lately i have been sat on, shat on and ratted on simply because i love miller high life. i’ve taken my high life to parties only to have it used to kill slugs, others have openly questioned my honorable devotion to the old high life, and, worst of all, friends have left cracked open, but only partially drunk, cans of the high life on my kitchen table.
in light of these recent events i have only one thing to say: all of you upper-middle class, organic consuming, whole foods cruising sons a bitches can kiss my golden canned ass.
i’ve heard you talking about your desire to identify with the least while you consume your two dollar bottles of samuel smith pale ale! i’ve listened as you’ve hammered corporations like budweiser and coors, companies that honor our flag and provide good paying union jobs to john q. public, while you’ve languished praise on the products (such as newcastle) of socialist states.
you bourgeoisie bastards can have your micro-brews, cask conditioned ales and your incestuous little papist brews. as for me, i’m going to stick with the ole girl on the moon.