best of craigslist > washington, DC > Open letter to the President of PBR
Originally Posted: 2004-05-28 2:26pm

Open letter to the President of PBR

Dear Brian Kovalchuk,

Mr. Kovalchuk I am dearly sorry to be writing to you under such stressful conditions. I—as I am well sure that you have—often thought about the events that would surround our first correspondence. Never, in my most intoxicated and restless dreams, did I imagine that the first letter I would send you would be to “complain”.

That word itself leaves an acrid taste in my mouth. A taste that could only be blunted with a refreshing swig of the beer that prides itself as going “down easy—without even a hint of bitter aftertaste.” However, in this wicked paradox the response to the effects caused by the grievance bring us face-to-face with the fundamental problem—the PBR has run dry, in and around Washington, DC that is.

The other day “seasonal beer” dripped from the lips of a server at a local pub. He went on to explain that since PBR was now owned by Miller “blah, blah, blah.” I do not blame the server for his explanation. He was successful in relating the information. Nor do I blame the explanation, for, though flawed, it did what it was supposed to do. But, I ask you, how can you explain the unexplainable? How can a few rehearsed lines of rationalization and justification erase 160 years of history, and more importantly, quench my thirst at the incomprehensibly low price of $1 per 12 ounces? It can’t, Mr. Kovalchuk. It can’t.

My friends and I try to hit up every local pub that brags of PBR (at a low price). I have even refused to patron certain establishments that serve PBR for upwards or $4.00 per drink because to me the Blue in PBR is not only an adjective for Ribbon, but also for Collar. But I use the term “friends” very loosely, because truly few things bind us together as much as do the common threads of cheap, quality beer and relaxed social settings. As we enter our mid to late 20s, the “Jimmy quit, Jody got married” years, we recognize the delicate balance of our situation. For every younger siblings’ graduation that we attend; for every staff meeting on the Roth IRA that we not only attend but regrettably understand; for every nostalgic moment in which we pine over lost immaturity we realize how imperative it is to cling tightly to that silver can of elixir that sharpens the THEN and placates the NOW with allusions of WHEN. But how can you grip what you cannot find, Mr. Kovalchuk?

I encourage you to not make PBR a seasonal beer. I encourage you to see beyond whatever financial reasons Miller may have for making PBR seasonal and instead hear the hundreds of thousands of voices who wish to drink PBR in the Summer, the Fall, the Winter and the Spring. Unlike the cicadas who are currently inflicting audible havoc on this area; many of the voices in opposition to this policy may fall silent. But, like them we too are an aging brood of generation X, trying desperately to fill this brief intermission between birth, slumber and death with as much singing, mating and (in our case) drinking as possible.

I anxiously await your response. If you have not the time to write then I anxiously await my next trip to my local pub and or grocery store where I will see a cornucopia of my favorite beverage. Chilled, and brewed to perfection.

Humbly yours,



Appendix

The following people also do not wish to see PBR fade from the shelves and the coolers in and around the District of Columbia

JUST SAY NO! TO SEASONAL PBR


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this is in or around Washintdon, DC

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