Beer Heaven looks like a pretty square joint

The new Miller Lite advertising campaign about "beer heaven" is a complete joke. I understand that companies advertising their products are going to try to promote their particular brand as the best available. But the sheer arrogance of Miller Lite saying, not only is Miller Lite the sole available choice in beer heaven, but no one who drinks beer would or should ever even want a different kind of beer than a light, American style lager. That's making a judgment statement on me that I don't appreciate. It's screwing over a lot of beer aficionados who actually have broader tastes in beer than Miller Lite, which is a classy one step up from PBR, Miller High Life, and Old Style. And, to be fair, I'll take any of the three of those before Miller Lite on a given night of debauchery if only for the fifty cents it will save me.

In Beer Heaven, it's way too well lit and everyone is dressed super fancy.
It looks like the VIP room to an incredibly pompous chic club. (One of those clubs that is so fancy that the bartender can just wear a ratty t-shirt because that's how cool they are.)
The kind of club that you have to wait in line for 45 minutes unless you get lucky enough where one of the girls that's in the group either in front or behind you (because you sure haven't brought any girls) has low enough self esteem to blow the doorman so you can slide in pretending that you know her. And then God forbid you're wearing jeans or sneakers, because then the 45 minute wait was for no reason as the 'roided up bouncer with both mommy and daddy issues will tell you in no uncertain words to go home. The only uncertainty in it is trying to decipher the monosyllabic barely comprehensible grunting coming from his caveman-like lips that seem to always be approaching a slack jawed drooling. Once you finally get past that step you get to pay the $20 cover to the cashier girl who is probably the most attractive female you will see all night anyways. Once you're in, the oontzy headache forming music from the DJ who has more coke in his system than Brian Urlacher after coming out of the locker room for the second half and the seizure inducing strobe lights will serve to so completely disorient you that you'll need some seven dollar beers in your system just to feel like your life has purpose again.

In conclusion, beer heaven sucks. And while the bottles may never break, the bar stool may recline, and the pristine conditions of the bar in the commercial can seem appealing, if Miller Lite is all that is offered in Beer Heaven, I'll gladly ride my one way ticket to beer hell where I'm actually afforded a choice.

Beer Hell:


A National Solution

The November general election for the President of the United States has been a heated topic of debate and discussion for the past several months. John McCain, the 72 year old presumptive nominee for the Republican party born in the Panama Canal Zone from an unholy coupling between an American canal builder and a female brown throated three toed sloth with reputedly loose morals,

is the perfect candidate for anyone who has enjoyed the last eight years of Republican government. However, some ultra Conservative Republicans have called him a "maverick" and a "renegade" that will deviate from toeing the party line. What they don't seem to understand is that his "crazy" ways are mostly a product of the severe mental trauma that he suffered as a POW in Vietnam. The bills he has signed over his past 22 years spent as a U.S. Senator from Arizona that seemed to not coincide with Republican interests were mostly Post Traumatic Stress Disorder related incidents of him thinking he was signing an order to nuke North Vietnam.

Barack Obama presents an interesting candidate for the Democratic party. He preaches a message of change and is attempting to inspire hope in a country where a lot of the population has lost faith in its government. He should already be lauded for his accomplishments for keeping the 1/2 Methodist, 1/2 pure evil Hillary Clinton out of the running:

Although, to be fair, she will probably announce her candidacy on the "I'm Willing to Completely Destroy my own Political Party to Satisfy my Ambitions" party ticket. Obama has little political experience when put next to a candidate like John McCain, but that's like saying that a baby is a shitty serial killer when compared with Ted Bundy. The point is, you never know what kind of potential you're dealing with and the little bastard DID just light the cat on fire.

Being that the two candidates are so different on so many platforms and topics, the country seems to need a more moderate solution as a compromise. And if there's anything Verona Red knows about, it's compromise, be it integrity, morals, friends, family, etc.

So how will the four members of the band divide such a position of power amongst themselves? Rotating shifts at President. Chris Balzer, as the frontman, will be President for the first month. Mike Panagakis will be the Secretary of the Treasury. He's handled most of the band's finances up to this point, and if he can deal with quantities of money dealing in the hundreds, he can probably figure out the rest. Taz Rasheed will be the Secretary of the Interior because he likes trees. And Tony Focht will be the Secretary of Homeland Security to keep an eye on Taz and to make sure his phone is tapped. When Chris isn't president, he will be the Secretary of Labor, as he's the only band member that seems to know how to maintain a steady job.

Verona Red pledges to do everything for everybody. If you're poor, Verona Red will make you rich. If you're rich, Verona Red will ask you for band funding, but that's it. If you are against continuing the war in Iraq, Verona Red promises to withdraw the troops. If you are FOR the war, Verona Red promises to buy you a plane ticket to Iraq, a gun, and some combat boots.

So everybody, please, on the Presidential Ballot in November, make Verona Red the write-in candidate that takes this country by storm.

Verona Red - We'll rock you so hard, you'll forget that our country's a mess.