Put a Fork in America...We're Done! Now for the Beer.

Pro-life, anti-death, pro-gay, anti-homophobes, pro-choice, anti-prophylactics. Isn't it tiring? Keeping up with the policy in today's calculated sound bite releases is exhausting. All the smoke and mirrors and snips and snails and puppy dog tails are really starting to weigh me down. Republicans lying about Democrats and the Democrats...well, just, basically, lying about. I've had it up to here! Where's here? ...My liver.

After taking a good look at all the issues, I've decided to jump on the Obama band wagon because I've realized that he has finally figured it ALL out, and he's ready to share it with us. As the RNC cleans up it's hate culture and legitimate rapists, and the Democrats gain momentum during their DNC tom-foolery and hetero-phobic baby-killing, the campaign wizards in the White House have been strategically planning a bombshell release that will shake the political foundations of the country to it's core: the recipe of the White House Honey Brown Ale.

That's right. The White House staff have put aside the menial tasks of silly wars and financial instability to bring us unmatchable perfection in the world of beer drinking. What a relief that our President, Barack Obama, is actually getting things done around this poor excuse for a country. I think he finally realized that he could only ride the I-killed-Osama-Bin-Laden train for so long. Eventually he had to get back to the grindstone at Pennsylvania Avenue and focus on the serious issues, like how much barley and hops it takes to wash away the taste of cigarettes on his taste buds.

History was made and the cry of the working class was answered with a recipe that called for a little light malt extract, amber crystal malt, honey, gypsum, yeast and corn sugar.  Move over Mountain Dew because we can now brew the brew of all brews in our own bathtubs. Thank you, Mr. President. You made this possible.

Beer drinking had hit a wall in this country with all the bitter hops and unpredictable yeast build-ups. All the beer in the world was no match for the tingling sensation of the old favorite Mountain Dew that ruined the teeth of abusive personalities everywhere. But now a new age has come, and we, the American drinker, will never be the same. With this feat, President Obama has surely sealed himself in the halls of fame as the Greatest President in the Multiverse. White House Honey Brown Ale is believed to be the only beer ever brewed on the White House grounds. (Martin Van Buren gets the nod for distilling the first jug of whiskey in the White House.)  God's favor must surely rest on him for such a remarkable gesture of getting-things-done in a country so riddled with holes of hate and intolerance.

Believe me, this history making event didn't just wash up on the shores of the White House like flotsam and jetsam. The administration had been looking for ways to get an edge on their white collar opponents for hours. After many failed attempts to win the hearts of the American people including a White House fountain filled with green food coloring on St. Patrick's Day and a few appearances on Late Night TV,  the idea of beer frothed through the West Wing. Brainstorm sessions ensued at cabinet meetings and brew-ha-has, and the idea was born. But it needed a catalyst, something to get the beer out of the barrels and into the hearts of the voting public. That catalyst came about through the most history changing event in alcoholic history-changing history.

In a genius attempt to quell racial tensions around the world, Obama and Biden invited a Harvard professor and a police sergeant over for a beer. This event took advantage of Obama's lifetime of beer drinking and made the first dent in erasing racism in America since Abraham Lincoln screwed it all up at the end of the civil war by getting shot in the back of the head during some ridiculous movie premiere or something. Stupid Lincoln.


That minature beer fest or "Beer Summit" as it was aptly named was the impetus he needed for a winner-take-all campaign for beer.  The commission began and has finally culminated this past week with the unprecedented press release of the recipe for Obama's White House Honey Brown Ale. (Click here if you would like this recipe.) It is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. And it's clear that Obama's strategists have been working night and day since our political messiah graced us with his prompter reading skills and mesmerized us with his natural swagger from the Presidential helicopter. (Yep, that's right; he's the real deal, folks.)

And now we must wait until the rest of America jumps "off the wagon"... and then onto the Obama Beer Wagon. There is still a lot of room on this "wagon" for white working class adulterers, Irish-loving black people, Monastical friars, and reformed pot-heads.

To the Mexican immigrant mother that just found out her 16-year-old girl was pregnant: Beer is the Answer.
To the bankrupt business owner that broke his foot jumping out of his third story window because he couldn't pay a health premium for his employees: Beer is the Answer.

To the elderly man whose social security is only going to be available for 2 more hours because the Senators just approved another raise for themselves: Beer is the Answer.
To the child who got busted for reprogramming the DVR so his parents wouldn't catch him watching "Family Guy" on Fox: Beer is the Answer.

I seriously can't imagine where we'd be in this country without beer. Maybe our Episcopalian friends would be as intolerant as the rest of the clergy. Maybe our roads and infrastructure would actually make sense. Maybe Bear Grylls would stop drinking the moisture from elephant feces. Only God knows, but I do know this...*Mitt Romney is a Mormon, doesn't drink and favors multiple wives, so how in the world would he get anything done for beer drinkers. 

*Note: Lies?? Truths?? Sarcasm?? Hyperbole?? What's the difference?

Life in Overdrive

Toby Keith came to Virginia Beach, and I was one of the lucky hillbillies in the front row, or "pit", as it is affectionately known. Allow me to set the stage for those unfamiliar with the goings-on at a genuine Toby Keith concert. The venue was outside, and it just happened to be the hottest evening of the summer. Not to worry, I was surrounded by many other people suffering from the same summer heat, so we were able to keep each other warm.

To start things off, I'm so thankful we got to our standing positions in the pit early enough to catch the Ford commercial that started the show. It was like being at a drive in movie, you know, the nostalgia of it all. A giant white sheet was strategically hung in front of the stage so no one would miss it. A projector mounted 100 feet away gave all 20,000 of us a larger than life perspective of what it's like to be Toby Keith driving a Ford F-150. It was glorious. There he was before us, Toby Keith, in a commercial driving a truck on a gianormous sheet hanging down before our very eyes. I know what your thinking, Ford commercials are available at home in our living rooms on the TV, but this... this was special. Apparently, if you drive a brand new Ford F-150, several really cool things happen to you. You meet beautiful, sweaty, half-naked women sucking on popsicles. Dirty, empty bars suddenly spring to life when you plug in the juke box. Somehow desert roads become oases, and fame and fortune follow you everywhere. All, from a truck. How cool is that? I'm going to go get me one of those Ford's just as soon as I get a feather in my hat and call it macaroni.

But the concert wasn't over yet...

The sheet fell from the heights over our heads, and we stood there like excited villagers sacrificing a virgin before a giant volcano ignorant of the sweaty steam emanating from each of our bodies. Then the live music began with a loud pulse emanating from each instrument. Bodies jumped, sweat flung into my eyes, the lights turned on and the super amazing pyro-technics made me realize I wasn't hot enough.

Excitement overtook the sensation of having a fever, and I watched and listened while a tired sunburnt old man used the gift of song to tell 20,000 people how amazing they were. As I observed I realized that this was the most patriotic group of people ever. There was a shout out to policemen and firemen, a respect for veterans and politicians, and a long drawn-out video montage of Willy Nelson. I kid you not, an amputee literally threw his fake leg onto the stage for Toby Keith to sign it. And it wasn't any kind of normal fake leg either, it was decorated to the nines with paintings of bald eagles that were draped in American flags. It was one of the most questionably inappropriate things I've ever seen.

But that was nothing compared to the crowning achievement of the entire show. The climax of a good show is reserved for special subject matter. It's not enough to sing about cowboys and Willy Nelson and Ford trucks. They aren't special enough. Nope, you've got to give the climax to something special. And in this case that "special thing" is the Red Solo Cup that holds your beer. Toby Keith, held up a red solo cup full of some liquid and sang one of the most beautiful ballads ever written. While doing this four stage hands began pumping up giant red solo cup balloons about the size of Ford F-150s. Here are some of the lyrics to this beloved song:

Red solo cup, I fill you up
Let's have a party, let's have a party
I love you red solo cup, I lift you up,
Proceed to party, proceed to party
...
Now I've seen you in blue and I've seen you in yellow
But only you red will do for this fellow
Cause you are the Abbott into my Costello
And you are the Fruit to my Loom

For all the lyrics to this beautiful song click here

Now if that isn't just the sweetest thing ever then I don't know what is. It's very catchy and memorable.

What followed were some sweet guitar licks, a drum solo and few shots of my ugly mug on the big screen, but as you would probably guess it was all down hill after the Red Solo Cup.

I can tell you with certainty that Toby Keith is a great entertainer; he knows what his fans want and he gives it to them. So what does he give them? A sense of who they are, passionate, patriotic, gun-toting, beer-drinking, nature loving, NASCAR supporting, cowboy boot wearing, Caucasians. I was entertained, and part of me wished I had a pair of cowboy boots. This was my very first country music concert and I would do it all over again, except for the part about leaving early to miss the inevitable parking lot traffic jam. How do you like me now?