New Glarus Laughing Fox, Kristal Weizen, 4.5% abv
Alright, enough beating up on other states, time to enjoy winter in Wisconsi- ok fine, on with the review.
A: Well I get the weizen, there’s a deep gold hue like those peddlers in those rich diverse ethnic markets in Milwaukee [FN1 never been there.] It has a rich foamy frothy carbonation that is astounding. Literally, I polished my monocle and pulled a double take at the soapy overflow. Been polishing my monocle quite a bit recently.
S: This has a great cinnamon, clove, banana and belgian trappist ester finish to it. Smells like nana’s blanket that she cools pies upon. New Glarus burned me so bad with the Wisconsin Red and Tart that that Berliner Weiss and R+D Geuze brought me back to neutral, this might just win me over.
T: This is difficult to describe because it’s like describing the absence of a quality to prove its existence, the old History channel/John Locke/every epistemologist way of things. I hope you are very perceptive because the banana and clo- its gone. That fast. This makes the taste of Rolling Rock seem resonant by contrast. I feel like posting a Craigslist missed encounters ad because the half second is so sweet. But, then again, my inbox is already full of so many penis .gifs, I will refrain.
M: Well, imagine the evanescent taste and- yup the mouthfeel is gone. Are you even drinking beer? It’s an exercise in rationalism, its like ding an sich, I dont know if this beer really exists because it is a ghost and I have almost no faculty to apprehend it. Grasping at the watery malt phantom is frustrating and perhaps brilliant marketing because the glass just menacingly drains. I am like the reverse version of Mickey Mouse in Fantasia, you know when he, wait what?
D: I guess extremely? This depends on if you enjoy your beers seen and not heard [FN2 tasted.] You could seem like a complete champion drinking a case of these at a party, providing you take your old cranberry pills first. Just, lots of urine, that’s basically what I am getting at here. The sweet lil honey ester kiss is like a 5th grade smooch and then, boom gone, and you’re left with empty beer bottles, just like 5th grade. Cursive is hard.
Narrative: It wasn’t that Devin Manning had a disinterest in the corporeal world. I mean sure, he wanted to pass on into the aether, but his attention span was so limited that “fulling his higher purgatorial obligations” just seemed so daunting. “Charles? Come try this pie for me, mmm careful!” Devin would swoop over and inhabit Charles’s mouth for a moment, and then rush away to investigate what was just purchased at Sharper Image. “GOD DAMNIT DEVIN,” phastasmagorial overseer translord of ward IV, aka Ghost Boss, boomed through the house. “Devin, fulfill their palates with flavor, you’re clearly not trying. Do you even give a shit about heaven? Do you want to meet Beatrice?” Devin just gave a weak mealymouthed reply and pushed chinese checkers balls around idly. “Ahhhh, I dont care if this family dont got enough sense to use coriander or boost protein dishes with boullion stock, WHAT’S THAT MY OLD BUSINESS!” Ghost Boss looked down his will o’ the wispy brow and stated solemly, “Devin, you are a flavor ghost of the lower order, you give people with very little taste a fleeting glimpse at greater things, you are fulfilling a debt for listening to Semisonic and the Spin Doctors. You see you lived a life completely devoid of any real taste.” Devin stopped listening and began rifling through a nearby drawer of Dubstep cds. “GOD DAMNIT THESE PEOPLE HAVE NO TASTE.”