Let’s Drink Beer – Busch Beer by Anheuser-Busch
It’s that time again! A friend brought me this 40. Free beer!
My mind all a-jitter, I slide the beer across my desk, bringing it closer to my . . . my, uh, whatever organ is the one that makes me drunk. The hippocampus? The gluteus? On the side of the cap are tiny words – “Twist Off”; they are followed by a little arrow.
Gently, whispering reassurances to the bottle, I twist the top off the 40. It hisses in sweet sweet pain. Yes, my 40. You’ll be empty soon. Hush, my dear.
The bottle is sweating in anxious anticipation.
With the firm touch of an old lover returning after years away, I lift the beer and pour it into a glass cup.
It pours a clear yellow; ginger ale gone bad. Like some kind of alcohol-based chameleon, it has anticipated how it will look when I piss it out in a few short minutes.
There is little head. Perhaps it is ducking it in shame?
Busch beer stinks of arrogance brought low. Has it already gone stale? It’s only been out of the fridge for a minute or two. There’s no sharpness to the scent, just a flat, vaguely unpleasant wisp of beer. I find it comparable to getting onto an elevator and realizing, as the doors close, that it smells as though someone shit their pants in it just minutes before you got on.
“Busch beer – you should have taken the stairs.”
The signs should always indicate how long I’ll have to hold my breath. (Source)
My first sip is preceded by a long sigh of resignation. It is followed by another, this one longer and aggrieved. I cannot stress my seriousness when I state the following: Busch beer tastes like watered down Budweiser. Like the ghost of an introvert, it glides over the tongue. When it reaches the throat, it scrapes down towards the esophagus sadly. I can imagine it slouching downward, scuffing its feet on the floor like a teenager unfairly sent to his room.
The bottle doesn’t say how much alcohol is in it, so I’m going to have to look it up. But first I’ll guess! Let’s see, here’s another sip – just tilt my head back and think of England, I guess – ugh yeah okay, I would guess this has exactly enough alcohol to be awful. 2% ABV?
I was wrong, as usual! It’s 4.6% ABV.
This is terrible beer. If I were to keep up with the gross sexual innuendos I was using at the start, I would be now forced to turn it violent. I would be offended at how useless this beer is, if I weren’t so disappointed. Now I know how my father feels.
So thanks for nothing, Busch beer.
Final verdict – one sad kick.