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Firestone XII. Intiharing without the pageantry. Mark doesn’t wait for them to turn XVII either.

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This beer is like a decadent pregnancy scare, you just wait for the period buzzer and them hit the glass hard. Malty and toasty, jerking off to old ale and quad porn at the same time, smashing plums and E&J on your pulsing pecs, breathing in that fresh cut firewood, the lamenting of women, crispy caramel brûlée top and endless hugs where your middles touch.

In case you weren’t following, the order goes:
13
12
14
17
15
16
10…

11.

Not even as an extra.

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