I’ve had real Budweiser once. In Germany. That was a beer. It was crisp. It had bite. It was refreshing. An honest-to-goodness man’s beer. I’ve never had another like it, frankly. Budweiser in Germany seemed regal somehow. Royal.
Of kings and queens and sport and sex.
American Budweiser…I don’t know. It tastes like minor league baseball and violence.
If I’m going to be honest, I drink your beer when I want water that will make me forget how terrible this moment is. Like right now, for instance. I want to drink your beer in order to forget that I have to sell your beer. I can’t even sell your beer
without thinking about how good the other beer is.
And it’s thousands of miles away.
I mean, this is the best I could come up with,
and that was after about a dozen of your beers.
Budweiser. Love the one you long for. Drink the one in your hand.