullible when it comes to a bit of bulldust sprinkled on the old national ethos than the Australian, who really believes the sun shines nowhere else except out of his arse and his beer is really the best.” FRANK, HARDY – The Outcasts of Foolgarah.

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“There is no better way of life in the world than that of the Australian. I firmly believe this. The grumbling, growling, cursing, profane, laughing, beer drinking, abusive, loyal-to-his-mates Australian is one of the few free men left on this earth. He fears no one, crawls to no one, bludgers on no one, and acknowledges no master. Learn his way. Learn his language. Get yourself accepted as one of him; and you will enter a world that you never dreamed existed. And once you have entered it, you will never leave it.”

NINO, CULOTTA – They’re a Weird Mob

“A fine beer may be judged with only one sip, but it’s better to be thoroughly sure.” — Bohemian proverb



The Cuckoo in the Middle of the Wood

Cuckoos lead bohemian lives,
They fail as husbands and as wives,
Therefore, they cynically dispariage
Everybody else's marriage.

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The Muswellbrook Chronicle (NSW : 1898 – 1955), Saturday 15 February 1919,

1 1 1 1 1 The Muswellbrook Chronicle (NSW - 1898 - 1955), Saturday 15 February 1919,

Hey, bartender, a thousand pints of light! Second City Players

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When you’re the most happening person at the party, it’s time to leave.

― Kelly Cutrone, If You Have to Cry, Go Outside: And Other Things Your Mother Never Told You

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I don’t think I’ve drunk enough beer to understand that.”
― Terry Pratchett, The Last Continent

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Beer, of course, is actually a depressant, but poor people will never stop hoping otherwise. — Curt Vonnegut, Jr., Hocus Pocus, 1990

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Telling an introvert to go to a party is like telling a saint to go to Hell.
― Criss Jami

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Queensland Figaro (Brisbane, Qld. : 1901 – 1936), Saturday 20 September 1930,

1 1 1 1 Queensland Figaro (Brisbane, Qld. - 1901 - 1936), Saturday 20 September 1930,


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For the great Gaels of Ireland, And the ones God made mad, For all their wars are merry, And all their songs are sad. G.K. Chesterton

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Landlord fill the flowing bowl,
until it doth run over.
For tonight we’ll merry, merry be.
Tomorrow we’re Hungover.

Old English folk song

1 1 1 1 1 The Courier-Mail (Brisbane, Qld


The Courier-Mail (Brisbane, Qld. : 1933 – 1954), Friday 14 October 1938

I won’t let anybody take a drink out of this barrel of tears I’ve collected from you.




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There’s nothing as heartening as the sight of an empty pub in the morning, the shelves full and everything spick and span before the barbarian hordes come in. Them that drinks bottles spoil the look of the shelves but draught is a different story – you never see the barrel going down.

Patrick McGinley

Bad people drink bad beer. You almost never see an empty bottle of Rochefort tossed onto the side of the road. — Dave Cooks


I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.” 

Edgar  Allan Poe

Scientists announced that they have located the gene for alcoholism. Scientists say they found it at a party, talking way too loudly. CONAN O’BRIEN

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Accountability – Knocking over someone else’s beer will only be tolerated if there is a full replacement on the table. In some mining communities, the spilling of ones beer requires the guilty party to receive a punch in the arm from all other members of the party which could be up to 60 people.

Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Give him a fishing lesson and he’ll sit in a boat drinking beer every weekend. Alex Blackwell



foto – bucklands boat hire in mallacoota in victoria aust

Stephen Nguyen 

In 1982, one of MG99 group leader Stephen Nguyen’s sisters, a Catholic nun, was lost at sea while fleeing Vietnam. He wrote this haunting poem in her honour.

Painful are the memories of those who perished out at sea,

Desperate for a better fate,

In search of freedom where the sea await,

As darkness hides the tiny boat

full of people filled with hope.

It seems to be such an endless night,

With freedom nowhere in sight.

Beer makes you feel like you should feel without the beer.

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foto of izzy foreal at the pub with no beer in taylor’s arm nsw australia

A Pub With No Beer

Oh it’s-a lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night we’ll hear the wild dingoes call
But there’s-a nothing so lonesome, morbid or drear
Than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer

Now the publican’s anxious for the quota to come
And there’s a far away look on the face of the bum
The maid’s gone all cranky and the cook’s acting queer
Oh what a terrible place is a pub with no beer

Then the stockman rides up with his dry dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar and pulls a wad from his coat
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer
As the barman says sadly the pub’s got no beer

Then the swaggie comes in smothered in dust and flies
He throws down his roll and rubs the sweat from his eyes
But when he is told, he says what’s this I hear
I’ve trudged fifty flamin’ miles to a pub with no beer

Now there’s a dog on the v’randa, for his master he waits
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover and he cringes in fear
It’s no place for a dog ’round a pub with no beer

And old Billy the blacksmith, the first time in his life
Why he’s gone home cold sober to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen, she says you’re early Bill dear
But then he breaks down and tells her the pub’s got no beer

Oh it’s hard to believe that there’s customers still
But the money’s still tinkling in the old ancient till
The wine buffs are happy and I know they’re sincere
When they say they don’t care if the pub’s got no beer

So it’s-a lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night we’ll hear the wild dingoes call
But there’s-a nothing so lonesome, morbid or drear-a.
Than to stand in the bar of that pub with no beer.

my beerdrunk soul is sadder than all the dead christmas trees of the world.”

― Charles Bukowski



foto garden centre coffs harbour nsw 2013

Mithridatum of Despair

We know no mithridatum of despair
as drunks, the angry penguins of the night,
straddling the cobbles of the square,
tying a shoelace by fogged lamplight.
We know no astringent pain,
no flecking of thought’s dull eternal sea
in garret image, of Spain
and love…now love’s parody.

See – chaos spark, struck from flint
and the plunging distemper, flare in the dawn’s dull seep
of milkcart horse, morning horse
chaos horse, walking at three to the doors of sleep
with the creamy poison.
convulsions endure
from nine to five,
all life immure.
and still alive.

we know no mithridatum, nor the remembered dregs of fear,
the glass stands dry and silted; no end is near.

Beer: Helping ugly people have sex since 1862!


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“May the day soon arrive when no fair Australian girl shall be allowed, or even be willing, to help gild the wine cup or beer glass with her attractive, and, alas! her most dangerous presence.”

— Archdeacon Francis Boyce, 1893 (The Drink Problem in Australia)

“Whiskey and beer are all right in their place, but their place is in hell.”

—Billy Sunday

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“When I finally caught up with Abraham Trahearne, he was drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball Roberts in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine spring afternoon.”
― James Crumley, The Last Good Kiss

“But the greatest love–the love above all loves, Even greater than that of a mother… Is the tender, passionate, undying love, Of one beer drunken slob for another.”

Read more about Funny Drunk Quotes by

Irish love ballad

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“This is the true story of my life, as told by a complete liar (me). While that sounds like an honest statement, it’s also a lie. I just can’t help myself. Unless I’m helping myself to seconds at dinner. You see, I can’t possibly be a complete liar, because I’m a rather incomplete person. I look complete on the outside—two arms, legs, ears, eyes, etc—but on the inside I feel half empty at times. If I were a glass of water, I’d make myself thirstier for more than I could supply. I thirst for love like a straw in the Sahara. I hunger for your body like a cannibal in the mountains. Wait, that last bit wasn’t true. I should have said cannibal on a deserted island.”

― Jarod Kintz, Gosh, I probably shouldn’t publish this.

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Many have fallen with the bottle in their hand. Lakota

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“I was lying there trying to control the fear. I did not know much about this uremic poisoning. A woman I’d known slightly in Texas had died of it after drinking a bottle of beer ever hour, night and day, for two weeks.”

― William S. Burroughs, Junky