So I hit the road for Birmingham on Sunday night, to stay at a decent hotel and enjoy a few days away from the hellhole I know as Asslanta. Time for another mini-vacation, oh my brothers and sisters. See, when I take these quick little road trips, all I ask when I’m visiting a different city is cold beer, comfortable living quarters, decent weather, good times and a change of atmosphere that I can appreciate. Maybe a pool table. Monday would be slow and settling, and I’d have a chance to relax a bit while doing some “Spring cleaning.” But, of course, I wanted to get the beer first.

Here’s where, as usual, it all started to go wrong:

First of all, if you’re going to cop some brews before noon while on a mini-vacation, don’t ever – ever – ever, buy, drink, taste or even look at those Budweiser + Clamato beers they sell at the gas stations.

It still may be too early to make such a broad and timeless statement, but this has got to be the worst beer that anyone ever made. If you want a colorful review, I’d say that Bud/Clamato tastes like the original brewer/inventor took one sip of his own creation, killed himself and had his assistant pour his blood into the entire vat, before packaging it in 16 oz. cans and sending them across America.


I didn’t know no better at the time; I just saw an opportunity for adventure, and I like trying new beer, so I’m usually down to take a taste test experiment, as long as it’s not malt liquor. Plus, I do Corona every now and then, so I figured I was safe. So I copped the four-pack from a Racetrak for $5.24, and swooped back around the corner to my sound-proof suite at Hotel Underwriter. The plan was to sit on those 64 oz’s and use the whole day to pimp my priorities.

What I discovered after taking my first sip is that I’d rather drink a goat’s bathwater than to ever drink a Budweiser Clamato again. I thought it was just Bud’s first attempt at a Chelada. If you aren’t familiar with Chelada-styled beers, they’re pre-mixed with salt and lime. They’re usually pretty good, like a Corona after you doctor it up. So, since I’ve already rocked with Miller Chill, I figured that since Bud’s versions looked way mo’ gangsta in the 16 oz aluminum can, it would probably be more authentic. If not, at least it would be only a half step down from a Corona, like Miller, so there was nothing to lose.


My immediate reaction: this is disgusting, nasty, pre-historic dookie water. After the first gulp, I almost ralphed into my rented kitched sink. I picked up the can, eyes wide open, and looked at the nutritional info on the side of the can for any abnormalities. Oh, the horror: “Contains: Shellfish / Clams.”

*Further quoted reaction has been censored by editors*

Let’s just say I was pissed. $5 US gone, just because Anheuser-Busch wanted to compete with Miller for the Mexican beer market. Speaking of which, why the eff would Mexicans drink clam-flavored tomato juice beer? Who knows. If only I had CLICKED HERE before wasting my money. Oh well; may the brewmaster’s soul eternally sizzle in the poisonous Budweiser dewshpot without ever being sipped again. This shit juice excuse for a Chelada-style beer can simply be described with two words. Liquid ass. Nolo.

100% CO-SIGN.

Stay tuned for “The Birmingham Fiasco.”

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