"That's bullshit!" you yell at the laminated eight by eleven paper hanging in the window of the tavern. "I got a glass container outside right now!" you shout, holding up your bottle of beer, the eleventh one you've had in the past two hours.
"See," you say, turning to the man walking by who is startled as much by your breath as by your inappropriately loud voice, "this is why you can't trust the liberal media! Headlines like that, so obviously fake? No glass containers they say but here I am drinking a beer. It's them damn Beetleborg Groups tryin' to influence us and get us to convert to gas lights so they can get the oil profits."
The man quickens his pace down the sidewalk and rounds the corner, disappearing behind the building.
"Nobody wants to hear the truth," you proclaim.