St. Pauli Girl

AFFORDABILITY: St. Pauli Girl is a beer that I've never had the desire to buy because it seemed stupid to me, but in a desire to buy one of those mid-range fake good good beers other than Yuengling, which has been my longtime standby in such matters, I went with the St. Pauli Girl, being it was $5.49. They had Magic Hat Not Quite Pale Ale six-packs for $5.29, but I wasn't quite ready after previous painful experiences to jump back in drunken bed with Magic Hat, so it was either St. Pauli Girl or Moosehead, also at $5.49. Moosehead seems like something I'd get during hockey season, and today the day I drink and I write this is NFL conference championships day, and St. Pauli Girl, though not American, be acting like it's from Germany, and it's in a green bottle, so it made me think that maybe it's a shitty version of Beck's, which I can handle that. Better than being a shitty version of Budweiser. 3 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: Honestly, I do not respect the St. Pauli Girl beer at all, because it has a stupid name. My only recollection of it is it being the only beer I ever saw my maternal grandfather ever drink, going to the beach one year, even though he was allegedly a huge interstate hobo drunkard before he settled down to a family. St. Pauli Girl just seems like a stupid beer, in name, in look, in everything. But I will admit that yesterday afternoon, as I sucked back an entire six-pack, it put me on a tilt. Perhaps this is because I haven't been gorging myself with food as much lately, or perhaps it was a perfect storm of football-watching, beer-pounding activity, but I was feeling alright. And luckily, I was home with no one around but my wife and kids, so nobody could go, "Hahaha, you're drinking St. Pauli Girl!" Although my wife did make fun of it, which is probably why I drank them so quickly, because I was a little embarrassed. Maybe that’s the St. Pauli Girl plan to get you drunk, make you so ashamed of the bottling and name that you suck it down as quickly as possible. 4 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: The St. Pauli Girl label is one of the greatest stupid labels of forever. I have documented on this blog before how much I wish there was more historic porn, preferably with historically accurate body types too, as opposed to just pretending to be in Rome with new era fake breast no vagina hair ass women. And what is up with dudes shaving themselves bare in porn now too? Why are we so afraid of body hair? Anyways, that style of outfit the St. Pauli Girl is kicking it in, with the lace up blouse, always a sexy white, with buxom breasts just waiting to bust out, plus the additional accouterments, it's nice. But the one drawback to the St. Pauli Girl label is how cartoony it is. I guess it would be worse if it was a real girl, because it would probably be the aforementioned type of false breastitudes bought not grown. Or grown unnaturally due to too much growth hormone in dairy-producing bovines. You drinka the cow milk unnaturally pumped up and then you becoma unnaturally growed too fast. I have to be careful not to feed my pigs any pork because apparently the same soft brain tissue patterns they find in mad cow disease is what they find in cannibal brains. I don’t want my pigs to have soft brain tissues due to cannibalism and then get all crazy and attack me or have polluted meat. Man, this world has gotten way off kilter. Why can’t you just have food and beer? Why all the chemicalization and complication of everything? I feel like getting drunk now because of such thoughts, except I am trapped inside a long-sleeve shirt with buttons. I can’t wear short sleeves because it might expose my tattoos which would be a glimpse into my true personality, then the charade I am living might blow up back into the poverty and chronic unemployment I was born to be part of. Fuck. 4 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: When I write at night at my kitchen table where it's too cold because the woodstove is in the next room, I don't keep the internet hooked up because the buzzing attraction of the internets will waste my whole night with a whole passel of nothingness. So I can't look up who or what entity owns St. Pauli Girl, and I'd like to just pretend a buxom real life chick who's now like 55 owns it, but I know better. If my grandpa drank it the only time I saw him drink a beer, and he's dead, and his house has passed through hands a couple times, and now my youngest sister will move into the house soon enough, which means I can go to my old hometown and watch UFC at the Buffalo Wild Wings she works at, get drunk as fuck, and sleep it off on her couch, and catch a ride back to my beat up truck the next day. Too bad UFC doesn't have super awesome tournament PPVs anymore. Nonetheless, I know St. Pauli Girl is in all likelihood owned by suits and ties with one of their tentacles reaching in the pocket of the Tri-Lateral Commission. 0 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: The St. Pauli girl is like playing a bunch of Mario-based video games... it’s something that you may enjoy and could probably do for hours upon hours every week of your life, but come on man, there’s no pride in that. I mean I guess a lot of motherfuckers have no shame (or self-esteem... funny how it could mean either) and would rock the Super Mario Brothers Wii all night long at age 42 or something, but I’ve got parameters of manhood I can’t bust up in such manners. St. Pauli Girl falls outside of those parameters as well, as it just seems like a corny ass beer that maybe a crew of corny ass old men might successfully rock without looking like chumps while they play canasta for a nickel a point in the park on a Sunday afternoon, but for the most part it’s straight chumpenstein style. 1 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 2 & 2/5 STARS!