So my old man works for the California Dept. of Conservation. I’m not sure how much he genuinely cares about conservation — he does graphic art for their website, among other things. One of the things I do know about his job is that he was one of the pioneers behind the creation of “Recycle Rex.” For those of you who aren’t fortunate enough to reside anywhere near Sacramento, Recycle Rex was that big, turquoise, T-Rex-looking dude that pranced around our elementary schools preaching, “recycle, reduce, reuse.” Our pre-pubescent eyes gazed upon the Rex with glee and followed his every word. Now and then, my pops would be called on to wear the costume.

Now, understand, my dad is probably somewhere near the nicest guy in the world, but if there’s one thing you don’t want to do, it’s piss off the Rex. You follow his words; you recycle, you reduce, you reuse. And if you’ve ever seen “Jurassic Park,” you know you simply do not piss off a dinosaur.

At this point, you’re probably wondering where the hell I’m going with this.

Finish your fucking beer.

I’m going to refer to an unfinished beer as a “blue-balled beer,” because I want to. Recycle Rex was really onto something with the whole conservation thing, but I guarantee you this — he will probably eat your face off should you ever blue-ball your beer. You can recycle a beer can. You can recycle a beer bottle. You can reuse a keg to your heart’s content. You’ve made Recycle Rex happy thus far — but you can’t recycle warm, flat, blue-balled beer. By doing so, you are robbing that beer’s spirit. You steal its bubbly, cold aura that gives it such a blissful character.

A beer has feelings too, you know.

So give it a little love, cuddle it, don’t drop it and please, finish it off. Its sole purpose on this planet is to make us happy, get us drunk and manipulate us into urinating on inanimate objects. The second you leave it unfinished, it pays you back by losing its iciness and its exuberant carbonation.

It has no purpose.

Not to mention that blue balls hurt. Bad. For all the good things that beer has done for us, why would you ever subject a beer to a feeling that more closely resembles taking a sledgehammer to the genitals? And subject yourself to facing the wrath of an angry dinosaur?

There is no worse feeling than waking up to a dirty living room.

Let me rephrase.

There is no worse feeling than waking up to a dirty living room full of half-consumed beers.

Last weekend I decided to embrace my part-Jamaican heritage and picked up some Red Stripes. Great beer. The next morning we found an opened beer filled to the top. It was as if someone opened it up and left it there just to piss off the beer gods and yours truly. But the thing is, I have faith in my roommates. Around our place, you finish your beer. So usually when there is a plethora of half-drunk brew, it comes from visitors. The ultimate slap in the face is when someone is invited into your home, invited to help polish off some booze, and has the audacity to waste your hard-earned beer.

Let’s put this into perspective.

Christmas morning. You wake up, excited, amped to see what your siblings think about your hard-thought presents. Stoked to see what your parents got for you. Do you sprint out, go headfirst under the tree, and unwrap only half your present? Do you just take half of your yellow sweater and leave the other half under the tree? Think your parents would be happy? Think your package would feel good after your dad gave you a swift punt in the jewels for not appreciating their efforts?

Now you know how I feel when people don’t finish their beer.

So, in closing, finish your beer. It helps the environment, it helps the well-being of your testicles, and you won’t hurt the feelings of your beloved beer.

That, and Recycle Rex will love you.

Daily Nexus Assistant Opinion Editor Sean Swaby doesn’t waste any beer, food or petroleum jelly.