I was about to do an article on just how bad gospel music has become. How artistes wearing that medal like a chip on their shoulders are spoilt brats drunk on fame. How a howling dog in the full moon has more sincere lyrics than those adolescent teens whose public hairs have just started to curl. But I did not want to look like I was moonlighting on these streets for attention. It’s not like I can take pictures of my words, add a filter and put them on Instagram. Besides I would spew so much bile coated in humour and some self righteous prick somewhere in between a hail Mary and a Lord’s prayer will sip some holy water and call me out for the judgmental prick I am. Then a tirade of ugly adjectives will be spewed across describing me and my writing. Pictures will surface; not the nice ones that I stage managed. But the ones that make me look like the next worst thing to come out of the country since some botched hello cover.
Si it is just juzi we were treated to a debacle by some political aspirant’s pictures as she was going to jail. A far cry from the campaign posters. She had not even been elected and the lies were already ripe. It’s amazing what a good camera and Photoshop can do for you. Ironically she’s also a bishop who must not believe in that “come as you are” statement. I hope Saint Peter at the gates of heaven has two sets of photos. The ID one and the WhatsApp profile picture. Otherwise most of us won’t make it to heaven. But I digress, I do that a lot sometimes, digress. It’s a pet peeve of mine. I am a living breathing human YouTube. You start if at fifth harmony chiming away to work and the next you are watching a conspiracy by ISIS to use castrated cats to spread propaganda on the Internet.
Back to earth. I figured let the gospel artistes take a breather. They must be tired from zgwembe za yesu and rerereing. I’d rather talk about something I love. Beer. The drink that was created on the 8th day. I admit this is about to be a very random; my unpopular opinion on the different brands. I will also be very biased as all my opinions on the matter are based on my taste buds. Also this is the hierarchy of how I like my beers.
This beer should be an independent arm of the government. A symbol of national unity. No one beer in Kenya can inspire as much patriotism as a cold tusker can. Pun intended. Can. Can. Get it? It should replace the shield in the coat of arms. It should be named the national drink. Heck, churches should serve it during Holy Communion. It has a rich bold taste, even though I have no idea what the hell that is supposed to mean. I just say it to sound knowledgeable. But please the contents of a Tusker bottle go beyond alcohol. It is the resilience and hard work of a nation. It is the first rays of sunlight at the crack of dawn and the last rays when dusk bruises the skies. Tusker is poetry in a bottle and will always remain an all-time favourite. Just for the record, I am talking about the lager. Not that green tinted shit they try to pass off as beer. Oh yeah, and also no beer beats tusker at head. It gives the best head.
Yeah. This comes a close second. I mean it has a very light taste, almost like it is floating on your tongue. Then it has his crisp finish that feels like taking a bite out of a cold apple. The green one. Then it has a priestly bottle with a long neck. It carries itself with a bit of grace. A head higher above my beloved tusker. While the taste is okay-ish; it lacks something. An oomph factor. Every sip feels like your just escorting your saliva down. But lately they seem to have noticed this and re edited it with a stronger more full bodied cousin. Seven.
Seven is a hard headed son of a b****. A few of these bastard and you’re not sure if you’re having beer or vodka shots. It must have been brewed in the dungeons of hell. It’s a great one though if you plan on being polite but still need something to pack a punch. Also it’s the same price so it’s quite a steal if you’re low on the economic ladder gripping to the lower rungs by the hairs of your finger nails (there’s no such thing don’t look) then it’s perfect. Well, until the hangover.
It just has a pretty label and that’s it. When it comes to taste it is average. You don’t really sit down on a Thursday at the office and think “I really need a white cap”. When someone invites you for a drink up its not the first beer you think of. You might even not notice that it is in stock until you see some old chap in a checked jacket that’s weather beaten order for one. Warm.
And anyone that can take a warm beer is capable of anything. These are the chaps that believe global warming is a sham. They think carrots are fruits. They are not please don’t argue with me. And they think fundi wa mbao is a guy who repairs broken twenty bob coins.
But it’s not as bad as it seems. The beer. You can stand it. A few of them actually. By the fourth one you sort of start to enjoy it. Behind the looks it has a great personality. Oh, plus it has a mild hangover.
Also I don’t know why old men love it. Must be the pretty label.
First it’s foreign. Second it’s expensive. It has an attitude. Just because it’s been on a plane and came from a foreign land and has sponsored the champion’s league. Then it comes in a really small bottle which is insulting to a beer drinker because the bigger the better.
You drink it only for the thrill. Or rather I drink it only for the thrill. Just to say I’ve had a Heineken. Also in some joints it is like social currency. Someone sees you with the green bottle and nods your way. A silent acknowledgement of the perceived brotherhood of the green bottle.
Also ladies love it. For some reason. And ladies ruin everything. Don’t start with me. Do you remember Eden? Yeah. Me neither. They ruined it.
Another import but majorly a reject. It’s always on offer. A three for one. Tastes like it was brewed by someone from central. It feels watered down.
I don’t hate it but I don’t like it either. It’s never on my mind. It’s not even an after thought. The last time I tolerated the atrocity that is in that can was because a pretty lady in a tight polo (green) and short black shorts convinced me to buy it. She even brushed her hand across my shoulder like we were old buddies. And smiled.
Three cans later and all I had to whom was numerous trips to the gents.
This is not beer. This is some lazy dog piss they are trying to pass of as beer. This is what slaves drank at sugar plantations to stay hydrated. It tastes like suffering and struggles. This is the only beer you can have warm and no one will bat an eyelid. This is that beer you take when you’ve hit rock bottom of rock bottom. The one time I had a sip (bottle) my life flashed before my eyes. I saw a future of potato farming, drowned cabbages and rusty pick – ups.
The dark skin of beers. The melanated devils piss. Tastes like a bad date. No. It tastes like three consecutive bad dates. But it is a surprising fan favourite among many guys. A Guinness oozes machismo. It has almost the same effect as wielding a glass of whisky minus the sophistication. It’s last on my list coz it tastes like shit.