For those of you who already know my aversion to rauch and peat profiles, you understand when I say that this @gooseisland offering is a tire aisle nightmare. If you absolutely love terroir and bog and black and Milds then you can disregard my ptsd attendant to this latex thanatopic experience. It crackles and wisps out with zero allure or fervor, lying supine yet compliant, the crinkle of examination table paper and that reluctant hateful obsequience of a diagnostic exam. It doesn’t want to be here and either do I. The nose is an existential affair in that my olfactory is thrown so far left of center that I question its very nature. It’s parking lot burnouts, thrift store leather, Home Depot turf builder, mixed with old bowling alleys who haven’t yet outlawed indoor tobacco. That stale smoky canvas of a leaky industrial tattoo parlor coupled with the experience of planting perennials for a glimpse of spring bougainvilleas that will never bloom. The body sort of undulates in like CGI from the 90s, it has clear questionable aspects that shatter the reality. It’s just more heft that paints with a Cohiba robusto by way of a Splatoon roller. The swallow is mercurial, like the element not the God. There isnothing fast about this and it breaks into hateful black licorice beads, good and plenties soaked in bong water. It’s good to see some inventive new things in the pipeline but, Evander Holyfuck, I cannot go 3 rounds with this, it’s all latex star punches. Bayonet trials rust propellers away.