A Question of Judgement

My grandfather described it as "homogenized weasel piss" and perhaps that's a tad harsh. I would, in an effort to be as fair as possible, say that it is the Baby Duck of beer, that it is a pre-made Shandy, that it is the worst beer with the best marketing. So when friends bring over a six pack of the silver bullet, I try to look the other way. I try to look past it, if you will, and see more as a friend than as a drinker of homogenized weasel piss.
The more "chick", the more glam and fabulous that friend is, the more apt I am to see past it. When Mich'Elvis' leaves her left over Coors Light in the fridge, it kind of makes sense. She probably didn't want a beer to begin with. She was probably looking for something a little more fabulous, a little more chic than beer and had simply left it too late. After all, there is very little that's chic about a Cold Beer and Wine off sales store in the back of a hotel, but sometimes that's all you got.
All of which does very little to explain away the behaviour of Dylan. He not only drinks Coors Light quite willingly (passing up on quality brews, I have seen him reach into a cooler full of tasty suds and come up with a smile and a silver bullet), but recently I think he has taken things a little too far.
Left over from watching Playoff Football (no less), sitting in the bottom of my fridge are two "near beers". What has the world come to? Will someone talk sense to this man?