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Sweetwater Festive Ale, A Festivity Transmitted Disease

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If watered down barley wine makes you feel festive, then hang the stockings.

Sweetwater Festive Ale, Winter Warmer, 8.6% abv

A: This pours a deep mahogany brown with generous foam and tiny soapy bubbles that almost look like won ton soup.

S: You get raisins, caramel, and some figs. It smells like a weird smoked quad or a wishy washy barleywine. It’s afraid to commit and say yes to the dress.

OH HEY LETS MAKE A BERLEYWI- DERRRRP.

T: The chocolate is muted and slightly burnt. It comes off like a barleywine that has low ass self esteem and will never ask malts out for a date. It needs to man the fuck up and get some malt in this bitch, or at least warm my winter. Carlifornia already has frigid 67 degree winters and this asshole isn’t pulling his weight. Maybe that flies in Georgia, but here in California, our women shave their armpits and our winter warmers have boozy notes to them Gosh darn it.

M: The mouthfeel is thin and watery but is a strangely cool dynamic for this malty, pitted fruity goodness, so pitted, whapaw. It’s pretty interesting in the way that the new Hyundai abomination, Veloster is interesting to look at, and think how much negative vagina you would get after buying one “how do you owe someone vagina?” details details.

It feels like something classic, but with a childish zing, malty candy action.

D: This is pretty drinkable but def. not made to be a session beer. I guess it helps me celebrate a new year, but I dont feel particularly festive, I feel bloated and moody, hook up the Midol brah. It’s not quite winter and I dont feel much warmer, but it’s not exactly a miss. It like Barleywine Lite, with a thinner body, resulting in some maltiness, just not a stomach detonation.

Narrative: One thing was not made abundantly clear by the gypsy witch. Ok, so, the master has to remain a beast until he finds true love, but why the fuck was I transformed into a bureau? Sure in pre-enlightenment France, there’s not a lot of non-serf positions for a guy like me, but, come on, if I am going to be transmogrified into some furniture, couldn’t I be a laundry cart or something more bad ass? I worked as a simple house servant and now, I am just stuffed with parchment paper. I feel like I aspired for greatness and now I am left to pick up the shattered remains of my simple pedestrian life. Why am I even affected by this damn gypsy curse anyway? I didn’t have any stake in the superficial nature of the owner. This whole enterprise has fallen flat.

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Goose Island Bourbon County Stout, I Could Fight Infinite Geese

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Sickest Beer Picture of the Year. Ansel Adams all up in this bitch.

Happy Thanksgiving you Ingrates, Here’s an AMAZING stout review for you to be all thankful for.

Bourbon County Stout, Goose Island, 13% abv, Imperial Stout

A: The bottle pours a slick deep black with a light khaki head, The lacing is light but the liquid grips and obfuscates the sides of the glass. No light penetrates this darkness, not even at the edges. Just like those early dates, not even at the edges. Feelup jokes, we are doing them now.

S: It smells like a cherry cordial melted into a spiteful sludge. There are notes of dates, currants, licorice, and dark chocolate. There is an earthy oak to it too that makes this 12oz bottle pack a haymaker. Which is by no means a sleight to hay makers, you maintain an important profession and I doff my alfalfa webbed cap to you. Amish.

When I poured it, my face was all like this. Bourbon eyed.

T: The taste is surprisingly straight forward, the fruits are absent from the taste but the coffee and chocolate notes make a big impression. There is very little hoppy dryness, just a full, welcoming sweetness that is followed by mellowed by a big coffee body that has a slight heat that would benefit from some aging, but that is the case with most people obsessed with chocolate. Or wait, the opposite, people who eat to much chocolate need to get a time machine and, ah fuck it.

M: This doesn’t have a huge Abyssesque body to it. I don’t chew on the malts for hours and ruminate on it. Given the impressive ABV, it gets in, imparts a huge flavor and the finish is pretty standard. I am sure you would be able to smell this a mile away, but the taste doesn’t linger too long, which is a good aspect since the initial taste is where it is at with this beer. It’s tough to underscore how dangerous this beer is. Uninstall all your iphone apps before drinking this shit, oh whats that? Just bought Too $hort’s full discography on ebay? Too bad.

I would try and talk shit on this amazing beer but, it would be the gentle touch of soft trolling. Let's just be real.

D: As far as imperial stouts go, this is excellent. For something this huge with a staggering presence, I think I could actually go beyond the 12oz and request a bomber to myself. The weather will likely be the deciding factor for this beer as most situations outside will not be equal opportunity employers for stouts in general but the sweetness and light finish to this stout puts it in a nice position to argue its case for outdoor activities. Michelob Ultra nervously eyes its Canondale bicycle.

Narrative: “TELL US WHERE YOU HID THE BODY!” Sargeant Myers slammed his fist down on the cast aluminum table shaking Raven Moonclaw’s glass of water. “The body, my dear sargeant, is a part of what Aristoteleans call ‘the Aether’ and as a skilled ilusionist, I can never reveal my secrets.” He produced from thin air a Capri slim and ignited it spontaneously, despite being searched top to bottom upon booking. “You see my dear corporal, the line between menace and altruist is murkily unclear” with a swift slight of hand he transformed his Capri cigarette into an ebony gecko. “WHAT THE-” Sargeant Myers staggered back wiping his brow. “The problem with ethics and illusionists is the code of secrecy, for how can an objective ethical code exists without parameters of repentance or accountability my good enforcer?” The handcuffs clicked and shattered into sixlet candies onto the floor. “I myself do not detest the wicked, but merely embrace the sweet for the fleeting moments I am-” a black clod of smoke appeared and the final resonating words filled the interrogation room: “BEHOLDEN.”

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Dry Dock Urca Vanilla Porter, Sweeter than Bieber’s Baby Mama

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I think I am getting an Urca just looking at this pic.

Dry Dock Brewing, Urca Vanilla Porter, 5.3% abv

A: The appearance is a deep mahogany with a really watery character, wishy washy soapy lacing, with some rub a dub dub mocha to it.

S: This beer has a waft of almond, a huge vanilla sweetness like a Starbucks next to a Strip Club, and a mild coffee finish. The experience is sweet and fulfilling, like the first time you heard Ashton and Demi were getting a divorce. Ahh, refreshing.

Just whispering some sweet vanilla sloth nothings into your ear.

T: The taste is sweet with a sticky vanilla bean at the forefront that slowly fades into a coffee and chocolate finish, a bit of acidity at the end washes away this beer like the taste of koala tears. Don’t act like I am the only one.

M: This is very watery and the the body is thinner than than Mila Kunis’s STAGE THEATER CREDITS, you see, expectations, this beer defies them. The sweetness and thin body make this difficult to stomach, its like a cinnamon roll with too much frosting, not enough roll. This would be an awesome additive to pour in a bigger stout and breakdown into two awesome vanilla stouts, it’s like King Theseus’s ship, but with an alcoholic engineer.

The sweetness and vanilla overload make me feel like a decadent fat ass.

D: The body is thin, the taste is ridiculously sweet, and it leaves you feeling like you made out with a dental hygienist who loves vanilla ice cream. Like, “keeps it at work” level of love. It tries hard and presents something new but, its like a big sword with a tiny handle, it needs some maltiness to comes to grips with itself, badumtish.

Narrative:

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Peace Tree, Hop Wrangler, I Went to Iowa Once and Got My Hops Wrangled so Hard.

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Hop Wrangler, figures I would have to go to Iowa to get my hops all wrangled

Alright, so let’s continue bothering the midwest and now Iowa is on the chopping block. I have actually been to this state so I can safely say that this state simply makes amazing beer because they, need it the most. This one is no exception.

Peace Tree Brewing, Hop Wrangler, 6.25% abv, Knoxville, Iowa.

I didnt even know that town existed, I wonder if it’s a badass southern/midwest hybrid, no? Oh ok, I have just been informed that it is a boring ass town. Ok. Carry on then.

A: This initially poured a bit too malty and I was all shaking my head disapprovingly like someone in a mentos commerical. It’s all deep and golden and its makes me like “I bought a lipring in the mall at Coralville, you crazy IPA!” and he gets away with some shit. The lacing is awesome, nice stickiness. Just like all the beer on the floor after my first night in Iowa City when I saw a for reals fight, over what Heidegger would call “Being and Nothingness.”

S: This is amazing, it gets all juicy with grapefruit and apricot and for a minute I was taken aback like, wait wait, what’s this beer up to? But, just like when your parents told you that Selma was Midevil times…

This just isn't fun to put down, then hug need.

T: God damn it. Iowa just pulls a full on hop tease. The taste is so stemmy, it just gets vegetal so hard. It tastes like stems and seeds, ooh wee. Appropriately, the beer on the bottle says “In Heaven There is no Beer” and this theological assault seems to be making up for lost time. Another thing that pisses me off about this beer is that it declares step by step what goes into making an IPA and seeks to get some latent praise from it, it’s like:

“We used a full boil and hops in the initial stage, then we added additional hops, then we used a different type of hops and then in the finishing we used another type of english hops”

Like no shit? Dry hopping and adding to the boil, wait hold on, let me stop the presses like Catch Me If you Can. They apparently use a belgian yeast which adds banana, esters, and clove which belong in this beer like an jock belongs at a Babylon Five convention.

M: This has a great crisp mouthfeel that is all welcome and cool, until it opens its mouth and gets all herbal and foreign. It was good until I actually tasted it, stupid Iowa, your bars are so amazing, and then this.

Not mad, just disappointed.

D: This is hardly drinkable because it has a low abv, relative to the style, it’s boring, ugly, and gets worse when it hits your lips, insert latent joke about Iowa. No but seriously, there’s ways to pull this off, and I like the variety but, they had to know that this just didn’t work on paper, not even a 5 gallon test batch? I guess I just dont like the belgian IPA style but…OH WAIT LOOK AT MY ALE ASYLUM REVIEW where they did this style fucking amazingly.

Narrative: “Guess what? No love to my homies until people from Iowa get into the chill zone on their beer laws. Not enough chillaxing taking place when importers want to move units all up inside that rectagonal state. Just trying to push sick weight into agrarian districts brothenol, ecoboost with ecobrews bro. Don’t be haters because we want to get a sick fade and hit up Herbert Hoover’s old hood. Alright, I wont mess with any corn or try and muscle you out on the hot-girl export racket, but seriously Ioweezy, just let some other states hit you with some sick cases, drop mad bombers on you. It’s not like keeping high ABV beers out of your state will stop people from drinking, it’s like Prohibition era Savoy Ballroom all up in that bitch, non-stop. Anyway, the COs are stressing me about writing this long ass open ended letter to the population of Iowa, but ball all I day is what I do, once I get out from this 5 to 10, I am hitting up Iowa and copping some St. Ides. Real Spit”

– T Cell was shanked in Boise Correctional Facility before his utopian ideal of an alcoholic Iowa could be made into a reality.

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Alesmith 100% Barrel Aged Speedway Stout, Modding out my Integra So Hard Right now.

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Ok, if you are in a store and for some reason they have the 750 bottle release on the right, just remember it is worth 15 times as much as the one on the left.

Alesmith, Speedway Stout 100% Barrel Aged, 2009, 12% abv, some more top 100 beer bullshit, just another day in the life of a god damn middle manager.

A: This has a slick BP disaster look to it, without all the deceased marine life. It isn’t pitch black but imparts some nice deep mahogany notes to the edges, like a hardened cop with a heart of gold you somehow impart a sense of trust in this stout that despite his over character flaw evidenced 14 minutes in, he will make it all right after 90 minutes in your life. Also, nice lacing, tiny bubbles, coffee stickiness, and other things people don’t read.

S: This is coffee acidity, to a huge degree. Also entering the fray is a serious boozy profile that apparently hasn’t had the shithead weathered out of it after 2 years in an oak barrel. It isn’t as recalcitrant as the new Dark Lords, but it still is rambunctious enough to be bothersome. However, some nice bourbon and oak notes finalize the experience and you give it an approving nod into your club, aka YOUR MOUTH, where all the action takes place infra.

Coffee so hard, all up in my nosepiece.

T: Fast forward 3 seconds from the smell to the tasting, first one to show up to your sick rager is coffee, oh wait but he brought, acidity, and then, his other boy coffee, and then toffee. You don’t judge but things seem a little unbalanced in here, oh wait then his crazy friend chocolate shows up doing magic tricks and making observational comedy references. Everyone is put at east with a nice coffee walnut finish: your BA speedway house party is officially underway.

M: This coasts like a bucket of Sherwin Williams. I don’t mean in the way when you hire day laborers either. It coats like if people who cared painted your mouth with coffee and bourbon. We all know how much that costs IN REAL LIFE so this is a welcome reprieve.

I had to trade 7 bottles to land this one stupid ass bottle. Then I shared it with 7 people. So the butthurt is flowing so hard.

D: As much as I want to hometown and keep the drive strong for this amazing beer, this is certainly its weakest point. I can’t in good faith say that I would crack 2009 BA stouts all day while at Havasu doing sick broesque things. Then again, is that the target market? Notwithstanding, this tires a bit after a solid 12oz just due to the complexity and rampaging coffee and toffee double team on your bitter and sweet zones. Enough is enough the tongue declares insouciantly.

Narrative: Kicked out of the racing academy. Well, at least that is what he told his parents that his tuition checks were going to. The truth is that Chase Worthington was never attending a racing school in Temecula. He accepted “tuition” checks from his parents every 5 months and even in the summer session for modding his sick 2001 Mercury Cougar for drag racing or “Straight up Dragging it” as he abrasively referred to it, much to the chagrin of his friends, when present. His friends told him that running the mean streets of San Diego was not to be trifled with, that is, unless one were content to life his life “a quarter mile at a time.” This seemed to be a deafeningly infinitesimal stretch for a racer like himself. Cold air intake, cat back exhaust, chipped, sick body kit; all of the accoutrements were present however he forgot a single thing: his car had only 189 horse power and people grew tired of its inky discharge, regardless of the speeds that it allegedly traveled. This speedway pun was a speedway pun for the racing pun speedway pun, and in the end, they all learned speedway pun, racing.

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Bourbon Barrel Brrrrbon, Brrr It’s Cold in Hurr, Must be some Chingy in the Atmosphere.

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Parchment paper is peeping on Brrbon so hard.

Here’s a beer Oregonians actually freely share. This beer didn’t get the best reviews but I feel that it’s pretty legit, by no means too legit to warrant quitting.

2010 Widmer Brothers (Of Hefeweizen fame) Barrel Aged Brrbon, 9.4% abv, Winter Warmer

A: It has nice shiny, new penny look to it with some spider webs on it like at old man Wilkerson’s house, but it looks inviting with a nice moderate translucence to it. The color actually LOOKS like a nice bourbon, I would go grab a Buffalo Trace shot and show you but, it’s all the way over there and you have the ability to press cntrl+T at any time you lazy ass.

S: This is really muted on the nose and you get a tiny hint of bourbon, like a homeless man was in your underwear drawer but you cant quite be sure. The caramel and brown sugar just lights up and smells amazing. The alcohol doesn’t grind all up on your junk, it just eases up and does a nice lil ABV two step.

The dude in white is bourbon, your palate is getting its shit rocked.

T: This has a nice initial oakiness that would be mistaken for hops if it wasn’t so warm and soothing like a negligent ass Thermaflu or something. It sweetens up with some sweet molasses and brown sugar that washes away instantly. This tastes a lot better than I was expecting and upholds the solid lineage from the recent limited releases: Galaxy Barleywine, Pear Braggot, etc. Drop the $10.99, it’s worth it.

M: It is surprisingly light and feels like a strange ninja barleywine. Or a baby old ale with all the oak going on. It’s pretty enjoyable and reminds me that I live in america, where you can put bourbon in a beer and drink it casually, with lunch, brunch even, heck, before your first day as a bus driver, who knows. Moral of the story is that the light character, deep bourbon and generous oakiness make this an awesome beer. Forget what Jamiroquai said, the future is not made of insanity, virtual or otherwise.

Barrel Aged Beer...Too Delicious...Dont Drink...Be...

D: This is incredibly drinkable and, may possibly be the only way that I will ever win at Words with Friends. You can play some wacky 9.4% abv tricks on them and watch them announce some really obscure things at the upcoming X-mas party. I had no trouble putting it away, and the average joe will say it tastes like “A strong…Newcastle…or whats that expensive…Chimay…yeah like sugar Chimay.”

Narrative: The old distillery, a county institution, just didn’t feel right, what with it being right next door to the local elementary school. Three recesses a month the kids would run in from kickball, gagging from the smell of fermenting sour mash. “Ms. Berkowitz, my eyes feel like Home Depot!” the kids would bemoan. It was many a time when a Nerf Screamer landed square in beds of spent mash, never to be retrieved. The smut that the old grizzly distillers left about was not insubstantial. Somehow, the synergy of the two, what with one destroying people’s lives, providing a solid 7 year old product, and the other being the distillery, seemed to somehow work. Jonah Wilkenstein watched in dismay as his baseball cascaded over the fence and landed in a caustic old barrel. “Now that Babe Ruth ball is gonna smell like Uncle Ira, I dont even wannit.”

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Schommelpeird Imperial Amber Ale. Getting so Schommelpeird right now, where are my shoes?

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OFFICIAL BEER OF WAREGEM KOERSE. Well of koerse.

The bottle says that this is the official beer of the largest horse race event in Belgium. That’s like being the official lager of the largest Magic: the Gathering tournament in Stockton. People play the hell out of that game there.

Schommelpeird, Imperial Amber, 12% abv (seriously) De Sruise Brothers

A: This beer looks like a dirty mucky lake water. It’s like if I just put Millerton Lake water in 33cl bottles. With all the Keystone and jetfuel in Millerton lake, this is likely what is tastes like by now. The carbonation is awesome and, not to knock the appearance but it is just strange, it levels out in strata and foams like there’s some serious political rally going on in there.

S: Holy sweet candy sugar sweet taffysmooch. It is brown sugar wrapped in caramel coated in marshmellow foam dipped in molted rock candy. Just incredibly sweet, like that unmarked Econoline van outside the preschool. There’s also some clove, banana, esters, and belgian spices, but no one thinks that shit is funny, and I can’t turn those into pedophile jokes, OR CAN I?

I kept waiting for this beer to warm up, get better, subjecting myself to this bizarre Nightmare on Ale Street.

T: Also like the Econoline, there’s no sweetness and things get bitter and disorienting pretty quickly. It tastes like an herbal brown ale, or a malty ESB, or, well there’s some serious penumbra and Venn Diagram orgy going on here, I am left completely shaded. There’s this stemmy herbal taste at the front that is not that tight, sub-tight even. I dont know how one is supposed to go about enjoying this, Struise I am disappoint.

M: This is rather thin for the huge candy/herbal/pennies flavor going on. I guess that’s good since the malt tastes similar to burnt yard trimmings, so I wouldn’t be stoked if they just went even more apeshit on those sort of residual sugars. A single Phish set is just fine, 33cl of Phish, just the right amount of jam band for me.

Not all epic battles appeal to the masses.

D: Not at all. Unless you are a coinstar machine of a Honduran gardener, then these tastes would be right at home up in your grillspot. I can’t get on board with this madness, it’s just all over the place, not exactly bad, just really confusing, like those complex Ben Stiller epics. I can’t recommend this, but it’s not like you will run across this “brewed-once” strange ass style anyway. So if you take an amber ale like your favorite old Fat Tire and fattened the shit out of it, you get a tire full of copper. Good to know. Currency crisis solved.

Narrative: “Ok, so here’s the pitch, so main male interest fall in love with Mila Kunis, but SHE IS EIGHT FEET TALL! We call it AmorISIMO!” Barry Merken’s movie pitches always did this. “Barry, wait what? You had us, we love it but, why does she have to be eight feet tall? What does that even add to the ‘surviving genocide’ subtext?” Barry capped the Steno chiseltip marker with frustration and began furiously erasing the entire pitch, “YOU KNOW WHAT FINE! Fine, let’s just make her the quirky, clearly hotter friend of the girl introduced in act one, how about that? Mix it up?” MGM was running out of time, they needed to push through another by-the-number romantic comedy or Ryan Reynolds would walk. “Barry, we loved the concept, it was essentially another Victoria love triangle set in lower east side Manhattan, we love it, just no giants.” Barry was the master of writing the exact same 82 minute movie, but his more recent efforts seemed to make very little sense. “Ok what about Reese Witherspoon is a baker, he is allergic to sugar but comes in every day to the bakery because HIS PENIS IS AN EXTENSION CORD.” The MGM board folded up their equipage and hastily exited the room. “OK FINE! NORMAL PENIS! FINE AND HOW ABOUT HE STOPS HER FROM MARRYING THE GUY WHO IS CLEARLY AN ASSHOLE IN THE FIRST 12 MINUTES OF THE MOVIE, but,” the investors turned and listened attentively, “but then, THAT GUY HAS AN EXTENSION CORD DICK!” Door slam.

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Amon Amarth Ragnarok Porter, One of the Only Reasons to Move Out of Indiana

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AAAmon, I worka 3 jobs mon, Oh, I'm sorry? In Living Color references not welcome here? Fine.

Amon Amarth Ragnarok, Porter 8.2% Abv

A: This has a deep watery coffee appearance to it with deep brown hues and a nice cool whip head with stained glass lacing. That shit cray.

S: It has an incredible hop presence which is basically to be expected from 3 Floyd’s they put hops in their children’s baby bottles. I dont get anything else, it’s pretty limited and not chocolatey or coffee as the appearance would suggest. Ho hum.

Looks like one thing, turns out to be another.

T: This tastes like a black ipa with a little bit of coffee to it. I call shenanigans, this isn’t a porter at all. Here I was, innocently hoodwinked into drinking what I thought would be an amazing chocolate funland, and I end up in the grass mowing down herbal goodness. It isn’t exactly bad, but I can’t help but feel like orphan dreams smashed on the rocks around December 25th.

M: The mouthfeel is thin and herbal with a lingering dryness (read: Just like a fucking IPA.) It doesn’t coat that well, which I guess is good since I dont feel like wiping pine cones off of my teeth, at least not when I was expecting on holding Gene Wilder’s hand into a magnificent candy paradise. This isn’t bad but it is just unexpected. I went to see Drive expecting a rom-com and, well, just go see that shit and you’ll understand.

Some things, despite their packaging, have underlying truths.

D: For a double IPA, this has a great drinkability and, even with the huge abv, this is plenty sessionable. However, I just feel so badly misled that I cant with an honest conscience tell you that I would seek this out and buy it again. These excuses from the Porter only go so far, it needs to come out of the hop closet and declare that it truly is. Embrace the cones.

Narrative: Chase Franci applied make up to his face assiduously and prepared for his big speech. “I can’t keep this up forever, come on Chance, just tell Mr. Walters the truth!” Just as he was uttering these thoughts to himself, Mr. Walters’s assistant burst in and announced “Mr. Walters will see you in 5 minutes, good luck.” The company internal minority promotion initiative seemed like a smart enough idea: promote diversity, engender a core nucleus of new ideas and add altering viewpoints to the corporate board. This would be all well and good but Chase was as white as the convergence of the UV spectrum. He pushed his make up materials into his briefcase and exited the corporate bathroom with a cool, calm poise as he strode down past the cubicles. Chase’s co-workers stared agape at the patently offensive racist makeup that he had just applied. Chase flicked a dab of shoepolish off of his lapel and smiled big, the look of an alter ego that was shooting up the corporate ladder. Chase strode into Mr. Walters’s office and declared “wazzzzupppppp!” Mr. Walters just sat there for a moment wondering, “what in the name of God did Chase think that he was doing? Surely he couldn’t have actually believed that blackening his face like a silent movie character would suffice to earn him a spot on the- actually, that is a pretty bold move.” Mr. Walters took out a corporate checkbook and immediately wrote him out a bonus before Chase could utter another cliched phrase. Mr. Walters smiled and handed chase a check, payment for being a complete fraud, “OH SNAP! THAT IS SOME SERIOUS CHEDDAR!” Chase exclaimed as his now-subordinates shook their heads in disbelief.

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Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, 10% abv, BX straight put a choc. gem on them.

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Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, mad wallear for this skully cap

While not swimming in the Hudson river, smashing glass bottles at abandoned train yards, or contemplating traveling to better places, people in Brooklyn make chocolate beers.

Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, 10% abv

A: Spoiler alert, this big stout has a deep black finish to it like a matte black that you see douchebags downgrade their Range Rovers with. The lacing is beautiful, it tells your future and, oh wait, whats that Brooklyn, sticky chocolate and schmeboygahs? I am listening.

S: This is very simple, it has a roasted barley and a deep chocolate finish to it. I hate it when beers are this direct but it is like a Madden character with all the points stacked on one attribute. In this game, this is an obese secretary who LOVES. CHOCOLATE. If this were an X-Man, its mutant ability would be reminding people to buy lotions from Bath and Body works and then visiting Godiva. BUT WILL SHE USE HER POWERS FOR GOOD OR EVIL?

I love stouts, I love chocolate. I mash on this beer not unlike an elated turtle.

T: This just continues with the simple oat and chocolate rigamarole with a deep silky finish. There is a bit of coffee but the main attraction here is clearly the chocolate, if this redundant ass review wasn’t evident. There’s some sweet hookah cocoa beans and a bit of tobacco but seriously, how else can I say this? It is like a negligent ass Willy Wonka creation.

M: Surprisingly, the mouthfeel is out faster than a dead beat father. It just imparts the chocolate like a drunk uncle, and then stumbles out the door with a silky oat finish. There’s a bit of coffee that dries it out at the end but wow, this really makes me want to try Black Ops if this beer is this good.

With 20 years on this, it will be even better, I aint even mad.

D: This is scary drinkable and amazing through and though. I hope that these are either expensive or sold in really small formats because, wow, I can’t believe how easy it is to put this away. Stouts this big usually have a huge drying effect or a filling expansive nature. NOT THIS ONE. This is that silent old standby busser that always shows up for its shifts and does a great job, no questions asked. Thank God I dont live in Brooklyn so I can avoid amazing inexpensive be- ah shit.

Narrative: Prilly looked out intently upon the icy vanilla slopes, past the polar bears enjoying Coca-Cola, past the ice cream mountain, and blinding white pillars of creamy goodness. This wasn’t the life he dreamed of and he knew it. Vanillalopolis was a humble community of artisans and yeomen farmers, however, something never felt quite right to Prilly. He longer for a deep, thick succor. That ambrosial decadence that could only be found in succulent cacoa beans. The ongoings of Vanillalopolis just seemed so pedestrian by contrast. He tossed a vanilla snowball at a passing marshmellow bunny and watched it scamper away, leaving flakes of pure white coconut. “Someday Prilly, for really,” he mused to himself. Just as he was raking the vanillacones from the recent harvest he struck deep into the ground and, up from the snow white soil came a bubbling crude. Mahongany gold, Alabama tea. He dipped an index infger into the gurgling pool and tasted that deep chocolatey decadence that he longer for. The news reports reported that the septic explosion was completely unforseeable and Prilly’s family received a substantial settlement from the Wrongful Death case.