DC Brau, On the Wings of Armageddon DIPA, Hops as Fierce as a Dragonforce solo

Now we make our way from the South to the, er, “kinda South.” Whenever I talk about Virginia, people think THAT is the South, but apparently DC is not? When I went it was sticky and dank just like this DIPA itself, so it’s the kinda south to me. However, people from Georgetown might as well be from Canada judging on how out of touch with reality those dryrubs are. Anyway, here’s an up and coming star that is tearing up the charts and was recently bottled for the first time, enjoy

On the wings of a hoppy dream, far beyond alpha acid reality

OH SNAP bonus glassware FTW. Thanks Matt Welling for the mad hooks.

DC Brau Brewing Co.
District of Columbia, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 9.20% ABV

A: This beer has a nice murkiness to it like Virginia lake water and a shallow dullness to it, like the West Virginia public school system. The carbonation is phenomenal and sends me right to armageddon, as promised. It isn’t exactly pretty, but you’re still down for some reason, kinda like Amanda Seyfried.

This is the most pleasant version of Armageddon since Kurt Russel in “Escape from L.A.”

S: This is a one note punch of Falconer’s Flight and reminds me a lot of Kern 5th anniversary, if we are comparing bad ass IPAs. There’s a grapefruit and honey aspect to this, but the east coast ghost seems to have infected this with a big waft of pale and crystal malt, which makes the citrus elements seem reigned in by contrast to other bi-polar offerings. However, this is far from disappointing, the citrus walks hand in hand with fresh lemoncake and cornbread zest. You can’t always be flirting with these size 1, DDipas, you need balance homie.

T: The taste follows through on the malty promises and goes full ZJ on the hops, even though I didn’t think I could afford it. The citrus is more like the ball boy to the pine slugger and there’s a kind of onion/garlic character hanging out in the outfield. The whole thing begs to be paired with Indian food or some awesome Thai, but it isn’t exactly the trip to Armageddon in the hop profile. For every pound of flesh lost in the hops I am put on a Dominoes diet in the malt zones so I remain with Jenny Craig results. This metaphor got out of hand pretty quickly.

I popped open this beer, hop wraiths escaped, and my face be all like-

M: This coats in a fantastic way with sheets of sticky honey, aserose, pine solvent, maple leaves, and conifers all around. If you used a Redwood tree for a glory hole, this is about what you’d get, with far less shame AS A BONUS.

D: This has a trifecta of chimerical elements going on, nice finish with a lupulus resin, high drinkability, and excellent carbonation. Just the perfect senatorial drink to enjoy after doing absolutely jack shit all day frustrating all legislation from the other side. It is a trip not exactly to hell, but let’s call it, Hoboken. But with more pine trees.

Is this a trip to Hopmageddon? No. It is close to hopurgatory though.

Narrative: You never thought that living in the Bastille in mid-eighteenth century France would be so boring. “Buy a time machine” they said “Meet Voltaire” they said. And yet here you are. The substandard gruel is of the most mediocre consistency and you long for the forthcoming reforms to spruce this place up a bit. BUT THEN YOU NEVER THOUGHT THAT APPEARING FROM THE FUTURE IN A HIGHLY SUPERSTITIOUS CATHOLIC COUNTRY WOULD LAND YOU IN JAIL, IN THE PAST. It was a very intense first few moments, the cobblestone streets, the mahogany bound books, the intensity was in the air, palpable almost. Then the bitterness sets in, again and again, the civil system what with your inability to confront witnesses, until it was just a prison of bitter and sour that you built for yourself. You paid top dollar for a time machine that placed you in a bitter purgatory, to which no amount of sweet can return you. “Loosen my shackles please, I feel that the iron is tarnishing my complexi-” What is that sour taste in your mouth? Bitter irony from a casuistic time traveler.


COAST Boy King, The Best DIPA from the South Weighs In

Big thanks to Calton Sparks and Steve Kim for this elusive hop bomb. The DIPA king of the south, finally reviewed as (D)IPA week steams along. You would think the South would be the masters of IPAs, bitterness, hot temperatures, juice supplements. However, it has been my experience that this is not their strongest suit, UNTIL THIS KING OF BOYS CAME ALONG. I had to wait over a year for this stupid beer to be made again so that I could review it fresh for you. That’s how much I care. Let’s get knee deep in the Lord of the Flies in today’s review

For all those drinkers who dream of having a kingdom of boys.

COAST Brewing Company
South Carolina, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 9.50% ABV

A: The beer couldn’t be more on style with a golden straw, deep yellow color, and subtle brassiness that imparts a 2 finger head of carbonation that dissipates slowly. It doesn’t go all super radiant and has a bit of an amber hue that makes me wonder if this will be a “balance bomb” but, I will let that shit slide for the time being.

A DIPA from the Carolinas already lets you know an evil hop ghost is lying in wait.

S: pine, grapefruit, a subtle citrus note to it like it is winding up a haymaker. Whenever you watch UFC in the south, this could be your hoppy companion for each grapefruit blast to the face. I will add that the pine has both hands in the Doritos bowl which is kinda offputting but, piners gonna pine.

T: great hoppy dryness to the initial taste, not overly bittering though, bitter tastebuds are in tact, the middle has a sweetness to it almost that is balanced with the light malt, the final taste leaves a lingering grassiness that welcomes another drink, the high notes in the initial hops link up nicely with the final notes of the low hops in the aftertaste. It tastes almost identical to how it smells, light citrus with pine grabbing your sister’s ass abruptly.

When I smelled this beer, pine started gripping all on my face and abusing my lower lip. My face was all like-

M: Light and drinkable, similar to most IPAs, not a significant amount of coating on the mouth, the light carbonation lends to the character of the beer, mild body of the beer sets the stage for the wellbalanced hops. The drying effect the coats the tongue with bitterness, it attacks the sides of the tongue and wipes out the salivary glands with a bitter orange rind citrus bitterness, the lack of sweetness/citrus makes the IBUS even more pronounced, the hops resonate upon swallowing and the aroma expands

D: exceptionally drinkable, some 9.5% abv beers would be tough with overly hoppy character to balance the alcohol but this toes a nice line, very exceptional for a casual beer. While session beer is almost a pejorative, this joins the ranks of what I would call “Super Balanced IPA Super Fun Squad.” Pliny, Oracle, Double Trouble, You know the characters. It is on point with those fellows and shoulders their ranks amiably. Buy this and drink this, dont save it, dont brag about it. Just enjoy an exceptionally balanced DIPA.

I have no idea when I will see this beer again, so I will wave goodbye and remember the hoppier times.

Narrative: “Alright, try to calm down” the police sketch artist pleaded “I know it is shocking, but try to remember something…anything.” What could you tell him, it was so offensive and abrupt, you’d almost rather just put it behind you. “Well it was bitter…unexpected…” “yes yes…go on..” God, what do you tell a complete stranger about a man who confronts you and pushes bitter hops in your mouth, “listen, I just dont feel up to this right now,” you still feel its grassy stench in your nasal cavity “ANYTHING HELPS” FINE “OK IT SMELLED LIKE PINE…PINE! Are you happy now?” your jaw lightly clicks in the tense silence that ensues “Did…were there any hops cones or flowers left beh-” “HOW DARE YOU ASK ME SOMETHING LIKE THAT.” The police artist completed what looked like a pirahna plant from Super Mario Brothers 3 world 7-3. That was him. “But, let me ask, what were you wearing?” “I AM OUT OF HERE-“


Lawson’s Finest Liquids Double Sunshine,

IPA WEEK kicks off with a bang, this old hoppy gem from Vermont. I know what your worries are “WILL THIS ENTIRE WEEK BE FOCUSED ON VERMONT AND CALIFORNIA?” I can assuage your concerns, we will jump around the map, never you fear. This beer is sold at a Farmer’s Market and in 2 other stores in Vermont and…that’s about it. Hopheads near and far blast their oils when they get their hands on this one, so let’s see if it rustles any cones in today’s review.

I am two stepping on double sunshine, wooo ohhhh.

Lawson’s Finest Liquids
Vermont, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: This has a nice radiant glow and the malts have been assembled with loving care. I would imagine this is a step with Beatrice up through the rings into hop heaven. The lacing is as generous as Good Will and hands out sticky dank doilies to all the 7th graders. It is indeed a very pretty beer and alluring to even the most adverse to hop character.

Dear God, please don’t let Vermont gems become unattainable due to hypetrain ticket holders. Also, more abalone. Amen.

S: The nose is vindicating for the old stigma of “balanced” East coast IPAs as it is more unbalanced than an Arizona State fashion student. There’s a huge tangelo, tangerine, grapefruit and deep citrus rind. You get a nice pine needle on the back end, but it stays in its place and lets the adults talk in peace.

T: The citrus character is sadly more tame than the nose would suggest, bait and switch harder than Piranha 3DD. There’s a bit of orange zest and sticky hop oils but it turns and kicks your aserose and starts grinding your pine cones like a high school prom. I love the pineapple but the whole maple leaf and grassy resolution leaves something to be desired in the third act.

At first I wasn’t sure what was going on with this one, but then it all became abundantly clear.

M: The mouthfeel is watery and light, exactly as it should be. There’s a bit of a filling and drying from the aggressive hops, but this isn’t my first alpha acid rodeo and I can ultimately mutton bust this lil hop wrangler pretty easily.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, amazing for the style but ultimately falls short of the crowded “best of” list. To be fair, any double IPA offering will be hard pressed to shoulder the ranks with Citra, Ephraim, etc. I really like it, I really dislike trading for it since there is so little of it. Again, it’s scaled economies so if you live in VT and have ready access to this, grease up your hop hole and slide this one in.

After I tasted that pine profile, the consequences were never the same.

Narrative: The traveling apothecary show was going poorly for the Brackensons. Stop after stop they would set up their charlatan charade and plant members of the family to be cured in the audience, per usual. In the year 2012, this kind of snake oil salesmanship took a certain panache and aplomb to trick the discerning customers of backwoods Vermont. The Econolinevan idled as Chauncy packed a bunch of tiny green cones into a medicinal bottle and scrawled some high handed panacea aspects upon it. “Come one come on all, try here and only here, the cure of SPAM in your inbox, cure for mortgage refinance woes, GOUT, and other afflictions!” Father Briggs called into his megaphone and brought up his planted cousin from the crowd. She took a deep pull of the sticky resinous liquid and was instantly cured of all afflictions, imagined or otherwise. Those chicanerous old Brackensons went and accidentally stumbled upon a vinuous grassy potation that could solve all kinds of dilemmas. Now if they could only find a hop pun that was not already used by a ton of other mediocre companies, they would be set.


Kern Brewing Citra Double IPA, Finally: THE UNASSAILABLE COMETH.

I have danced around this several times, lithely referenced it in almost every DIPA and IPA review, now it is time to cut the shit: TIME TO REVIEW CITRA. I will say this, this beer is in my top 3 favorite Double IPAs of all time, if not my absolute favorite. Enough prestroking, let’s get down to business in today’s review: FUCKING CITRA TIME. FCT. 9:34 a.m.

God damnit. Just looking at these pictures makes me PINE for the next release, HOPFULLY it will be soon.

Oh shit, bonus pic from the newest batch, BONUSES.

Kern River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: God damn this is a beautiful beer, it is mildly turbid at first pour, subsides into a radioactive hue that burns the eyes and nostrils and finally the rage liquifies into a palpable form. The lacing is huge and the frothy head presents cloud strata to rest your pocketwatch upon. Shit gets classy real quick.

“Aiur…the line is Aiur”
“CUT! damnit.”

S: This is the purest, most perfect olfactory assault that a DIPA has ever presented: in order of appearance: kiwi, mango, pineapple, tangelo, orange peel, and finally tangerine. This beer reeks of a Salvadoreno’s hands. It smells like fruit carts in downtown LA and it sticky with hop oils in the brightest way possible.

T: This is a delayed dirty bomb of hop oils and sticky tart oils. In hurt locker a car detonates and this would be lemon rind, oranges, grapefruit, pineapple, and an mild hint of grass clipping that rip through your face. This is best enjoyed fresh but I have drank a total of say, 20 bombers of this, at various ages, and it is always amazing. The beer evolves like a hop sensai and teaches you as your palate evolves. I have waxed off at every single release and the pints of Citra that they sell for $5 at the brewery are downright offensive to the general beer industry if for no other reason that this beer slays indiscriminately like a hop Kratos.

I WANT CITRA ALL YEAR LONG. I will drive the distance. Despite all of my rage, etcetera.

M: The mouthfeel is watery thin and imparts the deep tropical fruit aspect kicks your throat and hides the alcohol without a single hint of the ABV. In renaissance times wine was more pure than still water and, regardless of our advances, I want to drink this at every meal. The vegetal aspect is tame and ratcheted to a very mild dryness that makes this almost completely perfect for the style. I cannot wait for the next release.

D: This is insanely drinkable. I have to drive over 320 miles to the brewery when this is released and each time my bottles last, what, 14 days? It is the bagel bites of the DIPA world, when Citra is in some water you can drink Citra any time. I hate HATE the limited availability of this as I could retire from the beer review game if this was always available, but the sunny days wouldn’t be as bright without the days full of malty east coast DIPAs. True story.

This beer hits the incredible upper atmosphere of beers and still presents a cuddly amiable nature, without being offputting.

Oh and by the way, I did a shootout with Heady Topper and Double Sunshine, all fresh, this beer won. To avoid bias, I wont rank them but this is an amazing beer, hands down.

Narrative: After years of toiling in the remote Sequoias, Kyle had finally accomplished his dream: an advanced cyborg that ran exclusively on tropical fruit juice. At present it was being ran by a conglomerate Starburst fruit battery, but the built in juicer in the fuselage made the companion more powerful with each inundation. “WAKE UP CITRITRON!” Kyle clapped demonstratively and the powerful beast pulled itself to a bipedal position. Its glowing orange eyes evidenced a deep artistry and hateful power, acid and oil running through its veins. “INPUT COMMAND TROPICAL MASTER:/” Citrutron requested. Kyle waved his hands “don’t call me tropical master, I am from Lodi, alright, there have been some Budweiser fans hanging out at the local Pizza pl-” “AFFIRMATIVE I WILL MELT THEIR FACES” Kyle staggered backwards, “NO! God damnit Citrutron, you can’t kill anybody” “WHY” “You just can’t!” “WHY” “You just cant.” Kyle wiped the mango juice from his hands and tossed the rag into a bucket of papaya extract. “Listen Citrutron, I built you to show the inherent power of citrus and refreshment, GO TO THE PIZZA BARN, destroy their adjunct lagers, SHOW THEM THE TRUE POWER OF YOUR HOP BATTERY!” Citrutron entered battle mode and his scorching hot alpha oil cannons raised like a deep carapace from his shoulders “AFFIRMATIVE.” Kyle wiped a juicy tear from his eye as his creation covered the local 16 year olds of Kernville in sticky bitter hop oils. “GODSPEED CITRUTRON!”


Founder’s Devil Dancer Triple IPA, Dance with the Devil in the (TI) Pale (Ale) Moonlight

Triple IPAs. Ah, another controversial class of beers that no one seems to know what to do with. Is it a DIPA that is boozier? Maybe just a misclassified American Barleywine? Who gives a shit. Just pop your hoptops and let’s figure out what kind of demons the people in Michigan are escaping to need this powerful potation.

I couldn’t find the pic that I had of this beer so I drew you a recreation in MS Paint. Enjoy.

Founder’s Devil Dancer, Triple IPA, 12% abv

A: This has incredibly minimal carbonation, no middle body, and very faint lacing. It looks deep amber, almost red. It just sits there and folds its malty arms unimpressed with the Belgian tulip I have lovingly provided. Triple IPAs are like housecats, they don’t need your approval and there will eventually be piss on something in your bedroom.

Triple IPAs are like mashing out on greens so hard.

S: The smell has a malty hop presence with an intense sweetness that almost mows over the grassiness present in the back end. It’s like that kid in Geometry that has a heart of gold but covers it up with a Limp Bizkit t-shirt and a jerky frown; ONLY IN REVERSE. The hops are in an epic struggle with the boozy waft, but ultimately the hops win out.

T: This is wrong on two fronts: it is far too strong on the alpha acids at the outset and tastes like pennies rolled in the Vermont woods, then it turns into this wonky barley wine flavor that is far too sweet and cloying. This just stretches itself in too many directions, like a tortured asian teenager living under the tyranny of a tiger mother. Violin, gymnastics, math team, and academic decathlon is tall order for this poor triple IPA.

I like my IPAs to be hardcore, but not THIS hardcore.

M: This has the carbonation of a Nebraskan plains lands, endlessly flat and disinteresting. It just coats in a viney grassy way that lingers along the gumline and lights up a cigarette in a casual Jaleel-White-as-Stefan sort of manner. I am not saying that a beer this beer needs to be a gusher, but come on, don’t just LIE THERE. Ryan Gosling’s junk is uninspired by the sweet hoppy monster.

D: Not at all, I just sit and stare at the hateful liquid, letting the condensation beads form and dissipate. Even a 12oz serving is too much for me. It isn’t the ABV, I have had much worse. It isn’t the hops, I have had much beer. It is just a guy wheelieing while studying for the GMAT. Too much business in one glass and it turns into a train wreck.

Tripel IAPS? Gooby pls.

Narrative: Chip Thornewood gritted his jaw and pressed his house keys into the surface of the coffee table. “Well Mrs. Thornewood, it is tough to diagnose Chip’s condition, it isn’t exactly Asperger’s syndrome,” the two looked through a two way mirror and watched as Chip tore the pages out of a novel in the waiting room. “You see, he has a rare psychological condition known as Prickinium Disorder. It takes the normal human psyche and inverts all the premises that would make it pleasant, turning the patient into a bitter, well, I will just demonstrate. Dr. Thetic walked into the waiting room and offer Chip a Fig Newton. “Oh hey! Sure, let me go ahead and have some of this fruit and cake, or wait, HOW ABOUT THIS?” Chip violently threw the cookie onto the ground and spun his heel on the crushed remains. “Mmm, wow, very tasty, thanks.” Dr. Thetic shook his head with grave disappointment, “Mrs. Thornewood, I don’t know how to say this so I will be blunt: your child is an asshole. A completely bitter, self-absorbed, off-putting, unnecessarily acerbic and acrimonius asshole whom no one would willingly associate him or herself with unless compelled for a good reason.” Dr. Thetic scribbled out a hasty prescription for Ritalin and outstretched the small scrap to Ms. Thornewood. “It won’t cure him, but it will make him a sedate asshole, similar to those you encounter on a daily basis or at a hipster café. Godspeed.”


Alpine Bad Boy Double Imperial Pale Ale, Bad Boys Go To Their Respective Hop Rooms.

This beer always comes up when the best Double IPAs in the world are discussed. Hell, it is on most top 100 lists and constantly spars with Ephraim and Citra. Let’s stop pussyfooting around and figure this shit out once and for all, how good is the crowning DIPA glory from San Diego’s finest hop masters? We shall see.

This particular 64oz growler, I did not skull to my dome piece, so my judgment was not impaired. Better than Hill Farmstead Ephraim? Sadly no. But still amazing. There, I said it.

Alpine Bad Boy, 9.5% abv, Double IPA

A: This has a radiant golden glow to it with a great clarity like majestic apple juice. The lacing looks like an abandoned haunted house and these a tons of webs all up in this piece. This be looking mad antiquated. The carbonation from the growler is solid and sticky throughout. This looks dangerous and somehow session able.

This beer has an amazing salad meets hop oil converging with pineapple and bunny musk going on.

S: The smell even on opening the growler is relentless. The hop presence detonates like pinecones galvanized all up in your dome piece. There is a grassy pineapple to it with some herbal grapefruit. I would deem this 60/40 herbal to fruit which is a solid balance. Hop Wallop needs to take some notes. This has more balance than a Chinese gymnast with an inner ear infection.

T: This is exactly what Alpine does so. Damn. Well. It just delivers a huge initial sweetness that fades into a freshly cut grassiness that makes you feel all elementary school for a second until, bam, honey sweetness that fades. This is like the more tactful version of Hopslam. A friend you can confide secrets in, a hoppy buddy you can take places and know he wont talk about when someone touched your no no. That kind of friend.

The scope of the undertaking is impressive, wait till you see the taste.

M: The mouthfeel is impossibly light. It is Pale Ale thin, imparts a huge herbal character that swirls a maple cape and fades into a loveable sweet note. It is David Blaine ass hop work. It leaves my mouth all astounded but wanting more. I suppose a growler is both an appropriate and inappropriate serving size, for obvious reasons. This will take a serious prestige amongst Ephraim and Citra. To be clear, this is far superior to Exponential Hoppiness in the way that Nightcrawler is superior to Colossus. It is just someone I would rather hang out with on a regular basis. This is nimble and bad ass, not some lumbering asshole who always asks you to save his sister from a tractor.

D: Holy jeez, this is the Live Oak of DIPA’s which is to say its drink ability is off the charts for the ABV and the complex character of the hop profile. I almost want to run my own tests to ascertain if this has any more than 4% abv but, the old liver test is sufficient. The fact that this is not in bottles has allegedly saved CalTrans millions in roadside clean ups. So there’s always that.

With a growler in tow, you can go on some epic San Diego adventures where you will no doubt lose your shoes and your entryway will be soaked in the morning.

Narrative: “Well? Did you find anything? All OF THE OPENINGS ARE SEALED!” Tarynn cried with the utmost agitation, Mark felt that a reference to ‘that’s what she said’ would be not apropos in the case of a spelunking disaster. “WE ARE GOING TO DIE DOWN HERE!” Tarynn exclaimed while running her fingers through her thinning hair. She fell to her knees in desperation and clutched the halogen lantern desperately. “We can’t be below the water table, so therefore, the sediment should push up some sustainable filtered water and, potentially some veget-” Mark tripped over a thick tuft of underground foliage. “What in the-” he discontinued his sentence in that staccato manner that characters in situation comedies do, despite not being interrupted. “HECK” he finished, but so much later that it didn’t seem canon with his previous sentence. “What is it Mark?” Tarynn called out. There was a fresh pool of water seeping through the floor but it was fully entwined by sticky, vinuous hop plants. The smell was overwhelming. “This-” he did it again, “is our only chance of survival.” The two nodded gravely and began to suck from the pools the sticky water and push raw hop flowers into their gullets. “If only we-” Mark declared before falling asleep. The geological team found them 8 days later, high out of their minds on raw hop flowers. Mark’s sentences have since been correc-


Cigar City Jai Alai, A Game of High Speed Balls and Super Alpha Hops

Here’s something that always seems to poke its hoppy head into beer boxes that I receive as extras. Either this is falling all off of shelves in Florida or someone loves me. I would assume the former. Enough jibber jabber about states with electoral issues, let’s open this hop IED in today’s Hop Locker.

A game of precision, balls, and severe injury, IPA DRINKING.

Cigar City, Jai Alai, IPA, 7.5% abv

A: This beer seemed pretty tame out of the glass, no radiant Marcelous Wallace glow, no Ark of the Covenant face melting hops, just a nice gentle IPA, here to stay a moment and spin some yarns. It is a mild orange with yellowing. Nice carbonation and some haunted house webbing on the glass. Only, no one touches your no no.

Sure, I have seen some amazing IPAs in my day but, my jimmies are in a default state upon seeing and smelling this offering, they arent unrustled, I guess.

S: Strangely, I don’t get a huge acidity, sure there’s some obligatory mild orange zest but mostly it smells sweet and crackery like a warm cornbread. Not par for the course in IPAs at all. Not bad, just like a watered down version of Hop Slam with more honey.

T: This doesn’t have a huge citrus profile to it, it goes a route of middle ground non-offensiveness. It begins with a nice hop bite that retreats like an abused terrier, giving you a bit of pine and grassiness and, that’s about it. The honey notes provide a solid maltiness that washes away quickly.

This beer flexes hard in the club and lets you know that is shit gets cutty, it has your back like Warrior hops.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and light and lends to the session ability of this beer. It isn’t as filling as a Tim Allen stand up special, but unlike that, you aren’t bloated afterwards. No hop resins set up shop and it is like that tame worker who comes in, does his 9-5 and doesn’t ask any questions.

D: This is where this beer shines. Maybe it just isn’t hot enough in LA but, this beer seems like it would be great to drink while putting some sick flame decals from Pep Boys on my 93 Monte Carlo, you know, Florida shit. I’d love to knock a few of these back and then enter a voting booth, maybe build a home in the way of recurrent storms; we’ve all been there. But in all seriousness, this is a solid IPA, not bad in any respect just not that citrus bomb that I love to rub along my gumline.

It is incredibly familiar, maybe a little too familiers.

Narrative: Roger Bellows had a serious dilemma. Did he abandon his lifelong dream of owning an apiary farm and propose to the girl of his dreams? Or follow his dreams and hope that, amongst those bees he would find true love. “ROGER! I said just pick one, come on!” Kaitlynn called to him down the halogen white aisle. He picked the highest grade honey he could find and shuddered at the agave nectar section, “but how will I explain this to her?” he ruminated, glancing furtively to the bee set in amber on his ring. “I JUST….I LOVE FUCKING BEES!” he cried to her in the frozen foods section. “Ex- excuse me?” she stammered. “Well, not fucking bees, I love, I just love them. I need you to know that.” Kaitlynn rocked heel to toe and furled her brow like a worn button box. “Ok? And, I love you HONEY!” her writhing index finger left something to be wanted of a stinger as her pantomime fell flat. “Oh great, puns, my DREAM IS A PUN TO HER!” “Yeah, I’m all buzzed about, it,” he trailed off looking at the many varieties of Cool Whip. “God, you are such a bitter, forgettable drone, WHY CANT YOU STAND UP FOR YOURSELF!?” His amber bee ring dug into his palm when Kaitlynn cried “ROGER! Three things of honey? Come on!”