I don't care what any of you prudes say, there is nothing cooler than drinking out of a paper bag!

[LostInAnomie]

Fuck yeah!

[leeroysphitz]

1. Hellz yeah! I'll bring the bag if you get the hooch.

[ashling]

2. Yeah, untill the bag gets too soggy

and falls apart

[old mark]

3. It's like a fashion statement.....nt

[MajorChode]

4. If the bag doesn't contain Night Train, Cisco, or MD20/20, you're a poseur

[Blue_Tires]

5. or Colt .45, Old English, Thunderbird, etc...

[B3Nut]

11. How about Old Grand-Dad?

Actually, despite the garish label and $15 price tag, the bottled-in-bond version of OGD is really good, Wine Enthusiast gave it 92 points. Quite tasty neat and mixes well with cola, too. If you're gonna brown-bag a bourbon to your next shindig, grab this one! :)

[Mopar151]

6. Bumwine!

http:\www.bumwine.com

[Throd]

7. The wet paper bag aroma lends well to the heady bouqet of Olde English 800

[datasuspect]

8. just pour some out for the homies who ain't here first

hail yeah

[ballad for ramona]

9. Sometimes when I take the bus, a passenger will pull out a bag with beer in it

and I dunno, it just bothers me. I always think: do you have such a problem with alcohol that you can't wait until you get home to drink?:shrug:

[Throd]

10. Yes, they do have such a problem.

[theNotoriousP.I.G.]

12. Women can't resist guys who drink booze out of a bottle

from a paper bag. That smell. Fuck yeah!

[NecklyTyler]

13. Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle

Reminds me of the Steve Goodman song performed by Arlo Guthrie

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfxoM6trtZE

The City of New Orleans
by Steve Goodman

Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

CHORUS:
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.

CHORUS

Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.

Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.