Beer School 1: Become a Beer Connoisseur in just 2 EASY STEPS!

Step 1: Grab a cold Coors Light

Step 2: Read the following rabid, frothing madness:

Beer drinkers of America, REJOICE!!!! HAAHHHHHHHHHH (crowd noise)! For it is a funtastic, fantastic, phantasmic time; a mystical, magical, mythical time; an exciting, ecstatic, exothermic time to be a beer drinker in America! HAAHHHHHHHHH (crowd noise)!

Coors Lite Can

Coors Light, as American as baked beans and awesomeness

Beer brands and styles are exploding all over America like the spineless species of the Cambrian, and we, imbibers of the noble barley, are the Eurypteris-es of the Silurian feasting on the endless trilobites! HAAHHHHHHH!

And if you are not a beer aficionado? Then you my friend are a damn fool. A nutless, anemic, incontinent, jabbering fool chewing your lips bloody while you smear your own bedclothes with linseed oil you found in the garage. Because you like the smell.

But fear not! You, like countless others, can become an instant beer connoisseur just by following (blindly, religiously, with the unquestioning faith of Indiana Jones stepping off a cliff onto an invisible pathway) these instructions:

First put away the linseed oil before you get the vapors. While you’re out there in the garage, crack open daddy’s beer fridge (if daddy doesn’t have a beer fridge in the garage, get a job and move out of Utah) and grab a cold Coors Light (that’s right, beer snobs: I said Coors Light. We’ll save the discussions about microbrews, Trappist techniques and how being a beer snob is the ultimate in pretentious bullshittery for later). Next open that there Coors Light and take a sip.

Martha Scott in Our Town

Emily Webb from "Our Town"

You know that play “Our Town”, the one where this small-town girl dies and gets to invisibly visit her surviving relatives, and is amazed at how much joy and love flows right under the surface of what she thought was a life so boring she’d have to double-fist herself just to experience some sensation? Well let me put it this way: your invisible ghost is going to be so pissed if you ever taste a Coors Light in the afterlife.

Because there’s so much to enjoy, right there in that ubiquitous can! Pay attention to that boring domestic lager before you swill it down and you will find a medley of flavors. There is a cloying sweetness from the malt, there is an herbal half-bitter taste from the hops, and there is a sparkling, effervescent texture from the carbonation. Plus (unlike many microbrews I can name, beer snobs) the flavors are all in a careful balance.

With that done, I hereby offer you a diploma: you are now a beer connoisseur. That’s right! That’s all it takes! You don’t need to know about specific gravity or secondary fermentation. You don’t need to recognize every single goddamn short-lived local beer currently sweeping the hippy girls off their Birkenstocks in Northern California. All you need to be able to do is TASTE THE BEER YOU’RE DRINKING, and NOTICE WHAT IT’S LIKE.

Please do not think I am telling you that Coors Light is the greatest thing ever. In fact, in my very next article I’ll be tackling the topic of the state of beer in America, and Coors Light will be mentioned in a less flattering vein. Sort of a State of the Union address, but about beer and way more funny.

At any rate, if you take one thing away from this article, let it be this: the image of Emily Webb voraciously double-fisting herself.

Want more informative comedy from Brian? Try his Space Marines! and Dirtbag, both available here https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bhenley from Smashwords. Or Check out his articles about the Marine Corps at http://www.splicetoday.com/search?q=brian+henley.

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About Brian

Brian is a retired drill-press operator who lives voluntarily off the grid in a cabin in Montana. He has apparently been sending fake letters to businesses and prominent citizens for decades, as a hobby. We became aware of him when he sent us an envelope filled with white powder and some uncooked alphabet soup letters that spelled ‘ANTHRAX”. We spent over $100,000 sanitizing our offices and testing the staff before labs identified the substance as baking soda. We thought it was hilarious and asked him if we could publish his outgoing mail.