Burial made a triple IPA and the end result is a hoppy commuted sentence

Burial continues their odd K/D ratio with this unpleasant cone to the chest, hoptags retrieved. Triple IPAs are incredible difficult to pull off, push down on the malt stick and you crash your Dodo into the side of American barleywine mountain, don’t pull up enough and you get into an alpha acid driven free fall, as is the case here. The body is both insubstantially thin and yet too sweet to be enjoyable. It’s like honey brittle dipped into Ciroc. Intensely fusel like to a degree that makes far more alcoholic stouts seem tame, largely due to the tiny dry stage it presents. If you want To go this route it has to have something to beef up the nonfermentable character otherwise you hit this realm where you poured an air wick on some Challah bread and wonder why your yelp scores are struggling: ITS CALLED PINE FUSION HELLO. I know what this is for, dudes in North Carolina do shit like BBQ in the snow and suffer humid ass summers so if you put this Buffout in a can, the end result is a binary Harvey dent coin flip of “we rode a seadoo” or “officer the cuffs are too tight” with nothing in between. It’s pure mischief making or the highest order because it’s thin enough to be dangerous, hoppy enough to tolerate from the can, and alcoholic enough to get you suspended without pay. You’ve heard of Carolina blue now get ready for Carolina green and subsequent Carolina correctional orange.

The fuck do I know, last night I ate a “backwards salad” cf. it’s roast beef with kale on top. Don’t listen to me.

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