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Schneider Aventinus, Germany All Up in This Mix like a 30 Year’s War.

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This USED to be a top 100 beer, first world problems.

Schnieder Aventinus, Weizenbock/Doppelbock, 8.2% abv

A: It has a deep brown amber almost brown ale color with a certain muddiness to it. The bottle conditioning yields tiny bubbles with almost no lacing. It’s pretty legit for how widely available it is, not unlike Snow’s first album.

S: Sweet figs, brown sugars, roasted oats, and some dark fruits similar to a Belgian tripel. It reminds me of how Miller Boyett productions would always link their shows together like how Harriett worked with Larry and Balki and then Steve crash landed in Wisconsin at the Lambert’s backyard. It is an example of canonical cohesion is what I am trying to say.

This beer is good and delivers in a simple refreshing way. You know what I am saying.

T: There is an almost tart sweetness at the forefront. The bubbles are tingly and almost sour with the dark fruits coming through like a deep burnt wheat finish. It is strange how many genres this covers without being a strange cuvee of some sort. The dark fruits are still present but its is almost more blackberry or a sweet pecan syrup taste to it. IHOP ALL UP IN THIS BITCH.

M: The mouthfeel has some good coating but with a strange tingliness to it. This is not a light wheat beer finish but it is not heavy similar to a dunkelweisen or a thin porter, it has a strange distinct nature to it. It is likely perfect for the style, but essentially I am not a huge fan of this style I suppose or perhaps I am just uneducated with regards to the variety of examples of this type of beer. That being said, this is still a delicious beer but I would have a hard time pairing this effectively given its strange hybrid of sweetness and tartness. You want to invite her to one of your friends, but she’s all into slam poetry and weird shit so you have to abstain.

This beer delivers. I ain't even mad though.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable but seems more suited for fall weather than long sessions in any form of hot weather. The sugars aren’t overly filling like a Belgian tripel but the strange crispness doesn’t make it bothersome. I couldn’t take on more than a pint of this but it was an enjoyable fleeting experience.

Narrative: Gretchen Dulceberg’s candy business was in dire straights. For starters, opening a confectionary boutique in rural Utah was bound to cause some problems with the Mormon populace. Second, the recession hit the gourmet fusion sweets market especially hard. The average blonde haired blue eyes Utahite would saunter in with a sweet tooth for a simple Snickers or a Chic-O-Stick and be welcomed with Truffled Cocoa with dried ahi tuna or muddled marshmellow foam imbued with beef stock marrow. The price of Gretchen’s goods would leave a sour taste in the mouth of the most proper Latter Day Saint. Ultimately, Ms. Dulceberg’s sweet tooth was too obtuse for the average Mormon, but in Dresden, this place would have been a dunklesmash.

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Stone Belgo Anise Russian Imperial Stout, the notorious “Worst Stone Beer Ever Made” culprit.

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Good and plenty's burning holes in my face.

A while back I caused a stir when I asked people their least favorite beer of 2011, I feel that this beer was the overwhelming winner, although I still feel that the Mikkeller Peat Barrel Black Hole nightmare was the worst, ho hum, here you go.

Stone Belgo Anise Imperial Russian Stout 10.6% abv

A: Deep motor oil black with no light opaque tones, not the deepest black I have seen but the coating lets you know that it has a huge malt to it. Mocha colored head with lacing that sticks to the glass. So far so good, now for the smell-

S: The anise is light and reminiscent of a sweeter licorice like a box of good and plentys. There is chocolate and some cocoa dryness to it. it’s like the lovely Stone IRS with an angry dark demon living inside of it. Why did this interloping licorice jerk have to show up? Many tears are shed into Hello Kitty diaries over this mishap.

Not even hipster excuses can make anise palatable.

T: The licorice is present in a strange resonant way. It imparts a sweetness with the Belgian sugar at the front that is really present and then rides the palate not unlike Ginuwine’s pony throughout. The coffee supports the tail end of it and the chocolate notes are suspiciously absent.

M: The mouthfeel isn’t as thick as I was bracing myself for and it is a better beer as a result. The dryness from all of the complex herbal notes really makes this interesting and crisp. It feels like an imperial black ale with all the hops and grassy notes happening but the complexity is certainly welcome. I cannot imagine how they are breaking even on such an exceptional beer for $5.99 a bottle.

So I didn't like the anise, come at me bro.

D: This is incredibly drinkable, and not in a cop out “for an imperial stout” sort of way, it is just flat out good. The abv is there, the taste supports it, it isn’t overly filling, you can put it away without chewing the inside of your mouth off due to dryness. Just a total package present in a ridiculous inexpensive format. As a caveat, everything that I enjoy about this beer is present in the Stone IRS in a better way, this beer is only redeemed because it is technically a Stone IRS at heart. The anise is horrible.

Narrative: “Rinse, gargle, spit.” The adolescents that visit Raven Perchmoor D.D.S.’s “Bastion of Oral Hygenicide” never really knew what they were in for. The Misfits played nonstop at levels that were uncomfortable even for 13 year old discretion. “And from when thine recalcitrant dental alignment was once begot, now BEGONE!” Dr. Perchmoor chanted as he tightened the bands deftly on the aching face of a My Chemical Romance fan. Some would consider his practice unorthodox, notwithstanding the gargoyles and dry ice buckets bubbles upon entry. However, he did accept HMO insurance and his work was nothing short of amazing. “And you are absolutely sure the ZOOM whitening is your choice? To cast out the vilest intentions of foul stains and the reproach of plaque and murky taint?” “Uh…yes?” He threw the oversized switch and watched the laser burn away the darkness, much to the chagrin of the macabre dentist.

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The Bruery Tart of Darkness, Uh oh, more puns from the Bruery.

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Joseph Conrad said there'd be puns like this.

Bruery Tart of Darkness Sour Stout, 5.5% abv

A: It has a deep black hue with cola colors at the edges. Mild carbonation with tiny bubbles and no lacing. Put that Marciano dress away, nothing to get all Anne Klein over, just an average outing.

S: Some malt but mostly sweet dark grapes with souring and vinegar notes. The last finish has a tiny bit of cocoa but the vinous notes override. It’s like a blacksploitation film set in a vineyard, strange but you enjoy it.

It is lighthearted but still menacing, like this stupid asshole.

T: What a crazy merging venn diagram. It initially starts out with a huge tart almost gueze sourness to it. There are notes of tannins, grape skins, and sour black cherries. The final taste has this transition chocolate maltiness to it. It feels like when a Transformer goes from something bizarre like a bidet into a crazy cyborg.

M: The mouthfeel is nothing like the traditional stout in that it imparts a huge dryness and has none of the coating that you traditionally associate with a non-imperial stout. It performs so strong in the tart category the stout shows up brazenly at the end of each sip. Again, just a really strange finish overall.

It feels high class, but strangely approachable.

D: This feels like eating ahi tuna and ice cream concurrently. There is a huge enjoyability to it, however, the fact that it straddles two divergent styles makes it sacrifice a purely drinkable experience. However, this might just be me being curmudgeonous and oppositional to change.

Narrative: Walter Chambers wasn’t the best pharmacy technician. He wasn’t the best mortician either. Somehow it was his relentless work ethic that kept him powering through both occupations day in and day out. After a solid 3 hours of sleep, he would saunter in, smelling of formaldehyde, dark circles under his eyes. “Yeah, car…car problems and…so did we get that Abilify shipment come in?” His dark wrinkled suit had strange stringent notes that wafted through the CVS pharmacy. “WALTER!” He snapped out of a brief nap and realized that he could see his breath in the ice cold body preparation room. “Walter, I told you to prep the gauze wrap and you go off for a sno-” Walter slipped back into blackness.

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Bell’s Black Note Imperial Stout, the panacea of Michigan winters.

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Oh shit, Black Note strip tease:

You dirty stouttease.

I'm no picture, dont leave me hanging.

It's like that scene where they open the Ark of the Covenant.

I can’t hype this beer anymore than the beer community already has so I will let the brewery tell you what this little asshole is:

“One of the most sought-after stouts in Bell’s history, Black Note Stout blends the complex aromatics of Expedition Stout with the velvety smooth texture of Double Cream Stout and ages the combination in freshly retired oak bourbon barrels for months. The resulting harmony of flavors captures the finest features of all three components: malty notes of dark chocolate, espresso & dried fruits, all buoyed by the warmth and fragrance of the bourbon barrel. Aimed squarely at the stout and bourbon aficionados, Black Note makes a grand statement about the art of the dark. ”

So yeah, I had to pull some tawdry Craigslist endeavors to land that tiny 8oz bottle. Dont ask.

A: Deep, jet black motor oil with low viscosity. This has some mild carbonation, but, I obtained this bottle from less than official means, so that carbonation might be lacking due to transit and/or transfer, notwithstanding the bubbles are a deep coffee brown with nice Yuban coating.

MOAR.

S: There are fantastic notes of coffee, light whiskey, bourbon, oak, huge chocolate, a mild vanilla that fades into toffee. Overall there is a mild heat that is wrapped in a great sweetness. The end of the nose is almost like a bourbon quad with deep pitted fruits and figs. The whole bouquet is one of the best that I have ever come across, no punchlines here.

T: This is a world-class stout. The heat is present and comes first with a warming dryness to the sweet zones, it subsides into a light hoppiness that is hand and hand with the coffee and sweet milk chocolate notes. It is incredibly pleasant throughout and doesn’t overpower on any one aspect and the coating is such that the taste lingers but doesn’t aggressively overstay its welcome. It’s really difficult to come across jokes to describe what is clearly such an incredible stout, BUT I WILL TRY.

It took a lot of activation energy to land this beer, but I feel like a noble gas having had it.

M: The mouthfeel is impressive and doesn’t wipe out your palate on either an alcohol basis or sweetening basis. The balance is like those dubious 13 year old chinese gymnasts. While the carbonation was lacking, it didn’t detract from the overall experience because the beer is simply meant to be sipped and savored so the minimal crackling on the lips is forgiveable, like Jehova’s Witness pamphlets during the last two minutes of your NFL game.

D: This is dangerously drinkable for 11.5% abv stout, and not just for my jaded ass palate. I am sure the average Tri-Delt could put away a few of these if cajoled with enough peer pressures (read: cocaine.) But seriously, getting murdered for just 8oz is particularly cruel when the end product is not a let down. The whole beer is a libation that lives and dies in the winter realm, just warms me up and lights a fire in the hearth of my heart. It’s a little chocolate Lord Byron for me to caress and whisper pre-enlightenment phrases to. SHIT IS BOMB.

Is this stout dope all up in my domepiece? I am positive.

Narrative: To the rest of the world, Max Davidoff was a mild mannered high school chemist. Sure his Ford Focus was nothing to look at, and his wry stoiciometry humor was nothing to write home about, but his basement held wonders that would suspend all disbelief. After years and years of testing, he had finally identified what could only be identified as the Chocoromeda Strain in his tattered notebooks. The neighbors stared in disbelief as the hazmat crews cleared the home and brandished geiger counters with solemn reverence. It was simply not man’s place to tamper with the substrata of the chocolate world. The makeup of chocolate was too dear to be trifled with, but Mr. Davidoff would not listen. The chocolate detonation took place at 11:51 p.m. on Wednesday April 24, 2010. The neighbors ran from their KB track homes to find a murky current of liquid mahogany bubbling from the foundation of the home. The air was redolent of chocolate not unlike a single 42 year old secretary’s home while watching the latest Kutcher offering. The chocomatrix had torn Mr. Davidoff’s frame limb from limb, but leaving him in conscious control of the deep heat and bubbly stratum. A series of unsolved bank robberies evidenced that the perpetrator clearly liked chocolate, but would the local police every believe that the robber HIMSELF WAS CHOCOLATE. “Say cheese and die motherfucker,” Mr. Davidoff quipped a dusty R.L. Stein reference just before he claimed his final victim, the school superintendent. Those new microscopes were pretty fucking important and summarily denied. But revenge is a dish best served like chocolate fondue.

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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.”