While we drink beer, the elites sneer

Bud Light's decision to give Dylan Mulvaney a sponsorship is about as clear an 'up yours' as is possible to imagine.

Many hundreds of years hence, as cyborg archaeologists sift through the remains of 21st century civilisation – smartphones, Chinese-produced junk and shards of glass where awful modern architecture once stood – they will come across skeletons.

There will be two types of skeletons. One will have denser, heavier bones, the other lighter with a wider, shallower pelvis. Such differences – and the absence of a third subset – will lead to the bodies being categorised into a binary.

Perhaps, having become so devoted to the brand after his sponsorship deal, next to the remains of a few crates of Bud Light (their aluminium cans setting off the metal detectors) may lie the body of Dylan Mulvaney.

And yet, despite the media's insistence of using the pronoun 'she' for Dylan – a bloke so dedicated to being a woman that he can't even be bothered to change his name – he will be recognised as a man.

The archaeologists will not, regrettably, be able to tell that he mockingly enjoyed LARPing as a woman, reducing feminity to an absurd pantomime: ogling at tampons without having a place to put them and wearing sports bra whilst being as flat-chested as the American Prairie.

Of course, that part of the USA is mockingly referred to as 'fly-over territory'. It is where the waistbands are larger yet the minds not quite so full of the 'progressive' insanities that plague America's hellhole coastal cities. Stubbornly clinging to outdated beliefs such as that having a penis makes you a man, they are held in disdain by the very-clevers of New York and San Francisco.

It is the kind of place where people unironically drink Bud Light. The beer is not known for its depth of flavour or complexity, but that is hardly the issue. Were it to be the drink of choice of a foreign culture – something to be sampled in an ethnic food shop – the limpbrains of Seattle would be all over it.

Instead, as a staple of the blue-collar American, it is held in disdain by elites. The kinds of people who now hold positions of power throughout the corporate world share this contempt of these 'lesser people', whose preferences and tastes are to be derided at each opportunity.

The ordinary, Bud-drinkin' types are the kind of people who do not care overly about society's obsession over gender, recognising it as a nonsense. Their beliefs are probably heinous in many more ways too, being more Christian, more conservative, more family-oriented than the degenerates who constitute our modern elite. As such, they are one of the few groups designated as 'fair game' in 2023's hyper-insane preoccupation with all things identity.

Bud Light's decision to give Dylan Mulvaney a sponsorship is about as clear an 'up yours' as is possible to imagine. He is the antithesis of the brand's established image, and is likely as inclined to drink Bud as a trucker in Kansas is to obsess over a vintage Chardonnay. And that, of course, is entirely the point. Simply put, the people who run companies such as Anheuser-Busch, Bud's parent company, hate their customers and see them not as a constituent to provide a product for, but a primitive audience in need of bringing up to speed with the bizarre mores of the 21st century.

The old adage of 'go woke, go broke' seems to have held true in the short term, with sales of the beer declining. However, previous iterations of the woke-broke cycle suggest the phenomenon is short-lived. Gillette, after all, can still be bought everywhere. Unless the much-disdained drinkers of Bud Light decide to fully jettison the beer, the social engineering will continue uninterrupted.