Red Stripe - A Thought
Once in awhile you'll meet a guy who fancies himself a connoisseur of beer. Good for that guy. Lord knows there is more to life than 6-month old, lukewarm Natty Light that's not even worth the can housing it. The problem I have is not with the guy who enjoys a nice Rogue or Bell's rather than a Bud Light. My problem is with the guy who refers to himself as a beer aficionado based on his admiration for Red Stripe. Do you know this guy? Beware. I am sure he lurks about your inner circle, educating everyone on the superior taste of Jamaica's worst export.
For those of you who have had the displeasure of tasting this awful beer, I apologize on behalf of all of humanity. For those of you who haven't, let me offer a comparison to its taste. It is the functional equivalent of squeezing the saliva out of a Jerry Tarkanian gameday towel and mixing it with a yeast infection cooked by a stripper who's been on the pole for three days straight. Red Stripe isn't a beer, it's a disease. It is a terrorist threat to this country everytime it is allowed in our borders. "Red Stripe! It's AIDS in a bottle! Hooray, AIDS in a bottle!"
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