Drinking Games: Beer Roulette

Drinking Games: Beer Roulette

I love it when my friends randomly remind me why I love them. I’ve been known to dog sit within my circle of friends and not too long ago I was thanked for watching a pooch that is somewhat notorious on my social media feeds (Yes, it was #dogballs!). Dog Balls’s owner texted me some final details before boarding the plane, and informed me that he had a special surprise for me, and there were more instructions waiting for me at his house.

They have been known to leave me good beers and plenty of candy in the past, but I was very curious what kind of surprise might be waiting for me. I arrived, gave some love to the spastic Dog Balls and worked my way inside to the kitchen where I saw the note wedged between two movie theater style boxes of candy.

The instructions were *roughly translated* as follows:

“Beer Roulette”


There are nine drinks behind closed doors. Open the door to reveal the drink. You cannot open the next door until you finish your drink! Good luck!

I opened the refrigerator to this glorious sight:


Brings a tear to the eye.

I had to take a step back to appreciate the fine cardboard work in all of it’s glory. Then, I went for door number seven…


Hercules. Win!

Needless to say, this was a pleasant start to the game. The next door that was speaking to me was number two…


Erdinger German Hefe. Super win!

My German heritage was thoroughly satiated. Also a good follow up to a hoppy IPA. This brought my taste buds back down to Earth while I took Dog Balls for a night time stroll/poop. Once back, I decided door number four needed to be opened. Now, I noticed immediately these doors were shorter, and was pretty scared they might contain a shooter of Gin, which I absolutely hate. BUT, there was only one way to know for sure…


Fireball… Win?

This wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but it was way fucking better than Gin. I took the shot like the man I am, then popped open door number one to for a chaser…


Nitro! Winnnnnnnn!

I thanked the Universe for being fair and just in my time of need. This was the last beer of the night for me and was a great way to end it.

The next day I was planning on brewing a rye pale ale and had a hankering for a brewer’s helper, so door number eight was going to fulfil that role for me…


24 ounces of goodness.

This is my perfect brewer’s helper beer. 24 ounces of easy-sipping enjoyment. So the brew was under way and by the time I was adding my extract, I needed a new helper. Despite my better judgement, I decided shorty door number six was going to be my victim…


Another good helper on a brew day.

I hadn’t even thought of regular cans fitting in that door, so you can only imagine my relief at this sight. The beer brewing ended and I had to move my wort back to my apartment to pitch yeast, so a break from Roulette was implemented.

When I made it back to feed Dog Balls his dinner, I decided I wanted to enjoy a beverage while he chowed. My good fortune with door number six lulled me into a false sense of security and went for door number five…


They got me good. No win.

BOOM! A bomb was dropped in the once friendly game. Little did they know I love pickles and their brine, but it still was a salty sip I didn’t foresee coming. Well played, guys. Well fucking played. Still undeterred, I decided door number nine was where I had to go next and hoped it wasn’t another shocker…


Young’s Double Chocolate Stout! WIIIIIIININNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!

A smile crept across my lips after the door opened. This was exactly what I needed after the pickle juice. And it was the perfect way to end the game because apparently I can’t count and ended up never opening door number three.

This was a blast, and have actually played it again since this first encounter. If you have some friends you want to give a little extra thanks to, or just want to spice up a party, Beer Roulette is a badass way to do it.

Samuel Sly
Written by Samuel Sly

Homeboy seemingly came out of nowhere. Michigan? Colorado? Truth be told, no one knows where this motherfucker came from. Rumor has it he dwells in Denver and drinks ram piss.

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