Check Out the Weird Fridges in This Bud Light Commercial

I have many questions

America’s most American pastime, football, has returned. We are in fact encouraging glitter-covered maniacs to show up at the stadium. Pandemic be damned, we’re sending the players out there to jump all over each other. Especially the ones at the college level who aren’t making any money to do this. Two major conferences somehow had the sense to not play this fall, but don’t worry. One of them is trying to reverse that decision.

Anyways, the return of football means the return of football-themed commercials. I could probably write an entire book on the unhinged Fansville campaign that Dr. Pepper has been running for years. But instead we’re going to be looking at this seemingly harmless 30-second spot that Bud Light has airing right now.

It’s a simple enough premise:

Yay, football! Everyone likes to drink when they watch football, regardless of where they’re from or what’s in their fridge. You should drink Bud Light when you watch football.

Things get pretty weird when you start paying attention to what’s actually in these fridges. The idea, which you only pick up on when you make the conscious decision to write about a stupid beer commercial for your dumb newsletter, is that the contents of said fridges are supposed to be references to the parts of the country that these fans live in. I did not realize that the first time I saw the commercial on television. It comes and goes too quickly. I was too busy being gobsmacked at some of these Bud Light-loving people.

What the hell, man. That’s just a bigass plate of meat sitting out in the open in the fridge. It’s not out on the table for all those people back there. It’s just sitting in the fridge. Out in the open. It’s not even under plastic wrap or whatever.

No self-respecting human being, to say nothing of self-respecting Texans, keeps a big platter of brisket sitting in their fridge. Folks, please. Store your meat in a container. Or in your belly. Don’t be this weirdo.

And I just feel sorry for this woman. I imagine that chunk of bread on the plate is meant to symbolize the famous San Francisco sourdough. But, like… why? Why are you keeping bread like that? Who hurt you and taught you to keep bread like that? Was it Kyle Shanahan’s play-calling in the Super Bowl? Did that turn her into a nihilist who mistreats bread as some form of petty revenge?

Why is there a sliver of cantaloupe? Is the brown mush in that jar really worthy of comparison to Joe Montana?

Who the hell buys Bud Light Platinum?

The only shred of normalcy I can find here is the fact that she’s mainlining the whipped cream. That tells me that she can actually feel joy. But please, do something about that bread. I’m begging you.

I’m choosing to believe that Seahawks fans are not in fact serial killers and don’t have fucking oysters as their gameday food of choice. Because that’s some serious serial killer shit.

And again, not only does this dude apparently have oysters ready to go for his football party, but he shelled out for Bud Light Platinum. Something is woefully amiss here.

I’m very amused by Budweiser’s perception of Rams fans. It’s cute that A) they think LA Rams fans exist, and B) that they have fridges like this while also getting together to paint RAMS across their chests while… watching the game from home? A tradition from the Before Times continued on during the pandemic to retain a shred of normalcy? Perhaps.

But there’s nothing normal about this fridge. The open-door shot at the end of the ad shows that this is some sort of gentrification loft apartment, so the I guess the lemongrass (I think? Is that lemongrass? Wheatgrass?) and various smoothies and coconut waters on the door are supposed to be hip and trendy. But the sliced dragonfruit absolutely baffles me, as does the bunch of what looks like rhubarb. Are they going to make dragonfruit rhubarb pie? Are the set-dressers actually self-aware and doing some sort of commentary on the idiocy of white gentrifiers in LA?

I’d like to think so. Otherwise I have some deep concerns about this person’s lifestyle.

This woman’s fridge isn’t weird at all, but I wanted to highlight it because it’s the most normal fridge we see in the whole spot. I love her. She’s your loud Browns-crazed aunt who makes killer pirogies. She always has another can of beer tucked away in the fridge, right behind the mustard.

She’s seen it all. She is Ohio zen. The Browns can’t hurt her anymore, not after all these years. She turns and spits whenever you say Johnny Manziel’s name.

She can be hurt by this guy though, who actually is a serial killer. We get no indication of what team he roots for. He just leans in there, gently adjusting his Bud Lights until they’re perfectly aligned next to his eggs. Look at the focus on his face. He’s probably listening for the cries of the victim he has tied up in the next room, who should be coming out of that chloroform nap anytime now.

So he’s probably a Patriots fan. He’s very upset that they signed Cam Newton, who doesn’t play with enough “class” for his tastes.

Also a serial killer: this woman. I’ll excuse the fact that she willingly roots for the Dolphins. Maybe she’s really excited about Tua Tagovailoa. Goodness knows I’d be.

There’s something disturbing about leaving that wedge of fruit out like that, and the fact that she’s grabbing a beer with the big foam flipper.

But no, the real serial killer shit here is that single perfect slice of key lime pie, proudly put on display like it belongs in the Louvre. The top isn’t even big enough to hold a whole pie. That’s a single-slice top, and there’s no crumbs from other already-eaten slices on the dish. I have so many questions. Florida is terrifying.

Unlike some of our other fridge-goers, this man is not a psycho. At least he’s not any more psycho than your average Philadelphian.

No, all is well here. The exposed sandwich half and open cup of dip? The beer haphazardly placed in the fridge still in the six-pack, which he definitely can’t see based on where the eye holes on that dog mask are? Yes, this is pure distilled Philly right here. He didn’t even pony up for the fancy Bud Light Platinum. He got the regular stuff, because Philly pholks don’t phuck around with this sort of stuff.

He’s probably been arrested once or twice for running around shirtless and cursing Tony Romo’s name while drunk off his ass. He’s the reason for the crisco’d-up lightposts after the Super Bowl. He’s been ejected from three Flyers games. Those eggs in the corner are actually called jawns and he bought them at Wawa.

Everything is as it should be. He is at peace. At least he was until the Eagles allowed 27 unanswered points to goddamn Washington.

Don’t worry. There’s more beer in the fridge.