It’s taken several years of beer bashes, steinhoists, keggers and AA meetings to fortify my iron liver. Occasionally, some beer-toting heavyweight will sit behind the counter of some liquor depository and reminisce of the days when only two beers got him hammed up.

I beg to differ.

Sure, a higher tolerance hurts ye olde wallet from time to time, but the benefits of an impenetrable tolerance far outweigh the advantages that those featherweight, tender and dangerously healthy livers hold.

Exhibit A: If you’re a lightweight, chances are you will barely make it past the midnight threshold of drunkenness. And if you’re a two-beer chump, you might just pass out in an undesirable location – like a couch, for example. This, of course, heavily increases your chances of a chiefing, which blows.

Exhibit B: Have you ever watched the sunrise on the beach sloshed with a keg cup in hand? I have. I highly recommend it.

Exhibit C: When you know that you can slam massive amounts of brew and keep your coherence, you stay in that euphoric buzz state for hours. If you’re a lightweight, that next shot of SoCo is more like opening Pandora’s box – you don’t know if you will spend the night yacking your brains out or dancing around telling everyone that you are the lizard king. Maybe some like that kind of thing, but I don’t particularly enjoy alcoholic roulette.

Exhibit D: What happens when that hottie from your history class rolls into the party you’re at? When you know your liver can handle its shit, you can kick back a few drinks with her, and still maintain a decent conversation while brandishing that confidence to wipe your pimp down.

Now, if you’re a lightweight, the object of your affection may escape from your radar because all you can talk about is how bad you want to go to KFC. Perhaps you will pass out on your couch or do the ol’ drunken “I love you so much,” with drool rolling down your chin. Bad news.

That or you’ll take two shots and hook up with some pizza-faced broad that still reeks of Ortega dining commons chow, whom you mistook for Jennie Finch. That will make for quite the rude awakening.

Exhibit E: Work on the tolerance, kiddo.

You’ll thank me in the morning.

With the right kind of liquor in him, Daily Nexus assistant opinion editor Sean Swaby has been known to drunkenly proclaim his love for Barry Bonds.