"Bud Girls serve a great and special purpose: To promote a brand of beer through the raw channels of sex appeal and free stuff." Photo: Mitch Allen
I’m drunk right now. How drunk? Well not so drunk that I can’t write this article, but drunk enough that I might slur in it. Not so drunk that I’ll forget my train of thought, but drunk enough that I might crash that train. But fuck it, it’s the beer issue so I might as well take full advantage of the adverse effects of alcohol and at least write one article for SLUG while wasted.
So allow me to go off on a drunken tangent. It’s a good thing I don’t edit the mag, or else instead of the beer issue we would have the whiskey issue and absolutely nothing would get done. I have a motto when it comes to shooting liquor: If its brown it goes down, clear liquor makes me sicker.
So now that you know what I’ve been drinking tonight, which is mostly Natural Lights and Jim Beam shots straight from the handle, let me talk about what I’m supposed to write about for this month. I’m gonna keep drinking and take a swig after every paragraph I finish.
Ok, so one thing I’ve learned about booze is that when I drink enough of it I might start dressing up as a girl—but not in the Princess Kennedy sort of way. I am by no means trying to steal her thunder or learning the ways of the true tranny (which, from what I understand, involves a lot of duct tape or a surgery I cannot afford). I just get wasted before Fucktards shows and dressing in drag seems like a good idea as a way to fuck with people in this town.
For the second straight month I have queened myself out in the name of effective journalism. Last month I did it to see how Juggalos respond, and this month I did it to see how your average club going, Bud Light drinking aficionado responds. So I dressed up as a coveted Bud Girl, blue wig and dress to boot. Basically, like anything that is heaved into our eternally capitalistic society, Bud Girls serve a great and special purpose: To promote a brand of beer through the raw channels of sex appeal and free stuff, like lanyards, key chains, and flashing blinky shit that somehow grabs the attention of the most derelict drunk at the club.
My friend Beverly, who is in charge of leading this local marketing attack, strategically placed blinking bottle caps upon my nipples. She is a marketing genius who shall not be underestimated. I’ve never had breasts before, meaning I know not what it’s like for a guy to unwaveringly stare at my natural or silicone phenomenons, but I think having blinking Budweiser caps on my chest is the closest I’ll ever get to having such attention adorned upon me.
This got me to thinking about what a Bud Girl has to go through on a nightly basis. It cannot be easy to promote a product—that product being alcohol—that is notorious for turning people into idiots. These girls need to be commended on the most utmost and highest levels. The way I was treated when I walked into the club with my blue dress and blue wig only reassured that. But maybe my own insecurities were due to the fact that I was the only Bud Girl there with a beard. It made passing out lanyards and blinking lights that much harder. But if there’s one thing I’ve never shied away from, it’s a challenge.
And besides, I have an extensive sales background. I used to sell snowboards, so basically I used to sell shit that people didn’t really need to ass-fucks who didn’t really deserve it. And I was damn fucking good at it. God I love capitalism. Can you tell I’m drunk? I can. Hold on, I need a smoke break, I’ll return to this article in a minute…
Ok I’m back. So anyway, being a Bud Girl was not easy. And in classic Mike Brown fashion I double booked myself for being a Bud Girl on the same night that I planned Mike Brown Fest #4, which was pretty epic, and involved pudding, skateboarding, The Naked Eyes (now known as Spell Talk) and more pudding.
In fact, it took me and Lance three days to fully clean up the pudding. One of Lance’s cronies, Stev-o, threw up twice in front of some police while disposing of said pudding, while I pretended I was too busy to help clean up. Such candidness would not reveal itself unless I was truly drunk right now, which I am. Sorry you barfed Stev-o, but I think that’s kind of funny.
K, back to me being drunk and being a Bud Girl. Blue is one of my favorite colors, and I was lucky enough to wear a blue wig and blue dress on a Saturday night. Most people should be so lucky. I only wish I was able to get totally trashed while being a Bud Girl to erase my own drag queen insecurities and such.
Man, can you tell I’m drunk? I hate that, when you are drunk and tying to act like you are not. I do it so much. Like every time I show up at the SLUG office. Anyway, enjoy the beer issue. And next time you see a Bud Girl, don’t grab her ass or nothing like that—that can get you kicked out of the club.