Have A Nice, Refreshing Coca-Cola

Good morning, lewdies. Today, I’m going to weigh in on the controversy surrounding the Coke commercial from the Super Bowl and what a ruckus it raised. Sit back and relax.

To those unfamiliar, Coca-Cola, or nectar of the gods, as it’s referred to by some people, aired a commercial this past Sunday during Super Bowl Whatever (go Seahawks!). It’s a touching tribute to this country we live in. It starts out with a sweet voice singing “America The Beautiful” and shows clips of various people around America doing American things. But oh holy shit, the singing voice switches to *gasp* someone singing in a foreign language. It ping-pongs back to English and other languages. Insert uproar here.

Twitter went and lost its damn mind, as Twitter is often want to do because it’s Twitter, and oh, look at the bigots! Look at ’em being all bigot-y and racist!

“Hey #Coke, this is America, we speak English here!”

“So sad that our national anthem* isn’t being sung in English. I’m boycotting Coke from now on.”  (*Writer’s note: you dumb shit. “America The Beautiful isn’t our national anthem. You fail basic life.)

Etc, etc, ad nauseam. I enjoy it when things like this bring out the racist assholes because they’re so much easier to avoid from this point on. It’s like being in a police lineup trying to find the criminal who stole your purse and one of the people standing just raises their hand and says, “yep, that was me. I stole it. My bad.”

I don’t know what the big g.d. deal is here. Maybe because it isn’t a big g.d. deal. What so, so, so, so, so many people fail to realize is this crucial bit of history: those who are the loudest yellers of “THIS IS AMERICA, WE SPEAK AMERICAN HERE!” are not from this country. I mean, yes, they are now, but do you remember a little incident way back in 1620 when people from England began emigrating to America? And then after that, the flood gates opened to a fuckload of other people from other countries joining us? And yes, “fuckload” is a historical term. Go to Ellis Island and on a bronze plaque mounted to the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty–which, might I add, was a gift from freakin’ France of the Roman goddess of freedom and has since been viewed as a symbol of freedom and welcoming immigrants into our country. She stands proudly and tall, arm upraised with a torch, symbolic of lighting the way for those who have been lost and being guided home. If we didn’t welcome all people into America, the bitch would be flipping the bird, not being a beacon of hope and prosperity.

Anyway, at the foot of the statue is a bronze plaque with the poem entitled “The New Colossus” which states, “…Give me your tired, your poor, your fuckload of huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”

I may be embellishing a bit, but I’m making a point here. If I may speak in Oprah for a moment: You’re an immigrant! You’re an immigrant! You’re also an immigrant!! Everyone is an immigrant!! 

I appreciate and I am proud of my heritage. My family is from Bremen, Germany. I mean, “Hoffmeyer” is a pretty stout and sturdy Germanic name, so of course I’m from Deutschland.

However, I consider myself  an expert on patriotism since I was born on the 4th of July. I’m as American as they come! I was born on the day our great nation was made a nation! I’ve got bald eagle’s blood coursing my veins! I was wrapped in an American flag when I was laying in my manger, you sonsabitches! I have a stars and stripes birthmark on my ass! USA! USA! USA!

But I’m not an asshole about it! I don’t have layers of cracked, peeled, faded bumper stickers caked on the back bumper of my car proclaiming that perhaps you should speak English when in my country, please, you chinks/gooks/wetbacks/towelheads. Because you know what? When my family came over to America from Germany, they didn’t speak a goddamned word of English.

I recall an incident a few years ago at a 4th of July party held at my cousin’s house. We were celebrating with frosty beverages, watching the neighborhood kids light of hundreds of dollars of fireworks, and waiting patiently for the elaborate display that the city put on. Life was good. When the big show went off, usually the finale is a huge explosion of several types of large fireworks that fill the sky with bursts of color. The neighborhood kids, which I might add, included a very wide range of nationalities, all got sparklers and lit them and where running around the front lawns and streets, waving the fiery death sticks around in giant, crazy loops, yelling, “USA! USA! USA! USA!”

All the adults chuckled at their innocence and I admit, I got a little goosebump-y watching these kids tear around and yelling that. But according to the mindset of some people, I should have gone up to the Hispanic and Asian kids mixed in among us “true blood Americans”, taken their sparklers from their chubby, sticky hands, doused them out with my American-brewed beer, and told them to go home. This is my country, not yours.

But I didn’t do that because this is theirs just as much as it is mine. These kids had more love for a place they live than these people declaring them to get out or to speak the language. It was truly a beautiful thing to see, and I can only hope these same people who are protesting so loudly against this commercial can witness something like that for themselves at some point in their sad lives.

Let’s all crack open an ice-cold Coke and toast our diversity.

As always,





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