I catch a lot of crap because I am a fan of Bud Light. All you hoity-toity beer snobs lecture me nonstop on drinking “water” or “shit beer,” etc.
On every book tour, it’s the same damn thing: “Why don’t you let me buy you a real beer?” Or, “What, are you still in college?” Follow up these phrases (and many more) with a self-satisfied chuckle and (optionally) an older brother pat on the back. Sometimes I do seven cities in seven nights, so, no, thank you, I don’t want your white-frothed-black-heroin-tar-in-a-glass with an alcohol content of half. Some of us have to work the next day, compadre.
For those of you who feel free to critique my tastes, allow me to retort.
First of all, I like what I like. You all sound a lot like the a-holes over at Slate who think you should be ashamed of what you read. I’m not ashamed of the beer I like, damn you! I will drink it until you pry it from my cold, dead hands!
When y’all come up to me jabbering about the latest hipster-trendy microbrew with some ridiculous name, all I hear is Charlie Brown’s teacher mumbling an infinite string of syllables. Sometimes my brain tries to piece together this gibberish-ladden stream of verbal poo, and I hear things that — I’m pretty sure — you don’t mean. Here’s ten that I swear I heard you say when you wanted me to try a “real beer.”
Kong Balls Summer Wheat
Pungent, with a slight aftertaste of gorilla hair.
Piss-Test Pale Ale:
Served warm, of course. Pretty sure the guys at the brewery are laughing when they send this out, knowing how bad it tastes and also knowing the star-bellied sneetches will espouse its amber essence and tones of honeysuckle.
Phil McCracken Porter Pooter-Toot Stout:
A nice top note of tastes like ass. If you don’t finish your glass, you can use this brown gel to shellac that “distressed” table you found at that one store nobody has really heard of in that part of town where no one goes.
Belgian(ish) Beer Brewed in Windsor So We Can Put “Imported” On The Side And You Suckers Think It’s Better
Hints of people who base their purchasing decisions on how they think ordering the beer makes them look to others, rather than on taste.
Pompous Pedophile Pilsner
A surprise standout at the GABF and the favorite beverage of NAMBLA. If it’s not served in a tulip glass, it is legal to have the bartender drawn and quartered for a total lack of civility and beer knowledge. Because lets be honest, here — the shape of the glass changes the flavor of the liquid contained within. Amiright?
Conceited Cream Ale
A slight aftertaste of “I’m going to mock other people’s prefernces so I can feel better about myself and the misguided life-choices I’ve made (and oh, has anyone seen where I put the business card for that lawyer?).”
Bitter Boobie Chocolate Vanilla Latte Bock
Bitter, like your silly soul that equates price to quality. If you want the candy aisle, sir or ma’am, it’s in the 7/11. Load up on Hershey Bars. Oh, damn, those are made in a factory that employs a lot of people, right? Sorry, what was I thinking? Get thee to Whole Foods for a $7.50 candy bar that’s made in the garage of a dude who also lives in said garage.
Beer With Fruit Brewed Into It
I can’t even make fun of this one. Fruit in your beer? What are you, seven, and there’s a prize in the bottom? Chile please.
Odiferous Halfling Hefeweizen
Spring Shire Select
All the bouquet of a town full of unwashed medieval pickpockets converted in to pure taste, man. The head on this beer is incredibly thick (although not very tall).
Triple-Hop Kangaroo Quick-Step IPA
An Australian beer brewed from the diarrhea of diseased marsupials. They bottle it up, put a subtle-yet-tasteful label on it and ship it off to America, knowing gullible Yanks will down the stuff nonstop. It’s okay, though, they brew it up in a Pyrex beaker, so you know it’s got to be good.
Phleghmish Red Loogie Lager
For when you have that hankering for sloughed skin dropped into an industrial vat and allowed to decompose into a liquid state. It has a great Ph balance, and a touch of maple resonance.
So next time I’m on tour, I will not be having any of these or any other fancy-pants swill you want to throw my way. Keep it to Bud Light, son (and/or Tuaca and Scotch). I’m thrilled you’re quite enlightened and you’ve elevated your stature in the world, but howsabout you keep the reeducation campaign to yourself, comrade? You drink what you like, I’ll drink what I like. Everyone drinks, and everyone wins.