Before my sweaty virgin contingency of readers get all upset, I know rape jokes are not funny, I know the R stands for “rum”, but go ahead and try to land this in the trade forums: forced intercourse. 300ish growlers (500ml small penis swingtops) and 3 per person. At least it was better than the previous run of 25 whopping growlers, but hey, it is a top 100 beer so tickers gotta tick, flipping bricks, crushing up raw. If you are some uninitiated dry vagina who stumbled into this site and somehow read the Rare DOS review then get on your pimping and come back when you are good and ready.

Ironically, the regular rad Rare Dos was more RarerereR

A: I guess leaving the home state of Florida was a lackluster affair for this lil growler because it shows up with little fanfare and lazily spills an Exxon black out of the bottle, a nice Huna sheen to it, with a lil bit of cafe au lait pencil lead thin foam on top. It isn’t dirty, but it isn’t exactly clean either, kinda like the Vegas Strip at 4am.

Slaying top 100 walez, not learning foreign languages, not meeting interesting people. Living that beer dream.

S: This doesnt present that odd Rum aspect that other treatments had me accustomed to. This almost comes across as an entirely bourbon affair, you get mallow foam, coconut, a light caramel aspect on that Calvados tip, and a bit of that Sugar in the Raw that you never fucking use at coffee shops. There is a light chocolate and cocoa but those are cast as Inmate #3, supporting in the background, adding authenticity.

T: This has that same phenomenal balance of booze, chocolate, hershey’s syrup, slight roast but more sweetness from the rum notes. Again, if you are accustomed to the Rum Huna land, you will be confused as fuck when you enter this realm because it seriously is more like an amped up Czar Jack than some rummy endeavor. In classic top 100 form, I can’t really think of a direct analog to this because it really stands on its own with the residual sugars and novel pirate swagger (Carribean not Ethiopean.)

Pop that tiny growler, put on John Carpenter’s The Thing, and cool the fuck out.

M: This is stickier than something like say, Parabola, but doesn’t toe that Huna/Abyss line where you have to move that sticky black palm from your inner thigh, ruining the second half of Pearl Harbor for you. There is sheeting but then the residual sugars are kept in line by the Hueguenot force of clear alcohol, which honestly makes me wonder if this was more in the 13% realm. I ain’t to kinda WINE ASSHOLE, so who am I to say. Cabernets and shit.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, if you happen to be some kinda of shipping magnate who can scoop up limited growler releases on the reg, lighting your cigars with Action Comics #1. If that is you, sure go ahead and drink away. For the rest of us, coal faced masses, pushing our gaunt faces to the window of Peg’s Cantina, hungering for that panegyric that will lighten our ticking hearts, we probably wont have this that often. Usually at this point, some bitter needledick chimes in about how good beer isn’t rare and how they are super stoked on their offshelf offerings, that’s fine, go drink your Storm King or whateverthefuck, let the real men discuss beer.

The average beer nerd will probably never try this in real life, but hey, beer nerds can always dream.

Narrative: They told me I could never do it, what with my having type II diabetes and bustling waistline, they just readily assume that I wouldn’t be a decent chimney sweep? That’s where they underestimated old Michael Jarvis, they didn’t know that I was born with superperceptive inner ear membranes that provide me with expcetional poise and balance. I can caress the roofline and tiles with fleeting agility as I pieroette and gracefully balance upon the brickwork of chimneys. Let’s see those dullards at the public house do that. I would love to see the fittest of their men compete against my 280 lbs frame as I amble the boards with Geckoesque grip and control. It is not about being the strongest, or the most memorable chiney sweep, it is about getting the job done. Post-victorian England isn’t going to unsoot itself and my poise and grace will win chimneys over one by one, if not for a lingering memory, for the sheer efficacy of my work and style. I dont need them to call the name of Michael Jarvis from the rooftops, the balance of my work is clamour enough upon the straining ceiling tiles.