Fermentation Log 34/124.44, 55 cycles post event

At this rate of bK exhaustion we will accelerate and hit the batch:day:K singularity where brew days will exceed the speed of light multiple batches fermenting as quasar speeds before they can even be released

The bird event horizon collapsing in on Seattle irradiating everyone’s arcteryx jackets. The tattered fish market, pike place crackling with raisin isotopes. Using a rebreather digging through the toffee soaked rubble, the wreckage like a shattered Skor bar.

Particulate toffee lingers in caramel wisps, blowing up towards the puget sound reeking of bananas fosters. They pushed barleywine technology to an untenable state. Their hubris is putting the highest quality out as fast as possible to decimate entire populations. The bottle that launched a thousand “You Up?” texts.

Casual Tavour users fell first. Not knowing the Creme brûlée power that had been democratized, their livers were forfeit. Someone who drinks cbd infused lemonade and makes art with old wine corks was not made for B5k.

The retention and olfactory waves of prune had the rattling presence of an Xbox live lobby in scent form. When people started opening b5k the theramines sounded. Women accustomed to Moscow mules and reposting pics from Tulum were reduced to raisinette dust as the world reopened.

Only the maladjusted remained. It was pure negligence to send b5k to the public. Grown men with four roommates who spend $500 on a stout but still listen to Spotify ads survived. The cask and fig was their succor. Dudes with one outfit laughed as others fell, their supple frames filling out Carhartt shirts with flannel button downs worn open like ducal capes finally had a day in the malty sun. Fremont had won, but at what cost?