I don’t read food blogs, but I doubt anyone has ever written an ode to toothpaste, despite the fact that this mundane product is an essential aspect of the long-term continuity of their craft. Frankly, nation, I find this a travesty of Holocaustic proportions.
It’s the simple things in life that make this horrid journey through our vale of tears such a joy. And so I will bravely pay homage to an un-sung driving force behind Brokewino.com: Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Yes, it’s a shitty-ass canned beer. Yes, there might have been 116 other beers selected as America’s Best since PBR earned the dubious designation back in 1893. But if there’s one thing the interwebz has taught me, it’s that no one gives a fuck about history. Do you remember Tim Berners-Lee? Neither do I. I just made that name up. PBR is still the best in my history book, and every other contender is either a pretender or a hater, and in all likelihood, both.
What I need is a beer that is so low in alcohol content that I can not only pound ten of ‘em and still be legally sober, but easily freeze a can so that it serves as an ice pack that will not only coax my hemorrhaging capillaries into submission, yet also provide as a post-injury anesthetic to my delicate self-image.
What I need is a beer so awful that I know my favorite bar will always have plenty because no one else will drink that shit. And the only reason they’d ever run out should be because I’m so damn drunk I’m calling a cab to drive me home, which is across the street.
What I need is a beer that costs about $0.47 a can at the supermarket so I can save my monies to buy all that bitchin’ Châteauneuf Du Pape I’ve been touching myself inappropriately over for so long.
Folks, what I need is god damn All-American Beer. And in PBR, I have all of that in a recyclable, space-efficient aluminum can, to boot.
God bless the U.S. and A.
