This morning, Liz posted great about low-carb beer lameness and malt liquor industry advertising sleight of hand. I laughed. Then irritation overtook me. If you're counting your carbs and you're worried about the beer ones...don't drink beer, dumbass. You know you can drink regular liquor on that Atkins shit, right? All of the good stuff: whiskey, bourbon, vodka, gin, rum, tequila and brandy have like zero net carbs or whatever and if you mix it with a diet soda, you're golden. Well, as long as you enjoy the sick aftertaste of aspartame.
People on faddish, restrictive diets piss me off.
Also, I was at the Medusa a couple of weeks ago and I ordered a Rolling Rock and I take a swig and it was literally like beer-splashed water. What the...I look at the bottle. It's low-carb fucking Rolling Rock. Why would they do that, why why why? I mean, it's already the wussiest of the wussy beers-- it's like Zima without the refreshing citrus taste. So I go back to the bar and ask for a regular Rolling Rock, but guess what? They DON'T SERVE regular Rolling Rock. They only serve low carb beer. What? Why? I mean, it's not like they only serve diet soda and no-sugar juice and fucking carbless lemons, limes and maraschino cherries. Fuckers. This is SEATTLE, not New York or Los Angeles, godammit. We're not supposed to wear high-heeled strappy sandals with mini-skirts; we're not supposed to have to wait in line to get into a club; we're not supposed to have tans or really bleached teeth and the white devils at the Medusa certainly are not supposed to be serving low-carb beer.
Yeah. I took it all in stride. Finished the beer. Reapplied lip gloss. Left. Burned the place down.