This beer represents the nightmarish deception and manipulation of beer ratings that take place in beer trading. Last Dark Lord Day, this beer was putting up solid perfect scores and being touted as THE BEST DERK LERD DEVIANT EVR MADE LOWERST BOTTLE COUNT EVR. If you trust a dipshit who is excited about a Dark Lord variant because they made the least of it, you are already starting out on a bad foot.
Your next massive red flag is right on the bottle: Dark Lord aged in a brandy barrel with cardamom, coriander, and cacao nibs. Let that sink in for a moment and try to imagine the desperate hellish reality that those adjectives would produce when exposed in and around your mouth. Sure, the writing was clear on the wall, but I had no idea just how much worse things could get, especially after trying the indefatigably horrible BA Cognac Murete Dark Lord. It turns out, when I removed that sticky stone from the Satanic altar of distaste there was a chamber of eternal hatred below, with dizzying self flagellating depths.
Let’s get to this review and never look back.
Three Floydenens, Munster Indiana
Zombie Dust Whales, 15% Russian Imperial Stout
A: Well, so far so good, this has carbonation and the platonic form of flabbiness on the pour. It cascades out like brownie mix or Nestle QuiK made with heavy whipping cream. The sheeting is so intense that it looks like someone mixed a bag of dried malt extract in at bottling to beef this sludgey muckwater up a bit. This is the best part of this unearthly bottle.
S: The smell takes things from a spine tingling glance to the crushing depression of realizing that you have over 25 ounces of this to reconcile with your body. On the front end of things is an almost passable York peppermint patty, that distorts and melts into images of your children dying in their cribs, intense jasmine, Downey, Glade plug ins, dryer sheet, Indian ice cream, dry cleaning solution and Christmas morning where mommy leaves daddy for tennis coach mommy. It is intensely saddening on so many levels.
T: This affair gets far worse when you actually elect to put this inside of your body. If the smell was serving in the Luftwaffe, the taste is being a prisoner of the Red Army in the most torturous Stalingrad detainment center. The oily heft substance rolls onto your tongue like mercury, it has a sort of adhesion to itself in oblong orbs, like how lava lamp particles flow. Each one shatters in an inky mess like T1000 and runs over your sweet and bitter zones imparting the worst disharmonious clanging on your tastebuds possible. It is so sweet that it tastes like straight wort at times, sickening fudge from eastern European countries with strange items mixed in like anise and wormwood mixed in because Hungarians don’t know any better. It is herbal and chocolatey, clashing at every opportunity, its like going down on the husky chocolatier at a humid Renaissance Festival and you are forever scarred.
M: The mouthfeel is completely inexcusable and you would have to have a serious deviant palate to indulge in this fetish. Regular Dark Lord is sweet and toes the line of salinity but this is just bad, like Community College performance of The Iceman Cometh, unabashedly deficient in so many ways. The viscosity is so high that it feels like it was component blended with unboiled mash, this egg soup heft to it that creep to your molars like coffee phlegm. To close things out, imagine if someone mad dirty bombs using materials only found at a Bath and Bodyworks. Herbal disgusting cluster bombs detonating and taking out anyone within a partisan radius.
D: This could not be less drinkable if it were a solid object. The second you try it, you have had enough. I let this open up, I tried it cold, luke warm, there simply was no remedying this situation. It’s like, you can take all the underattenuated sips you want, it wont change the fact that you had sex with the busboy at Golden Corral. Some flaws are so apparent that they cannot be forgotten. This is one such beer like the 1982 Bellevue that is exceptional in its sheer harrowing Kafkaesque presentation. If you have ever drank too much gin one night and awoke the next morning with that juniper bush tingling your bile ducts, you will know this beer by the trail of dead it leaves in its wake.
In closing, the fact that this beer was receiving solid perfect scores from deceitful, capitalizing, landlocked traders is outright shameful. It is in many ways worse than lying about an infected beer and trading it, THREE FLOYDS MEANT FOR THIS TO TASTE THIS WAY. Please look at these reviews immediately logged in after Dark Lord Day and revel in the top tier shitlords attempting to hype this beer up, then watch the precipitous drop once the rest of the world was exposed to this hateful contagion:
As much as I hate directing traffic to BA, that is where the top tier shitty content is generated and you simply must look at those ratings in cold consternation at the crushing pathos of the human condition. It is gut wrenching both figuratively and literally.