Bud Light made me gay

It has become a recent, needed feature of American life that companies show their solidarity with the gay community. There is no better way to prove bigots wrong. We have the mighty on your side, they have the scum of the earth. Every June, companies around the world show their support by making their products and social media extra-gay friendly. Rainbow flags here, a lesbian couple there, it's all really great.

But I want to thank them for more than just that. I want to thank them because Bud Light made me gay.

A few years ago, I was straight. Actually, I still identify primarily as straight. However, for one special night in 2015, I was gay because of Bud Light.

It all started when I walked into that bar and ordered a Bud Light with lime. A couple of nice fellas approached me and sparked up a conversation. They were enchanting, and one of them bought me a few more Bud Lights with lime. As the night went on, I got drunker and wilder, and the room started getting hotter and hotter. I started feeling tremendously horny, but, to my chagrin, there were no ladies in the bar that night.

I'll spare the dirty details, but I want to once again thank the Budweiser corporation and those handsome young men for what happened next.

Leaving Quarantine

It pains me to say this, but after nearly two months of continual quarantine at our Fairbanks cabin, Alan Throttle and I are leaving quarantine.

I know it's still dangerous out there. I know that people are sick, even dying. I know that I am putting hundreds of thousands of Alaska at risk by driving from Fairbanks to Alaska, given that I might unknowingly be carrying this pest. But we need to leave.

Alan's cousin Ricky has decided to sell the cabin and has given us 48 hours to vacate the property. In a drunken stupor, Alan threatened Ricky, and Ricky has now given us only six hours to vacate the property.

I'd hold out as long as I can here, but those bastards in the Alaskan State Troopers would have no qualms beating an innocent journalist to death. That is their modus operandi.

See you from Anchorage or see you in Heaven,

Chance Rollicks 

Weekly Update

Hey, everybody,

Chance here. It's time for our weekly update. As aspiring journalists, it's hard for Alan and I to get to writing articles all of the time. Our mundane day jobs exhaust us, and my parents restrict my access to a computer.

Further, the American-made coronavirus has kept us indoors. I'm at my family's cabin outside Fairbanks for the next two months foraging for blueberries. I have no idea where Alan is.

Anyways, we've been actively at work on Twitter trying to pull in some more followers who are interested in serious journalism. We've conducted a few interviews with some particularly interesting people and hope to be sharing those with you all soon. If you're into any number of excluded subcultures, you'll find our interviews tantalizing.

Thank you

CHANCE ROLLICKS 

Alan Throttle here again.

After a short period in Sin City amongst men with the sniffles, prostitutes, and troughs of alcoholic beverage, I have come to an extraordinary revelation. I was born to live in Las Vegas. I reached this realization halfway through a patch of what an acquaintance of mine informed me is known as "booger sugar." Enjoying this sugary substance off the crevasses of multiple lovely ladies reminded me of the frigid chill and thrill of Alaska. I am even afraid to admit, for a moment, my person felt more like an Alaskan in the Nevada desert than it ever did on The Last Frontier.

I sure am not implying that Las Vegas is better than any part of Alaska, but I sure do recommend my fellow Pipeliners to visit Viva Las Vegas.

Deviated Septumly,
Alan Throttle