Budweiser is now “America” – King of undrinkable swill

May 21, 2016 Originally published on SFGate

Grab a six pack of America! America, tasting great and taking names! Enjoy a refreshing can of America and get to voting, you sad, miserable wretches of the United States who are stuck with six more months of reading about Trump’s tiny sausage fingers and of having what remains of your dignity dragged though 10,000 miles of broken glass and who need something, anything to help quell the sense of savage karmic terror currently ravaging your national psyche! America!


Nastiest. Hangover. Ever.

Surely these and other cutesy catchphrases were hurled all over the hallowed foreign halls of Anheuser-Busch InBev just recently, right before before the giant, bland Belgium-based megacorporation and that owns Budweiser decided to re-name our country’s flagship swill, changing it from “Budweiser” to “America” for the next six months, or until we all set fire to the place and split for Canada, whichever come first.

It’s true. Budweiser is now called “America.” It says so on the cans – along with a lot of other pseudo-patriotic marketing gibberish like “land of the free” and “home of the brave” and “no one in your country reads anyway so who really cares now shut up and drink it.” Hey, it’s better than endorsing rape culture. You know, marginally.

Is it not cute? The new (temporary) label invites all manner of pun, irony, eye-rolling, Twitter groan. NASCAR fans are giddy with the baffling redundancy of it all. Trump voters are now encouraged to slam a few extra “Americas” before punching protesters in the face. Jingoism and ignorance are running hot, despite how most Trump voters have no idea what the former is and couldn’t spell it even if they did.

Funny thing, isn’t it? How no one you know drinks Budweiser? No one who actually cares about beer, that is? Or flavor? Or quality?

Budweiser is the Walmart of beer. It is the 1992 Chevy Malibu of beer. It is the canned peas, the creepy uncle, the rusted-out Camaro in the front lawn. It is the shuttered storefront abandoned dreams suffocating college debt scared-of-everything $400 away from disaster ban all the Muslims of beers. It’s also lethally boring, out of touch, and happily ignored by anyone under 40 who actually completed high school and has ever once tasted a microbrew or had sex or felt joy.

Translation: right now, marketing execs from Smith & Wesson, Pfizer, McDonald’s and Walmart and Coca-Cola, et al, are all kicking themselves for not having thought of this first.

I mean, right? There absolutely should be a handgun named “America.” Bullets and coffins, too. And a junk-food burger. And a massively harmful prescription narcotic (“Take two America and boom, no more pain! Or life!”) Hell, North Carolina should just rename itself “America” for a few years, or until all the lawsuits about its hateful homophobia die down.

America! The nasty, flavorless pisswater swill of the world, owned by some rich dudes in Belgium, like you even care. Crack a cold one today!

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Mark Morford

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