I am not here to tell you to stop drinking—I am not even here to tell you to stop drinking to get drunk, or to stop drinking alone, or even to stop waking up feeling like you need a drink to get on the level. In fact, I would like to tell you to keep it up and that you are doing a great job.

In this world, there are the people who think about taking action and the people who get things done. You, my friend, are somebody who gets things done. Imagine if everyone in the world thought about the consequences of their actions and decided to take personal responsibility for them. The economy would collapse: reality TV shows would cease to exist, hundreds of thousands of workers at warning-label factories would be laid off, marriage counselors would not be able to afford tasteful yet soothing art pieces. Think of the mortal costs at stake. Can you bear the weight of the lives of thousands of lawyers, who will die after giving up their strict exercise regimens of ambulance-chasing, on your conscience? That is an unreasonable burden for any man to bear, and it certainly cannot be expected of you to shoulder it.

You are a citizen who knows what’s at stake, who knows that the very fabric of society depends on drunken college freshmen. You could donate your money to the police station, but that would shame them—how can a protector of the people subsist solely on charity? No, it is far better that they are supported by the fines from your underage possession and drinking. Without your drunken antics, older people would have nothing to watch on television to become enraged by, nor any evidence when they discuss what a sad state of affairs the world is in. You have entered into a sacred pact—much like Social Security—that you will provide the basis for moral outrage for your elders, trusting that, in the future, some other champion of society will drink so that you, too, can be outraged.

So drink, you defender of liberty. Pound that tallboy for truth. Have your martini shaken, not stirred, for justice. Your keg-stands are the American way. Your nose will be flushed and red with the blood of a patriot. Standing tall among your friends and fellow revelers, you may feel a swell of pride at the sight of such a great mass of socially conscious people. You may feel the need to proclaim your joy, and you should do so as loud as you possibly can. Shout to the rooftops about your and your friends’ accomplishments. Then, when you are hauled into a squad car, smile. You have entered the hallowed halls of the social crusaders who have gone before you. Your selflessness and determination to change the world around you for the better have finally led you to make your mark on the world.

Enjoy your time in the holding cell—you have earned it. You have managed to uphold for another day the social fabric that our country nestles on. Be sure to inscribe your tale onto the wall of your cell. Perhaps another believer will read it and be inspired to continue the fight. Be proud of your story and your accomplishments. You may be the visionary that swings even more brave soldiers to the cause of social unity. Make sure to savor this moment of triumph. It was well and truly earned.