There are many reasons to go see a band live in concert. To share in a raucous, communal experience. To hear your favorite music in a new setting. To bang the skinny chick with the star tattoos on her wrists. All valid reasons.
One reason probably not high on your list: To have the lyrics screamed in your ear by some dumbass drunk on shitty beer.
Let’s put this in perspective. The Dodos are a pretty kick ass band. Here’s an example for you:
And while the video is kind of eh, that song is amazing live. The band’s like all percussion.
Anyway, the Dodos played a great show at the Bottom Lounge this past Monday. What none of their songs needed was off-key vocal accompaniment sung at 125dB. But the guy looking like a reject from a Pearl Jam fan club circa 1993 sure thought it would help, and just so none of the senses were left out, he made sure to crowd everyone around him with his fat body while smoking cigarettes inside. (For those of you in the boonies, smoking cigarettes indoors is pretty much a no-no in every major city.)
Nice job Pabst Drunk.
(Side note: If you’re under 30 and you smoke, you’re a moron; sorry my many friends who smoke. If you’re under 20 and you smoke, just cut your wrists. You don’t even have the excuse that it’s ‘cool’ anymore, cos it’s not.)
The Pabst Drunk is that refined class of drunk who isn’t just annoying because he’s piss stupid, but because he managed to get drunk on the Worst Beer of All Time. Once relegated to cheap Frat Boy parties and redneck truckers, Pabst Blue Ribbon has become the drink of people who, to my chagrin, enjoy the same music as me. All other things being equal, the Indie Hipster would deserve (mostly) his bad reputation just for drinking that swill. It’s not even that PBR has no taste like most domestics. It has a very distinct taste, actually. It tastes like cold piss.
And the excuse that it’s the cheapest beer no longer holds weight.
The people who drink PBR are the beer drinking equivalents of the Anti-Intellectual. They have actively sought out the cheapest, worst beer (and not for financial reasons as these middle class white kids are hardly cash-strapped; at least, not in the legitimate, real world, Mommy and Daddy don’t pay my tuition way), and they have done so at the detriment to their taste buds. That’s right, the Pabst Drunk doesn’t just drink the beer for the image or for irony, he does it because he’s actually grown to like the taste.
Pabst Blue Ribbon drinkers are to alcohol what Creationists are to intelligence: They’ve engorged themselves on shit for so long, they’ve actually developed a preference for it (I bet you won’t see that analogy on the SATs anytime soon).
Do yourselves a favor beer drinkers of the world. Reject the stupidity (and shit-taste) of PBR. Spend the extra $.25 and buy a beer that didn’t come out of a mules urinary track.
Or do yourself one better, grow up and drink some hard alcohol like an adult.
If I’m gonna have a dumbass screaming in my ears, I want to smell the whiskey on his breath.
3 thoughts on “BARchetypes: Pabst Drunk”
[…] he brought me PBR. I think I’ve made it clear my feelings towards Pabst. I didn’t end up drinking the beer and it ended up in my fridge back home for the rest of […]
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