Beer Commercials

If I were to throw out the phrase "entertaining commercials," most likely the list of commercials that would not come to mind include anything about life insurance, Wilford Brimley and his "diabeetus," and 5-Hour Energy (seriously, there are webcam videos of lonely people lip-synching to teen-pop songs in their bedroom on YouTube that are of higher quality than the crap the marketing team at 5-Hour Energy pushes onto the airwaves). What might come to mind are beer commercials. Typically they're funny, they're catchy, they inject sex appeal, and they don't make you sprint for the "mute" button.

That said, beer commercials have the credibility of a toddler who has chocolate smeared all over his face but swears he has no idea what happened to that last fudgesicle. Regardless of the brand of beer, these 30-second spots relentlessly flaunt one heckuva nonstop ice-cold, thirst-quenching, perfect-weathered, sweat-free, big-bosomed, velvet-rope-bypassing, rowdy-yet-controlled, happy-go-lucky night among responsible friends and a universal designated driver who would just loooove to have another glass of water while he watches his friends move in closer on the gleefully welcoming posse of ladies.

Speaking of absence of credibility, what's the deal with the ubiquitous hot chick sitting by herself at the bar in these ads? What bar is that, and how did that girl end up happily sitting alone? What ridiculously gorgeous girl squeezes herself into vacuum-sealed skinny jeans and a frilly halter top and spends an hour on the perfect hair curl so that she can grab a cab to the local watering hole to sit solo at the bar and talk to the equally ridiculously gorgeous female bartender? I like how this girl in the commercial always acts initially stunned when a guy talks to her or bumps into her as if, "Oh my, there are guys here, too? And someone actually wants to introduce himself to me?" Put that same girl in that same situation in a real bar, and I'll give her 60 seconds before a wolf pack of guys pounces her with lame come-ons and drink offers. (I would say just four seconds, but the other 56 rightfully allow for the surrounding guys to process the confusion before them and wait to see if her missing boyfriend or band of 17 girlfriends returns from a bathroom trip.)

The advertisers have also conveniently omitted a few things. For example, where are the drunk people? Well, they're not there yet. Ever noticed how everyone in the commercial is on their first beer? You can tell by the wit and levelheadedness of each character. Everyone is wearing that sober, symmetrical grin that can't possibly avoid askewness after a downed six-pack. All clothes are still fully buttoned, and no one is texting an ex in a dimly lit corner of the room. There's no annoying loud-talker or a girl screaming, "Ooh, that's my song!" as the voice of Gwen Stefani poops out of the speakers. No threats of fighting, bottle-breaking, or vomiting.

Just once I want to see a beer commercial where someone's utterly hammered out of his mind. The commercial starts with a dude crushing a beer can against his forehead in anger as he calls his date "a worthless slut" in the kitchen, while the camera pans over to the living room where a shirtless fat guy pounds a beer in between air guitar solos to AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" and Greek-lettered girls hold hands as they slur their way though sorority chants. Suddenly the Bud Light logo appears, followed by the slogan "Here We Go" -- just before a final cut to an old neighbor walking across the lawn with a bat, screaming obscenities.

Yeah, that's a beer I'd buy. For its honesty, if nothing else.