Things Bogans Like - #218 – Mexican Beer

We’ve already dealt with the fact that the bogan enjoys beers that are brewed here, but labelled as foreign to give the fictional imprimatur of international cool. The bogan, however, is entirely, blissfully unaware that the repackaged Crown Lager it is drinking is Australian made. Thus, it has no real need to be discerning when it comes to alcohol, beyond that fact that the beer must be from another country. This conveniently explains why the only genuinely foreign beer the bogan drinks tastes like cats’ piss, and requires citrus-based assistance to enter the nebulous realm of ‘drinkable’.
Mexicans cannot give their entry level beer away fast enough in their native land. Having realised some time ago that bogans are stupid, however, they began exporting their swill to Australia at premium prices. At velvet-roped leisure venues around Australia, Corona can sell for as much as $9 a bottle. Back home in Mexico, the same product will sell for $14 per case, or under $2 each at a licensed venue. Drinking a pale, watery version of beer somehow confers cultural cachet onto the bogan, purely because it is sourced from a Latin American country with many poor people.

When the bogan orders a Corona or Sol, the bartender simply assumes that it would require a slice of lime. Originally, the bogan inserted a slice of lemon into their colourless liquor, but it rapidly became clear that this only made the beer taste worse. The presence of citrus itself has been hugely successful in attracting the female bogan to beer, a task previously thought to be beyond the capacity of mortal man. By placing a tart piece of fruit on the rim of the bottle, the drink now attains the appearance, and hence the status, of a cocktail. Mexican beer is cool.

The Mexican beer the bogan is drinking also matches the t-shirt the bogan is wearing, which has a Mexican location and a date on it which strangely links the bogan to the shooting of Emiliano Zapata. The bogan is unaware of the significance of the numbers and letters on its shirt, but any shame in this is unrelated to it tearing off its shirt after 15 Mexican beers, and commencing a glassing joust on the footpath outside.

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