Area man who arrives to party with 6-pack of Heineken announces “I come bearing gifts”

Chicago, IL-A forgettable party guest who may or may not have been the bastard brother-in-law of a glue sniffer who probably wasn’t invited to the party in the first place, made it clear that he was going to be a social burden the rest of the night by announcing, I come bearing gifts, while hoisting a 6-pack of Heineken that he would undoubtedly hoard the rest of the night.

The other guests navigated around him with a weariness generally reserved for Gristle & Goyder night at Ponderosa steakhouses in Northern Indiana. Each one knowing that at some point they would ultimately succumb to the infected flesh wrapped in garments from Trunk Club.

Now the only determination was for how long and by what excruciating conversation topic would they be forced to spill their melted brains on the cat hair infested floor. Thinly veiled racism? Recent sexual conquests? Professional goals? All Bird shoes? Ashton Kutcher’s time on Two and a Half Men? Early onset erectile dysfunction? Crying themselves to sleep on a nightly basis? Everything. Nothing.

Fortunately wasting away in an inescapable conversation with someone you’ll never talk to again is time well spent when that person is drinking a 6-pack of mediocre beer. Enjoy a Heineken today.

Biggest Beer Commercial Fail Ever

Getting drilled in the face with a rock hard Red Delicious, waking up severely concussed and craving a hard cider. Abiding by the cryptic advice of an ominous British street goon that looks like he’s after your kidneys and eagerly drinking the open beer he offers. Both somehow qualify as more believable than Modelo Especial’s new perplexing  ad. I’m completely unfamiliar with the reality they’ve created in this commercial, but  would imagine this sort of thing mainly happens at the bar in the Cheesecake Factory and during carnival night at the strip mall Ponderosa. Those are the only two places where several spaced out old timers/lonely alcoholics may cast a confused glance your way upon entry. They may also be looking at nothing at all. The thousand mile hollowed out drunken stare.

How small do your nuts have to be where the only way to be comfortable with your mediocre beer order is getting a nod of approval from a stranger on the first bites of his second Bloomin Onion of the night. Without that approval, you would try and talk to a group of girls and concurrently drop a beer on your foot, mess your pants and boot all over the table.

Not to mention the dude boosting your street cred is a wiry ginger wearing a slouch fit beanie cap, thick rimmed glasses, and a shirt bought from the 30% off rack at Kohl’s. I’m always super intimidated by a guy who looks like he perpetually carries an acoustic guitar, ready to play Wonderwall at the drop of a hat. The current toughest dude at the Chili’s bar in Hammond Indiana is undoubtedly shaking in his licensed Guy Fieri flame button-up shirt.

The icing on the cake is the guy who just loves obscure garage rock. Entering the bar and breaking into a full on wind sprint to commandeer the jukebox is what everyone wants. Who doesn’t love getting a stranger’s shitty music preferences piledrived into their eardrums? “Oh you wanted to listen to that? I’m splurging the extra dollar to override your picks with this ultra busy sounding rock song that makes it impossible to have a conversation.” Those chicks you’re trying to pickup clearly prefer the new Jason Derulo song.

Literally in what upside-down world is the marketing department at Modelo living in? They should have stuck with CGI talking animals.