Colt 44

Logan swirled the amber contents of the chalice around three times, then gently dipped her nose below the rim to analyze the beerquet. 

Her nostrils were immediately met by a malty aroma that exuded the most curious of sulphuric fragrances. The tip of her nose dented the beer's pillowed head as she inhaled the bursting bubbles of carbonation. The smell of hops was ubiquitous. She took a slow sip.

Logan coyly flashed a smile as she looked up from the glass, crinkling her nose. With her right hand she reached up and playfully removed her glasses. "I just had a completely unique experience," she stated seductively.

"Cut, cut, let's try that again," the cameraman said as he poked his head out from up above his camera. "You have foam all over your nose. Here, take this towel, clean off your schnoz, and let's try it again."

Four hours later, not much progress had been made. "Cutttttt" the director groaned dismally. They had already been through 43 takes and the young actress was clearly beginning to feel the woozying effects of all the cheap malt beverage sips.

"Ok we're going to try this ONE LAST TIME," the cameraman started. "Put some emotion into it, and try not to slur. I want you to experience the beer. Communicate telepathically with the beer. Connect with the beer. You two are soul mates. Give me some feeling, c'mon, you got this." The cameraman repositioned himself behind the camera. "Ready? Alright. Take 44. Aaaaaaand action." 

Logan swirled the cup around once more. Daintily, delicately. She closed her eyes and gently inhaled the beer mist that hovered closely above the frothy head. She took a teensy sip of the frosty brew. She savored it. She swallowed it. She opened her eyes and did that Colbie Caillat thing with her nose. She slipped off her glasses, turned her body to the left and looked over her right shoulder, straight into the camera. Her eyes conveyed a riveting display of desire and intensity.

"I just haved [hiccup] a completelyyy enuch, sexperience," she slurred. "And I haves to break the seal and feeds my cat," she stated sternly, drunkenly, "like, now." Logan reached into her purse and took out a cat clutching a loaded Colt .45 revolver, "So don't you even try and think about trying to think about trying to stop us." The cat fired a warning shot to show that it wasn't a pussy.

The cameraman ducked behind his camera and smiled. It wasn't Logan's best take by far, but it was probably going to go viral once somebody invented the internet and created Youtube. It was rumored that Youtube was going to love cat videos. 

the effeminate beard vs. the macho perm

Malt liquor versus light beer. A 1960's fashionista versus a weathered, vitamin C-deprived sea captain with a pegged appendage (not pictured). That perm versus that facial afro. Needless to say I was a bit taken back with these sudsy advertisements and the respective demographics they each marketed to.

In today's society, enjoying a "malt liquor" usually precedes painfully ripping the hair off of ones hands after using ten feet of duct tape to adhere eighty ounces of Colt 45 to your left and your right. There is usually some malt on your shirt as a result. This is done while stretching your bladder to it's maximum volume. It is usually performed around friends. Unless it's consumed in drinking game fashion, in multiples of 80 oz., it is probably in a brown paper bag, getting sipped by a homeless man in drastic need of a shower and a shave. (Keep "in need of a shower and a shave"' in mind, it gets alluded to again very soon) This said homeless man could probably use some methadone.

Whereas a light beer is a casual drink. A night cap. A beach brew, for the man who loves his dog, is respected by his wife, and brings home a sufficient amount of bacon to put in the piggy bank. It is the only kind of beer you would ever consider offering a young child. For the health conscious drinker who, while sober, cares enough about his well being to cut back on the calories, yet needs to get drunk to feel truly comfortable with themselves. For the imbiber who has the self discipline whenst inhibitions are lowered to stick with the initial dieting plan, so that when he looks in the mirror the next morning, or catches his own reflection on a passing taxi whilst standing on a street corner on the walk back the following dawn, can feel proud reminiscing the past night's decisions. Or maybe the lawn was just mowed.

At the very least I found it interesting to see a grizzled sea vet cheerfully enjoying a light beer, reflecting on those thirty three days spent in a lifeboat, floating on a salt water abyss. Presumably he is in a bar, surrounded by a fleet of rowdy men and a few turned off women. Maybe this Schlitz is fortified with vitamin C, and prescribed to help fight scurvy. Maybe this seaman likes how the frothy foam sticks to his beard. Maybe it tastes like mermaid milk. Equally interesting is the a pampered housewife smashing a can of malt liquor into her cranium after a hectic morning of (presumably) watching soaps, vacuuming, and fulfilling that strenuous 1960's gender role. Most likely alone. Maybe with Tommy James and the Shondells playing in the background. Drink until your cheeks turn crimson and you fall over, wifey. However you choose to unwind is up to you.

That being said, beer, malt liquor, it's all relevant. And carbonation feels great on anyones tongue. So you, with the malt liquor-- enjoy that perm while it's still in style; just make sure you can still see straight when you fix up your old man's martini when he gets home in a few hours. And you, with the light beer, congrats on having the common sense to not be the noble captain who goes down with his ship. Any tale goes better with a rugged beard. Any secret feels better when your ear is being tickled by somebody's facial pubes. I suppose the same can be said for those tiny CO2 bubbles.

Now, raise your respective beer canisters. To life's baffling beer advertisements! Cheers, people.

Now, who likes bongo drum intros?