Lust for Bust: Pint Pouring Barbie Girls & the Lager of the Lord

Thanks to SAGA SG for introducing me to the Miller Light sponsored guy game “Lust for Bust”, a male simulation system that effectively recreates the ancient art of checking out your friends’ hot sisters rack without getting caught. The virtual vixen (who resembles Alberta native Natasha Henstridge of “Species” fame) will casually pitch her gaze about the room, leaving her pixel poppers dutifully exposed to your eyes, which you direct by moving the mammary mouse (you can nonchalantly avert your attention upwards or elsewhere to avoid detection). Keep your concentration fixed on her chest long enough to fill the Ogle-Meter without getting caught or letting the time elapse and you “win”. If you get sloppy and she snags you stealing a glance at her tank top torpedoes, she somehow summons a gigantic sky born can of Milwaukee's Best Light to crush you. The game itself takes you just over a minute to complete and is mildly amusing at best, but one wonders what the ladies think of the interactive experience or more importantly, where can I meet a gal that can call upon free flowing beer from the heavens?

If you’re a female in any capacity, how you feel about the preceding game depends on how solid of soul you are, your comfort level within your own supple skin or how utterly media white washed you are. The babes and beer marketing machine has had its wheels on the road since 1901 but grew inordinately in the 1970’s – 80’s to outpace the “Joe Six-Pack” mindset that was running long before that. Consider for a moment that the “Bud Man” image was introduced in 1968 (source: BeerHistory.com), and yet when most think of the Budweiser Brand it’s hard to pry the impression of the bathing suit bursting “Bud Girl” from your head (or that of the trailer trash princess who let you fumble with her sweater cows as a result of said beverage). The images are indelibly linked and yet the “Bud Man” campaign doesn’t even make a ripple on the collective pop cultural pond anymore, if it ever did.

The Dark Pig and I went out for some pints last night at a new pub that had popped up on his pork rind radar (he ordered a bucket of slop and I had the Chef Special – I thought it was comprised of actual pieces of the chef, but I was mistaken). I’m all for embracing your gender stereotype but only if you’re aware that “with great power comes great responsibility” and only if it makes me laugh. The bar mistresses were all poured from the same attractive mould – chesty creatures with bronzed skin, tight as sin pants and water bottle boob shirts. Gender stereotypes aside, we were oddly embarrassed that the waitresses hadn’t only bought into the image being burrowed into their heads by taphouse temptations and the beer babe ethic, but they embraced it. It’s important to note that no matter how long I stared at our waitress’ breasts it didn’t actually produce a colossal can of ale to appear from the outer space, which would’ve been infinitely more interesting than playing with Barbie’s or being victim of blatant menu mislabeling.

iPod played "Sloppy Seconds - Why Don't Lesbians Love Me?" while posting