Funny quotes about beer
But look at the people who use [their potential] — who do actually give it everything... The Beckhams or Roy Keanes of this world. People charging! Running up and down the field, swearing and shouting at each other. Are they happy? No! They're destroying themselves! Who's happy? You! The fat fucks watching them, with a beer can balanced on your ninth belly, roaring advice at the best athletes in the world. "YOU WANKER!"
Beer commercials usually show big men, manly men, doing manly things: "You've just killed a small animal. It's time for a light beer." Why not have a realistic beer commercial, with a realistic thing about beer, where someone goes, "It's five o'clock in the morning. You've just pissed on a dumpster. It's Miller time."
Here's a little what it was like for me growing up in Atlanta... They had this ill-fated thing called 'Light Up Atlanta'. So, I'm standing in line... I tap the guy in front of me and say, "Uh, excuse me, can you tell me if this is the line for the beer, or the line to get the tickets to get the beer.' [long pause] 'I dunno, faggot.' I don't know, faggot? What? What did I do? Was it because I was sucking his cock at the time?
That's why I'm glad Jesus died when he did. Because if he lived to be 40, he would have ended up like Elvis. He was famous already at that point. If he lived to be 40, he'd be walking around Jerusalem with a big fat beer gut and black side burns going, Damn, I'm the son of God. Give me a cheeseburger and french fries right now.
So finally, on about the fifteenth tee, I hit the drive of my life. And any of you people who play golf, you know the drive I'm talking about. The minute you hit it, you just drop your club. You hang on to the beer, let's don't get stupid. And I watch this ball just go and go and . . . kind of hit this guy in the head. And I felt bad, but he overreacted, I thought. I mean, it wasn't like a square hit; it just kind of glanced off his head. But he goes whippin' his car off the freeway, like "here we go!" Mr. Attitude! So now, he's barreling down the fairway screaming at the top of his lungs, like "what are you, some kind of cruddy golfer?" I'm like, "hey, I hit you, didn't I? You were traveling sixty-five miles an hour. That's a pretty good shot in my book."