This is one of those unfortunate years where we have to do our inane task that we are too stupid to perform called "voting". I recently warned all of you that we are too stupid to vote, and I still stand by it. Why? Because for the most powerful job in the world, we have a pretty mediocre (putting it lightly) group to choose from. It should be a lot of fun!
Anyways, none of the U.S. Presidential candidates strike me as particularly reasonable, likable, or (for a few of them) even human. So I am here to help you out with the best guide to selecting a candidate. WITH BEER.
The "Schmuck" test, otherwise known as what candidate you think you would most like to get a beer with, has been a widely used predictive measure to find out who would become the next President. It cost Mitt Romney the election in 2012 because he doesn't drink beer. In 2008, the election got away from John McCain because he brought Sarah Palin along, and going to get a beer escalated to "heyya! Let's get wasted and do cocaine off my tits!"
In the 2000 election, the whole race was decided by the beer test. The Supreme Court decided George W. Bush was far more enjoyable to have a beer, or seven, with. Qualified? Legal? Whatever, dweeb. The man seemed fun to drink with. Let's put him in charge!
So now here we are in 2016 choosing another drinking buddy to put in charge of nuking the rest of the planet. How do they stack up on a night out for The Cold Ones?
You meet her at a club she suggested. You arrive and she is attempting a dance move you think you saw via a Vine once. The "Why You Always Lyin?" song plays. You are confused. She twerks on over and takes a place next to you at the bar.
"Greetings young person!" she screams over the music. "You know, I was on the YouTubes and was watching some crazy cat vids! It reminded me a lot of voting!"
She orders a PBR.
"Yes! A Pabs't! Pabest? Uh, a Blue Ribbon beer! Delicious!" She chugs half of it, stifling the urge to vomit afterwards. " Hella hyphy! Lit, fam. Yabba dabba doo! You young people hold the future in your hands! Glad I can trust your generation on great taste!"
You point out PBR's are for hipsters. She leaves in a huff.
This bar he suggested looks like it may have just been constructed this afternoon. American flags are plastered everywhere. You go inside and everyone is beautiful looking. Every conversation you overhear is the same "how are you?" and you realize everyone inside is an actor.
You find Marco at the bar. He twitches off a smile. You attempt small talk as you wait on the bartender who they forgot to hire, and one of the patron actors is shoved over instead. Rubio's eyes dart throughout the bar nervously. You order a beer.
"An appletini please," Rubio orders. You see him look terrified and follow his gaze. At the opposite end of the bar is an older, white man shaking his head no at Rubio.
"Actually," stammers Rubio as a trickle of sweat begins to run down his face, "I'll have whatever you're having. And let's get some bourbon!" He laughs awkwardly, smiling too hard.
"Water too please," he whispers to the bartender.
The sweat won't stop. The smiling is worrisome. You notice he is actually crying. "Please, god, like me. Please. You have to. You have no idea what they will do to me-"
Suddenly, he is grabbed and dragged off by a large man. None of the actors try to pay attention. You decide to leave.
"No no no," he chides you out in front of the bar you chose. "This place...No. It's for losers. Not for me. No. I'll show you where to go."
The two of you arrive out in front of an oversized gold building with TRUMP spelt on it.
"You know, I own this place," he tells you while you try to act surprised. "Best place in town. Probably the world."
You enter the bar. There's no one there. You order a beer. Donald makes a faces.
"Really? That? No. Here," he reaches under the bar and pulls out an already poured beer. You start to ask where he got that but he continues talking.
"This is the best beer in the world. Unbelievable. I had beer connoisseurs from all over come here. It's my own personal brew. Absolutely incredible. People love it. They tell me, 'Donald, this beer is wonderful.' And it is. Brewed right here. It's absolutely beautiful."
You spy a few empty Tecate cans behind the bar. You are able to recognize the taste. You ask if this actually a Tecate by mistake.
"I don't know anything about that. I'm not in charge of that. I just let other people oversee what goes on here, and I let them handle it. I would have to look into it."
He excuses himself to go use the restroom. He never comes back. The bill for the two beers comes to $93.
He calls you. "I- I- I don't like bars. Too many people. Crowded. Shoving. Just come by my house."
You arrive at his house. He invites you in. He pours two tall glasses of room temperature water.
"I don't understand beer, you see," he explains. "There's yeast in it. That's insane. Yeast! That's living stuff and we get alcohol out of it. You cook it. You wait. And look. Alcohol! I've never seen man exploit a microorganism like this. I've seen Wall Street do it to the middle class though. It's probably why I don't like beer. Yeast is a fungus too. The special interests are a fungus when you think about it. And I can't stand that!"
Bernie is pacing around the room, shaking.
"How do we let this keep happening! It's terrible. We need to break this cycle. Why can't we just have a beverage without having to use and abuse something else? You pulverize fruits for juices. And they never get a thank you! It's a terrible system!"
You back slowly away, and leave without him noticing you while he begins to scream about the mistreatment of various rocks.
You follow Google Maps as best you can through the desert. It's pitch black. You are trying to find the bar Ted mentioned but you think there must be some mistake. He did say "cave" a few time during your conversation too. Which is what you find. You enter the cave, seeing light coming from within. There are several people standing in a semi circle in the cave, candles lighting the interior. They wear black robes, are hooded, and you cannot see their faces.
Ted takes his hood off and approaches. "I am so thrilled you could make it."
In the center of the semi circle is a naked man and a cow. You start to ask Ted about that beer, but he interrupts. "Let us commence."
He walks to the center, with the naked man and cow. He pulls out a long jagged dagger, and cuts his hand. He wipes his blood on the cow first and then the man. "Give me the strength, power, and wisdom to ascension!" he bellows.
He cuts the cow's throat. Then the man's. Blood is everywhere. Ted lifts his head back and raises his arms, shrieking. He is soaked in the blood of cow and man. The hooded people descend on the pools of blood and begin lapping it up with lizard-like tongues.
"I SHALL BE THE ONE TO PAVE THE PATHS TO ETERNAL GLORY," Ted yells.
You decided you should probably go.
Prediction: All hail President Cruz.