DOUBLE RUSSIAN RIVER WHALE REVIEW: Toronado 20 and Deviation, At the same damn time

February 25, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

In honor of everyone rubbing their yeastclits on their bedposts over Plineyyy the Yerngerrrr, I figured I would finally knock out reviews for two of the white whale Russian River bangers: T20 and Deviation. One was a one off brewed in 2007 for Toronado, another was a one off brewed in 2009 for Bottleworks. One is still delicious, another one tastes like if you left Consecration in a Toyota Corolla in Tucson for 3 months. WHICH IS WHICH? We find out in today’s whaley review.

Oh shit, if you feel like reading about other SUPER RUSSIEN RIVER RARIEITIES, check out this Russian River Depuration review or if you just joined the beer game in 2012, here is a review of Pliney the Younger for you to stroke it to, since you are probably still in your hophead phase

That is Depuration, I just left it in the cooler next to some silver bullets for a couple months.

Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
Style | ABV
American Wild Ale | 6.83% ABV (dat hundredths place value hnnnggg)

In celebration of Bottleworks 9th Anniversary, we are proud to present Deviation – a beer unique in every sense. This remarkable blend combines the oak aged diversity of PHI, Orphan Ale, and Sonambic Ale with 100% Brettanomyces Ale (Sanctification) and is bottle conditioned with additional Brettanomyces. Thanks Vinnie. Your beer is a testament to the art of deviation. 6.83%

Your buddy probably opened a T25 at one of your tastings and thought he was hard as fuck, putting up 8 plates, flexing wild ale lats on offshelf zumba tickers.

Toronado 20th anniversary
abv 10.4%

The Toronado blend was 5 different beers blended together disproportionately:

1. Belgian style Quadruple aged in Firestone Walker (used) Double Barrel Ale barrels
2. Belgian style Strong Dark Ale – batch A in red wine barrels
3. Belgian style Strong Dark Ale – batch B in red wine barrels
4. Belgian style Pale Ale aged in wine barrels with Brett
5. Sonambic 100% spontaneously fermented ale – this was used to add acidity to the beer.

A: Let’s just get this out of the way right now, T20 is starting to get those oxy stretch marks on its thighs, looking a bit turbid and muddy in its old age, that wispy carb still holding up, albeit oldman strong. The robey tones are still intact over all these years, but it has seen better days. Deviation still looks fucking beautiful and has a certain grace and coquettish radiance that makes it more lustworthy than even fresh bottles of Temptation. The carb held up beatuifully and there was light lacing at the edges showing its virile life still pumping deep in those acidic veins. These pics suck shit because I didn’t feel like setting up a lightbox for some neckbeard enjoyment. I do this site as a favor to the boring ass beer world and tickers should be thankful I haven’t moved on to POV porn at this point.

Pictured above, the last 21 person tasting T20 was opened at

S: The t20 is still intensely acidic with cranberry, currant, red wine tannins, merlot, huge acidic blackberry cab and a oaky musk. The musk is delivered in equal parts with a touch of oxygenation that is mildly cloying, but its too fucking big to be held down, like trying to spot your buddy who presses more than you squat, them tannic shreds throb hard and move weight. Deviation is a fucking intensely bright acid flashbang to the face. Take Zomer and ramp up the acidity, that lemon rind, cantaloupe, pears, musky brett, intense Slush Puppy acidity like a lemon lime detonation to the senses. It smells phenomenal albeit completely overboard, not in an acetic fashion, just aggressive in every aspect, zero hint of oxy or age on this. S.S. Indefatigable just sailing them seas with a proud ph2 stern.

sometimes things from the past return only to fuck your world up

T: T20 is a fucking disappointment top to bottom. That is not to say that it isn’t worth drinking, I mean, it is still a competent and well blended beer. It’s more like seeing that late 30s bartender who is all salty and jaded and you can imagine what a Kelly Kapowski dime piece she used to be. This was probably a complex decadent treat, now the oxy sets in like crows feet making it seem like a dysfunctional Consecration. There is currant and tart cherry but again, it is like a coovie of some old ass bottles of Rodenbach. Deviation is a vast departure from this model and holds up like those 1960’s Ferraris that are still graceful and will land you knee deep in the vaj. The lemon and intense oak, chardonnay, anjou pear, hay, old storage locker, and amped up Goozie notes. One of the best American Wild Ales that I have ever tasted this side of DDG and Cable Car 09.

bragging about drinking rare bottles of sugar water? Alpha detected.

M: T20 is still a massive beast, drying with an intense dryness that gushes like that fourth week of Lilith Fair. It is both hefty in mouthfeel and closing, but has a sort of dry depth to it that makes it incredibly drinkable. The ABV slides up behind your palate with a prison shank and puts in work on the bitter zones. Deviation is intensely dry, no reparations are given, antebellum south destruction to your gumline and tart zones. Go watch a Ken Burns documentary and eat an entire bag of Shocktarts and you will know the depths of the cankersores this can cause. Despite the rampant abuse, I come back for more, it’s like when I got all into cock fingering that one summer, all stretched out in self effacing pleasure.

Thinking about landing one of these? Prepare to deal with some shit and shit accessories

D: T20 is incredibly drinkable, albeit slightly lackluster. I can’t really condone trading for this other than showing your thick meaty trader labias, dropping meat curtains on your tasting crew, those rare 2007 folds all weathered and undesirable. Tickers gonna tick. Deviation however, holy hell it is intensely delicious, amazing top to bottom, well worth the cost of entry and, most importantly, I cannot think of any readily available analog to this unique beast. Seek this out if you can, rally all those bottles of Backyard and Petit Mutant you can rally and cast them upon the funeral pyre with calm suttee to join your tastebuds in the afterlife. It is dro as fuck, red hairs, no stems no seeds, yayo weighed dry without being stepped on.

Narrative: read the foregoing 1000 words and finger your butthole in the shower with an Axe loofa.

reviewing them nostalgic old whale ticks, high off that juice

O’So/Funk Factory, Dweller on the Threshold, Staying Turnt up Don’t Turn Down for Nothing

February 24, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

Alright full disclosure: Funk Factory owner, Levi Funk, is my roll dog. Notwithstanding, in true DDB form, I will still give him triple digit penetration on a trill 900 word banger review. This is a collaboration between FF and O’So of that Goldilocks fame. That 450 (?) bottle swagger, staying on like Porsche lights in the hood.

Yah trick YAH.

Funk Factor/ O’so Brewing Company & Tap House
Wisconsin, United States
Style | ABV
American Wild Ale | 5.25% ABV

Lol first and foremost, I want to point the differences between the Ratebeer and BA descriptions of this beer:

A: This pours a deep burnt orange and light amber like that fossilized sap that them Jurassic Park bugs be layin in. There is a light carb that wisps and crackles like a ground bloomer and dissipates quickly. The lacing is insubstantial and settles to a gentle ring sitting on those 808 sour drums, bouncing hard. There is a light turbid aspect to it, not sick clarity, but not out of place in the current American Wild game. More gold than Trinidad James posted up on Rosecrans.

Lovin that cheesiness, plus this beer isn’t even racist at all.

S: This is my favorite aspect of this beer and the olfactory is outright phenomenal. There is a light musk, orange rind, wet bicycle seat on that Brooks trill, there is a some oak and lemon zest with crush yard trimmings left in the rain and a subtle tannic finish. I could sit under a railway underpass and huff this hard, all day long just musking it. It is one of the most Belgianesque waft I have encountered on this side of the Atlantic, straight Doesjel flows.

Sometimes the homage mirrors the source material in awesome new iterations.

T: This opens with a sharp acidity with a grapefruit dryness that comes across as slightly acetic at low temps. Let me qualify that, I don’t mean acetic like excoriating Small Animal Big Machine, I mean a light sharpness akin to Grand Funk Aleroad or a balanced Oud Bruin, if you know how it gets throwed. This tastes like a a coovee of Cable Car 2010 and Doesjel. There is one foot on the American Wild side of the argument but a compelling musk and leathery goodness that you could sip up in the attic just breathing in that funky particulate matter. The cheesy closer is a perfect compliment to the acidic body and contributes to sky high drinkability.

M: The mouthfeel is a bit disappointing due to carb levels that don’t have that Pop Rocks crackle along the gumline, however, this Killer Instinct combos up the drinkability. So it takes with one hand and jerks you off with the other, so not a bad deal altogether. The chardonnay oak is restrained and, unlike many other American wilds with that apeshit ph2 shit, this is restrained and exhibits balance in this regard and you don’t want away with GERD after drilling a 750ml. Chopper in the bushes, goozie in the tree, this wild wont light up your chest like E.T.

D: As noted above, the gentle carb and judicious distribution of acidity makes this exceptionally crushable. I killed the entire 750ml in 2 rounds of Battlefield 4 and I don’t even die that much SO IMAGINE HOW FAST THAT IS SRS. Highly croosh, soft and prickly like some Koosh.

supes croosh ultra amber koosh

Narrative: The trains to Brussels clipped along the railway gently, providing a slight rock to the interior cabin. The passing telephone poles passed with metronomic rhythm. Angel Walters pulled the chamber back on his .45 Desert Eagle and examined the chrome inner workings, dropping the gilded clip into his palm. The forthcoming mission would not change the world, but it was a daring initiative. Agent Walters, also known as Ph3, was charged with obtaining the microfiche from the Belgian Embassy of Internal Compliance. Belgian exports usually surrounded gourmand items of old world decadence, but these schematics held the nuclear cellular makeup of an intensely powerful microbe: The Sennebug. The United States needed to obtain the biodata on this local fauna as all synthetic attempts to recreate it in a lab had failed. If the Sennebug were unleashed on a crowd of Pittsburgh tailgaters, the effects could be devastating. Lowered pilsner consumption, introspection, sores along the gumline, reduced birth rates, and increased literacy levels. Agent Ph3 needed to prevent this at all costs, but for now, chocolate and a gentle snooze while riding the rails.

Cantillion (Cantellen) Jean Chris Nomad, Enjoy this beer while watching Timecop or Bloodsport

February 21, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

Oh shit bringing more muscles from Brussels, them Kentellen one-offs seeing what french people are doing to copy American wile ales, and all those timeworn bits of levity. So everyone became a hilarious Ray Romano overnight making jokes about this being a fake bottle. BECAUSE I SAW A THREAD ABOUT IT TWO YEARS AGO ITS STILL FUNNY RIGHT. Jokes in the beer world are like the Yo Mama levity of the schoolground that fades far after the beers themselves. Anyway, this is a real bottle, crisp N edges, rounded corners, all that shit. Oh well, hater tickers gonna hate, I let my bottles hang somethin like my Jesus piece.

Let’s pop this goozie, after 4 bottles of sour these hater tickers start feeling woozy.

Spraying the mack, extendo goozie clips in the back on the lap

Brasserie Cantillon v

Belgium

Style | ABV
Gueuze | 6.00% ABV

The third in a series of beers made for the Mi-Orge Mi-Houlbon beer store in Belgium and Jean Le Chocolatier chocolate shop. A blend of 1, 2 and 3 year old Cantillon lambic from Red Bordeaux, White Bordeaux and Cotes de Rhone barrels.

A: This has a graceful clarity to it and that eggshell head that sticks around and lingers for days like lemon merengue giving that classic goozie cling on the edges with the finest microcarb that you could ask for. The silky carb sits gently with a frothy collar like them Vivid pearl necklaces, graceful and top tier stickiness. Beautiful beer top to bottom, I keep red bones up in Belgium to watch these sour barrels twerk.

“I got a pour of Cantillon once at a Beerfest, I am practically an online certified beer server. JCN prolly tastes the saem.”

S: God damn this is a musky beast. For anyone who can’t tell the difference between normal classic and this, or the age old “WE DID THEM BLIND AND CLASSIC IS BETTER LOL!” then those tickers aint on this Radio Rahim shit. This is a far cry from classic in many ways, most notably, this beer is simply more gentle across the board and funky for days. This has a huge leathery lemony waft that gives that attic full of tepid dust where you used to hide them Hustlers at, full musky muff on that late 80s jam. The gruyere and cheese is mixed seamlessly with the chardonnay oak. It isn’t exceedingly lactic but seems the most “traditional” execution of the classic style, ironically more so than Classic itself. I OWN A FUCKING TIME MACHINE OK I HAVE HAD FRESH GOOZIES DURING THE REFORMATION AND THE ENLIGHTENMENT. You ever sip geueueuze with Robert of Orange and burn protestants? I didn’t fuckin think so.

T: This again is just a paradigm of balance, straight Yoshi in Mario Kart of the goozie world. If you have a blunted american palate that loves Upland Kiwi lambic and like your sours like a communications major (one dimensional, sour faced and cantankerous) you will find this to be lacking simply due to the delayed payoff and nuance. The cheesiness just lingers with a lightly herbal oakiness and this prickly gentle tartness that is restrained and gives you just enough to allow the musk and funk and wet comic books to do their thing. It is certainly tart, but more like the restrained lines of a 911, it is endemic to the grace and poise of control and stability over time. This might be my favorite Cantelleon one off to date, certainly better than 50n and rivals Helena with cool stability.

The musk, funk, and ratchet acidity in this beer is a powerful combo, if you can comprehend it.

M: This has a wonderful creaminess that coats despite the bone dry finish. The white wine doesn’t come through in a ham handed way, it is the keystone that supports an arch of musk and funk that unites the experience from coming across like them mid-2000s Fantomes. It is multifaceted and lingers along the gumline like sharp cheddar that slight bitterness and muskiness parting the red sea like spreading some Louboutins.

D: This is the most drinkable Kentaleon that I have had this side of 2008 LP Kriek, but for different reasons. The appeal of the fruitiness from the LPK stunts hard on the muskiness and balance to this. This doesn’t stunt hard with that sharp acidic nose like an Aventador, it is more nuanced but packs a certain grace and poise like an Aronofsky film. If you don’t get it, people will shake their heads and make you feel like a dipshit. You probably deserve it, this beer is phenomenal and most tickers are on that Romcom game, that offshelf Ryan Reynolds game.

Some people prefer bigger execution, that just isn’t my steelo.

Narrative: Patroclus Invixus wasn’t the most impresive magician in the Boise Illusionists Guild. He was not known for over the top escape acts, he never cut an assistant in half with a blade, hell he never even attempted to perform low level sleigh of hand. Where Patroclus was lacking in pageantry and showmanship, he excelled in simplicity and amazing feats of illusion that even the most noteworthy could not solve. His soft amarillo jacket glowed under the rosy hue of the magic club as he awaited his turn to perform his act. He took the stage with a meek confidence, his stability inspiring confidence from the Wednesday contingency. “And you sir,” he began “were you not deeply affected by being struck by birch switches as a youth?” he questioned one unsuspecting man. The man was deeply affected by the sheer balance and insight that the Mr. Invixus had presented. He had a penetrating depth and subtle execution that left everyone nodding in cool reverence for the power that is exhibited in moderation. Patroclus took a small sip from his limoncello and paired it with some semi-soft goat cheese; a modest celebration for a man of incomparable depth.

1981 Bellevue Gueuze, The Worst Thing I Have Ever Put Inside my Body

February 9, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

Not every trade is a success. Sometimes you go hard in the paint with a 4:1 and end up with a bottle of oxy sugarwater. Such are the trials and tribulations of a ticker deep in the game, rubbing dregs on gums, looking for the next big hit, a bump of a new discrete potation to keep the blood pumping in the shaft. This is the DDB game. Today’s review is the clearest example of abject failure and stands as statuary adorned with laurels to the worship of the demi-god of failed trades. Myrrh and frankincense roasting at the altar of failed bilateral exchanges, bile and rotten liquid hatefully bubbling in tiny green vessels for upwards of 33 years, awaiting their baleful release upon the unwilling palates of modern combatants. Horrible shit, top to bottom in today’s review, and it enjoys the prestige of dethroning THE WORST BEER THAT I PREVIOUSLY HAD EVER TASTED, ENGINEERED BY MIKKELLER

Lets lay prostrate and accept the whippings in today’s review, there will be goozies.

Abandon all hope ye who trade for these

Formerly brewed at Belle-Vue
Style: Lambic Style – Gueuze
Sint-Pieters-Leeuw, Belgium
5.2% abv

A: Just look at this shit and ask yourself how much you hate your body. Do you harbor secret guilt for things you did in high school? To what extent do you revile your past actions and forthcoming shortcomings? The sum of these chambers must be excessive to want to put yourself though this one. The cap was not rusted, the bottle was in “perfect” condition in the way that Peter North is perfectly engineered for destroying vaginas. This pours a muddy, depressing pond-water/Skoal dip cup look to it. If you add water to Nestle Quik, you will be on this 1981 oxy game. The carb is there like an opening band for Gwar, you know shit is about to get violent and real very quickly. Only those who have endured a 4 Taco Bell item evening will know this look in the morning, those splattered viscous browns and siltbed khakis. The venom of soiled bedsheets and Fedex exchanges gone awry.

This beer is so horrible that it stays with you for life, redistributing its terror on a semi-regular basis

S: This might be the worst smell that I have ever encountered from anything set forth as beer. It ranks well in the top 10 worst smells and I have been to the LA Morgue. In fact the petulant fermldyhyde wafts up first, coming across as hugely astringent for a mild 5% abv romp in the chemical burn tank. Next comes the smell of rotting fruits in hot summer air, like wandering through orchards well after harvest, a deep gagging produce decay that sets the stage of a Land O Lakes nightmare. Butter, everywhere. Shameful butter engaging your pets in the most repressed discourse that you dont even tell your therapist about. The grease profile is like the kitchen of a Peruvian C-rated restaurant, hefty and coating the insides of your nose with a weight of undercooked pork belly. Finally the putrid green apple closer, like Jolly Ranchers that went through the laundry in a load of nothing but menstruated thongs. Decadent in its filth and profound in putrid depth.

T: For accuracy, I could only drink about 3 ounces of this, and I tried really. fucking. hard. The smells are transmuted into a tangible taste but further elaborate upon themselves like fucked up Brony fanfiction. It takes the model of things you want to appreciate and scrawls perverse diacetyl penises on the finest Baroque art. The initial taste is akin to the waft you get when your garbage disposal acts up, this filthy gurgling of old coffee bean acidity and ground up old bananas. The grease profile is slick in the mouth and this beer is not tart, not at all. There is a green apple butter pecan aspect that would be mildly acceptable if it wasn’t dipped in shortening and bacon runoffs. I can scarcely recognize this as a beer, it reminds me more of a fear inducing potion crafted by a second grader when left to his own devices under the kitchen sink. How can a beer beer both greasy and astingent? How does it hit the inner wall of the cervix with a filthy heat while still holding the crest of Planned Parenthood landfill? Burnt hair and unrolled condoms mixed with pruno from cellblock C cannot touch the depths of this misery. All this and I only had 3 ounces. I tried, I really did. I almost vomited, not in the hyperbolic DDB style, like a glaring autobiography of a hobby taken too far, gagging at each sip, flaying myself for a passion and the amusement of my readers. The purest dedication to this endeavor, pinnacle and zenith of all that is shame inducing actions.

the depths of the horror of this beer are derp altering.

M: This is greasy and heavy, then burns off like dirty diesel into a wafty buttered popcorn coating that lingers. The patient molest of your palate comes in waves, each more disturbing, no solace is provided as you are administering this unto yourself. The calm shame of your first masturbatory experiment coupled with a greasy facepalm that the longest 8th grade sick day cannot rival. These are the bottles that you hang your head and mumble the experience while avoiding eye contact. There is no acme of ticker pride, it is the crestfallen morning after where you realize you just impregnated a Samoan shemale, and this is your life here on out.

D: This is derivative, no words exist in English parlance to set forth how undrinkable this is. I cannot even bring myself to write a narrative about how horrible this beer is and recounting this experience is a mild PTSD experience where I lock my jaw and shake my head thinking how much a toll this horrible hobby has taken on me. I gave up Armand and Tomme, Loonz, and Zwazne glassware for this, just thinking of those bottles and looking at this pour, coating the insides of my tulip, mocking me, pressing its 33 year old cock against my bus window. I am mocked and I deserve it. Curiosity killed the cat and tickcuriosity raped my palate. A formidable changing experience on every level.

This beer is complete garbage pail discharge from the same era.

Narrative: I cannot contribute another 300 words after all of the foregoing. I did my best, but even I have my limits. Avoid at all costs, it will change you immesurably, like being jumped in by three rival gangs only to be rebuffed by each at the conclusion. It is without question the worst beer that I have ever tasted in my life, and I am forever marked as a result.

BREAKING NEWS: Pliny the Younger Declared Incredibly Rare, VINNIE CILURZO stands in OWN LINE FOR HOURS FOR A MERE TASTE

February 7, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

As if today hadn’t seen enough hard-hitting, solar plexus shattering news, DDB HAS AN EXCLUSIVE BREAKING STORY BROUGHT TO YOU BY CBS SAN FRANCISCO:

http://sanfrancisco.cbslocal.com/2014/02/07/pre-dawn-swarm-hits-santa-rosa-brewery-to-sample-rare-pliny-the-younger/

According to the video and article, co-owner and brewery founder Vinnie Cilurzo is ecstatic to try his own beer; so much so that he stood in line outside his own establishment, despite having keys, for over 8 hours just to taste Pliny the Younger.

If you thought Zwanze was rare, imagine not even being able to taste your OWN BEER AS THE BREWER: that is how limited this precious potation truly is.

The article even interviews an early 20’s Vinnie Cilurzo in the video, showing his enthusiasm for a beer that he has brewed for years, seemingly since before he could legally drink based upon the footage provided.

The article goes on to add:

“It’s supposed to be some of the best,” said Vinnie Cilurzo, who was first in line at 6:45 a.m. Friday. “We’ve been standing here since about 11 p.m. the night prior.”

I don’t see Patrick Rue standing in line to try Wineification, to try this TRIPLE IPA YOU GOTTA GO BALLS TO THE WALL IN RARITY. This is a clear example of a growing inability for brewers to be able to taste their own beer, making them resort to standing in lines or trading with customers, often switching places at the cash register to organize traders with the customers themselves. A truly epic day indeed.

The article closes with very sage words from the traditionally modest Cilurzo:

“Get it while you can, definitely,” said Cilurzo.”

UPDATE: CBS San Francisco has just been awarded a fact checking journalism award for their exemplary work on this piece. A magnificent day for beer and telecommunications at large.

GUIZE: Huffington Post Decided that THE MIDWEST HAS SOME OF THE MIGHT BE BEST BEERS PERHAPS TRIED

February 7, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

I will allow you a moment to go obtain the permits for a fallout shelter, as the most hard-hitting beer journalism is about to detonate in and around your face area:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/06/best-beers-midwest-ratebeer_n_4739775.html?utm_hp_ref=chicago&ir=Chicago

OH SHIT THE CORONATION OF A NEW ARMAND. Brewers not located in land-locked flyover states: time to fucking quit immediately. You lost, no more quarters, exit the ale arcade, the Midwest scooped up all them chips.

Since HuffPost wants you to link every single one of your media accounts to interact with their shitty message board, here is my comment I attempted to leave:

“Nice use of qualifiers throughout the piece. “OFFICIALLY” like who was the official who certified this? Ratebeer? Are they officials with certification powers? “HAS SOME” oh, like more than a single discrete unit of “best beer” so basically anywhere that has NONE of the best beer is excluded from this public interest piece, “THE BEST BEERS IN THE WORLD” by style? Rating? I guess anything can be hard hitting journalism if you paint with a wide enough brush. Your article then goes on to list 4 midwest beers among what 11 other styles from other non-midwest areas, lambics and belgians largely unaddressed. I was going to address your reader base, then I read the first comment on this article:

“Founder’s KBS goes for around $40 a 12 oz. bottle on eBay, or $10 a bottle when they have it. They only release a few kegs a year…I hear it’s phenomenal!”

And it was clear to me you are doing your job churning derivative commentary works to people who know very little about beer with a decorative trojan horse headline.

I don’t even know why I am bothering with this aggregate content, this article posits nothing new and serves to simply clutter newsfeeds, grab low hanging page views, and spawn more moronic cicerone afficionados crowding a teeming market of limited resources. Maybe write an article about that.”

Huffington Post is dripping with sticky beer news, in 2016 expect an exposee on a new beer THAT COMES IN A CAN: HEADEY TOPPLER.

I am not one to talk since DDB has more padding than a Zumba class, but at least there is some context given, a realm of qualifiers to place some tastes intersubjectively within parameters that can be apprehended. But critiquing people’s BA or RB reviews is a fool’s errand. 99.999% of beer review blogs contribute very little to the beer scene and are merely a podium to address a limited “audience” of friends and family who know Uncle Jerry as their BEER GUY: HE’S AN EXPERT HE HAS A WEB SPACE, ITS A PAGE WITH REVIEWS. He brought a BEER WITH A CORK LIKE CHAMPAGNE TO THANKSGIVING!

DDB is comparing himself to other beer sites again? BRB going to sleep, not giving any fucks.

Tom Tarry is the Beer Czar of the Interwebs

February 4, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

You do not fuck with Tom Tarry. I know you are probably thinking “who in the name of taint sweat is Tom Tarry?” oh, I don’t know JUST THE SWOLEST FLEXER IN THE RESULTS GROUP:

http://www.showswithresults.com/About-Us.html

If I have learned one thing recently, Tom Tarry will kick your nutsack inside out and turn it into a nice set of inverted ovaries if you attempt to talk shit on any of his beer events. Last week, FujonTap posted a satirical post calling out shitty beerfests:

I love shitty, generic, cookie cutter beer festivals.

In the original post, he used a photo that is ultra-copyrighted, def. not subject to fair use, completely private jpeg that wasn’t even available for viewing by everyone on the entire fucking internet. Except it was. Despite this, Tom Tarry turned off his Scandal marathon and hit the streets for some serious n0x litigation pumps and posted this:

OH SHIT THE MIC HAS BEEN DROPPED SO HARD THAT IT HAS EMP’ed ALL OTHER MICS IN EXISTENCE

Needless to say, the owner of the company that hosts shitty beer events anomalously has a shitty sense of humor. The congruence is noteworthy. At first blush, you know Tom Tarry is a hard as fuck computer hacker because he tells you that he “took a photograph” of the webpage. I would like to imagine him fumbling for his Jitterbug and flipping open the 1.2mp camera. Maybe that’s why I like Jitterbug as a company:

One bag of Werther’s Originals included with each phone.

Now, I don’t know how to business, or even do event, but I am pretty confident that public relations are a large part of advertising, event planning, or whatever these services are:

http://www.showswithresults.com/Services.html

I am pretty sure that trying to put a blog owner in a fully nelson and give his cock and indian burn over using an image might not come across favorably for your company. When I saw the Fuj post I was like “alright, he has a point here” but shit got Ray-Bans levels of realness once Tom Tarry entered casting Ultima and legal lawing so hard. It took a normal blog post into an epic litigation cage match, where one of the dudes happens to come across as the adopted school bully with anger issues. Tarry lights up poor old Fuj and notes “You are an embarrassment to the craft beer industry. Fortunately, you have no followers.” Well guess, what, DDB does. In what pundits are calling the most graceful self-effected cockstomp of recent memory, Tom Tarry now has plenty of exposure for his beer events, none of which you previously gave a single fuck about, largely due to the fact that you aren’t some snow stacking mouthbreather n00b in the beer world.

Peep this event game for a second while I prepare to get sued for linking to Tom Tarry’s event:

http://www.albanywinterbrewfest.com/Index.html

Alright, that acrimonious ass voice you hear? You can’t fucking turn it off. Isn’t that amazing! Man I wish they would loop this voice telling me exactly what I am already reading. SUCH MARKETING. I am confident that in between getting a bite to eat and listening to a blaring Irish band, I will learn quite a bit about craft beer. This single festival will further craft beer immeasurably. When a stone drunk 61 year old collapses in his Albany apartment and settles in for some Totino’s Pizza Rolls and Duck Dynasty without a single memory of what the fuck he just drank, it’s like the birth of the next Jean Van Roy.

I linked this from this Swedish blog, http://kidapusen424.blogg.no/dagen_i_dag_3.html, and now I am currently facing international warrants for my arrest.

I hope it was worth it.

Sadly, I have to hide behind my blog so I can’t attend February 8th’s tryst at the Armory. I am confident that when someone demands to MEET ME LIKE A MAN FACE TO FACE that the discussions are going to be fruitful and nuanced. But do I wear my three-button coat or tails?

At the end of the day, if your business strategy involves coercion, tacit threats, public shaming, displays of unrestrained anger, insults, and baseless accusations: I need you. Tom Tarry, Dontdrinkbeer is just getting its legs but you are just the type of person I need on board here on the editorial staff. The next time I have to field some dipshit emails from someone telling me my glass wasn’t cold enough, we can just set up an informal mediation conference where you man-to-man the fuck out of them. Show them DDB means business.

Also, all of the foregoing is the opinion of DDB, so before Tom Tarry starts lubing up his fleshlight and dreaming of all the litigation splendor that is going to be forthcoming, his camo jetski he will purchase with the settlement proceeds, and all the fanfare attendant thereto, he should talk to his legal counsel. I am not making any statements of fact about his business other than I feel that he is a tactless labiamouth who makes shitty websites which accurately portray his shitty beer festivals. That’s all.

IF YOU WANT TO MEET MAN TO MAN TO DISCUSS THE MERITS OF DEFAMATION LAW AND LIBEL PER SE STANDARDS YOU CAN MEET ME AT THE SHAKEY’S PIZZA IN RIVERSIDE I WILL BE CARRYING MANY LEATHER BOUND TOMES EAGER TO EDUCATE YOUR FACE ABOUT ANTI-SLAPP MOTIONS, SUPPRESSION OF FREE SPEECH, AFFIRMATIVE DEFENSES TO SPURIOUS LITIGATION AND MALICIOUS PROSECUTION UNDER THE DIGITAL MILLENNIUM COPYRIGHT ACT. We will go man on man.

Since Mr. Tarry doesn’t want his photo used, I drew him in MS Paint vomiting on the First Amendment. Now it is art and therefore protected.

2005 East End Gratitude, The Crow That Started It All, I Put a Bird On It

January 18, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

Can a crow be a whale and a bird concurrently? Today’s inquiry delves deep into the nature of identity and anomalous monism. Psyche, we draining blubber, obvi. This is third in line to the lineage of most sought out barleywine after M and Wooden Hell. If you don’t believe me, go ask resident B dub expert Chadquest and he will show you on a ruler how hard this malty rarity gets him attenuated. So this one is the first Gratitude, the OG of the bird crew, 600 bottles from back in the day. I wanted this one to lay another White Whale to rest in a legit manner. Every other pic I had seen to date (1) had been some Juggalo 1oz pours and shit. You deserve better than that. I knew shit was real when I got 3 messages asking for the fucking empty bottle.

Anyway, let’s put a bird on this bitch and ruffle some feathers. One crow short of a murder.

I used to say “no crow no care” well, now it’s time to fucking care.

Brewed by East End Brewing Company
Style: Barley Wine
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania USA
11.5% abv

A: This is that same deep mahogany brown with a slight muddiness after over 8 years of captivity. The sheeting is notable and it has some nice legs that zambonies what minimal carb still exists. The edges have a sort of khaki dirtiness to it, but its like the hot ratchet chick at Coachella all covered in mud that you still wanna get up in them ugly waist high shorts so she has a story to tell her dorm mates when she gets back to Arizona. That kinda shit.

Pictured above: Beer Advocate user finds out that barleywines were made back in 2005

S: This still somehow smells fucking phenomenal. I was expecting some kinda oxy fest, white kids rubbing norco on their gums and listening to Macklemore and shit. No oxy fest to be found. It’s like East End aged this to perfection, abusing the 8 year old on the cellar gradually over time. If you have had this beer fresh this is a completely different experience. The hops have been acid washed out like some Jordache jeans and you are left with this Gloria Vanderbilt refined poise, the alpha acids almost come across as a wood profile, there’s a crisp oaky finish to the nose that compliments the sweet sticky fig/plum/caramelized raisin that reminds me of those Sugar Baby candies, or a Sugar Daddy I guess, if you love the D. This is still distinctively American Barleywine and if you are gonna go this hard, balls deep in the cellar, the English bitches cant stand the test of time, need them cones to snuggle up to on those cold nights, pulling the malty blanket up, peering through that cardboard wondering when its day will come, trying to silently masturbate in them yeasty sheets and not wake up the headmaster. Man that shit went off the rails pretty quickly.

T: This has a traditional sticky toffee, bitter underpinning, some port sherry and milk chocolate aspects to it, but again, the hops give this deceptive ass wood treatment to it because they have mellow to the point of interjecting some resinous complexity to the finish. If you are like me and bitch nonstop about the lack of barrel treatment (to the point of making YOUR OWN VERSION WHAT THE FUCK IS MY PROBLEM) this is the variant for you. I used to say that the 2010 is the perfect balance between hoppy profile and that sticky decadent profile but this is hands down the best vintage, or really any bottle that has this much time on it I guess. The faux american toasted oak from the hops unites the sweet malty malts and gives a platform to keep oxidation at bay.

you may never try the elusive crow, but you probably dont want to be that type of person in the first place.

M: As I noted before, this is a sticky muddy sweet lil minx, but it also has this residual dryness that keeps the bad bitch in check. I won’t say this has some sort of brandy or bourbon treatment to it, but it seems that the FG is far lower, the highs higher, pupils dilated running your face against the gentle crow. The abv is laughably integrated to the point of being a date rape bird, you can’t give consent after schooling this bitch. Triple double no assist, mix that crow and Malibu, call it Malibooya.

D: Exceptionally drinkable, for 11.5% this puts the pussy on the chainwax. 2013 tickers take fat loads on their face to land King Henrys and grat sits on the boards, there is no justice in this world. You can and should merk an entire bottle of Grat to yourself, and you wont feel like some fat shithead on State Disability while you do it. With this, I have tried every variant of Grat, laying birds to rest. The fresh variants are less drinkable, but this in particular goes down easier than a college sophomore with body image issues. Highly recommended, lube your butthole if you are gonna swing at the crow, feathers will be ruffled, jimmes: rustled.

The only wood that this beer was treated on is the furious tiny boners when people see what u about to make tickers eat crow.

Narrative: No one ever said that being a high school senior was easy, particularly not for an archmage living in the confines of Omaha’s suburbs. Bramblestitch Crowly earned a proud lineage in his own world and was unexcelled in alchemy, until a tragic accident sent him to our cruel reality. “HEY BRAMBLEBITCH, nice cloak, is there a NEEDLEDICK RAVE AFTER SCHOOL?!” the young men cajoled at his expense, his talismans clinking in metronomic pace as he walked slowly while thumbing through a calfskin tome with fragile parchment pages. “MR. CROWLY I SUPPOSE YOU FEEL THAT GEOMETRY IS GOING TO WAIT FOR YOU?” Mr. Billingsly boomed as Bramblestitch lowered his head and took his seat in a tiny desk in the back of the oppressive classroom. It was becoming clear that he may never return to his own time, a relic from the past, years beyond his time. Bramblestitch rolled a fresh quartz crystal in his palm, suffering the slings of adolescence, reflecting as to how a Nebraska school system would permit a fucking wizard to be enrolled completely without question.

Since someone asked, Kiwi Pediobear is coming along nicely, stay tuned tickbitches.

FINALLY: The Christian Argument to [DONT] Drink Beer

January 7, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

I am sure both of the DDB readers saw the recent EARTH SHATTERING EXPOSE on Christians and beer drinking. If you somehow missed it, like you were in detox after new years, or your Yu Gi Oh tournament got way fucking out of hand, HERE IT IS:

http://www.nathanrouse.org/2014/01/01/a-caution-for-every-christian-that-drinks-alcohol/

You wake up thinking you are going to have a fun new year, post some pics of your ribald good times of you and your escort friends drinking: OH WAIT YOU ARE AN ENABLING ASSHOLE. I have just one question for you labiamouthed heathens, when you posted that picture of Fantome Pomplemousse, did you have any idea you were being a cruel temptress to all those people who have no idea what the fuck Pomplemousse is? Well you are, and your esoteric beers make our lives HARDER.

Every time you post a photo of a barleywine, a brewer stomps on a baby hedgehog. Post wisely.

“The often overlooked sin that is rearing its ugly head are Christians displaying their love and consumption of alcohol to those around them in public and on social media, when there are many around them that struggle with this temptation and addiction.”

I bet your insensitive ass didn’t give two fucks about your alcoholic friends who would deeply pine over that picture of Selectie C, despite the fact that they have no fucking clue what it is. Esoteric beer drinkers are enablers and a scourge upon social media. I can’t tell you how many times I have seen someone open a 2005 Gratitude and suffer cascading relapses. Your rare beers are ruining the lives of others, you selfish prick.

“We sin against other Christians and “wound their conscience” (as well as sin against Christ) when we openly act in a way that would cause them to stumble.”

You thought you were being showy with your disgusting bottle of Moscatal Dark Lord, but you didn’t know you were wounding tens of tens of souls. While we are on the subject, why did you invite your new girlfriend to our tasting dressed like that. Like seriously, was that a BEBE dress? I haven’t seen a size 3 girl in months and you have to bring her around the rest of us 18-minute-milers and lead us into temptation. I have news for you though, I will never cheat on my Zoosk girlfriend or my secondlife wife. They don’t know about one another. I WILL PREVAIL DESPITE YOUR BEER TEMPTATION AND SOME GIRL WHO WASHES HER HAIR.

Please enjoy your barrel aged stouts in silent, unposted shame. Think of the children.

“Now, before you say you only do this with others that are like-minded or with your spouse, let me ask the following questions:

Do you highlight or joke about your drinking in person or on social media (posting pictures of your margarita, wine or bottles of beer)?”

We have all seen your albums and albums of alcoholic beverages, those half ounce pours of Dave, those casual afterbrunch Mimosas made with ’99 Bellevue Lambic: THEY HURT THE MOST. As my readers are aware, I have championed not drinking beer for years. I have ever kept a comprehensive gallery of beers to avoid so that people can identify a Kaggen! if they see one and be like “wait hang on, that’s not Kombucha, I am not drinking that shit.” Despite my efforts, they are groups on the internet that still oppress those subject to the lashes of temptation. It doesn’t help that you post pictures of succulent reubens when you I AM ON A LOW SODIUM DIET SO THAT I CAN GET BACK TO MY BOWLING LEAGUE. I don’t need to see thick cut sauerkraut just nestled on cascading folds of salty corned beef, you insensitive foreskin rimmer.

If you want to publicize your beer life, you should have a private website, something with an account, and a circle of likeminded friends. I for one don’t need to see your tawdry filth, Framboos cascading over erect nipples, or whatever the photos look like. I don’t look at that kind of stuff. I come home from a hard day of work, deeply inhale in my hairdoll collection and watch Super Fun Night like a decent person. I don’t need top tier lambics to have a good time.

You can't begin to understand other people's dark temptations. Please refrain posting anything, starting with beer.

You can’t begin to understand other people’s dark temptations. Please refrain from posting anything, starting with beer.

“Do you drink in public when there’s a good chance you might meet someone struggling with alcohol?”

You probably do. Just being forthright with your good times, pressing your dick against the deli glass in the grocery store with careless impropriety. Listen, it’s not that hard. If you engage in anything that might tempt someone else, do it alone in secrecy, or not at all; don’t go drenching those chiseled abs in Wooden Hell. No one wants to see that, in fact if you just want to send those directly to my inbox for proper disposal I will make sure no one is hurt by your tawdry filth.

I will close with this truth:

“I love you and I don’t want anything to dim the light that’s shining in and through you.”

I drink these shitty beers for you, every single Truffle Abduction variant, for you. I get rid of these obscure mid-2000s saisons to protect you. I don’t want your light to be dimmed by walez.

You Are Not a Brewer, You Are a Panhandler with a Kickstarter Account.

January 2, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

Here’s a general business tip to anyone looking to start a mediocre brewery in 2014: if the initial funding for your shitty project involves shaking an alms cup on the internet, your beers will probably taste like afterbirth. Consumers are dumb, beer drinkers are even dumber. Dipshits regularly pay hundreds of dollars for bottles of beer that have marginally worse analogs available off the shelf. Remember when I reviewed fucking Depuration? that should be proof enough that the craft beer world is full of cockstains without mountains of disposable income.

One thing about beer nerds though, they have excellently calibrated bullshit detectors. You may beguile them into paying $250.00 for a Reserve Society that promises 2 glasses and a plaque, but even the sloppiest mantits will not pony up money FOR BEER THAT DOESN’T EVEN FUCKING EXIST. Recently there have been ropes and ropes of precum turned out by “brewers” who promise eternal anal massages for pennies on the dollar and forthcoming ambrosial treats. If you saw one of these people on the street they would look like this:

Future master brewer at work

Most of these smegma projects are two assholes with a 10 gal setup who have drank enough of their own shitty red ales to decide that they are now professional brewers. Wanking it in a garage every other Sunday doesn’t make you a professional, no one sees me putting up a Kickstarter to fund my Daredorm account. Most of the time the Kickstarter makes oblique promises that range from “one wish” to “potentially nothing.” Let’s say you had a raging hard cock to make sure Oregon City got some janky irish ales, DON’T YOU FECKING WORRY:

That’s right, for $500, you can DESIGN A BEER THAT MAY LIVE ON FOREVER (if all the permits and equipment and tap licenses and zoning permits and municipal compliance papers and merchandising rights are locked down: FOREVER.) Chances are, if you are letting random fucking people stumble in and start designing recipes, your shit is likely going to make Short’s Brewing look like a purist domain.

How about this, do you have fucking Alzheimers? Are you totally incapable of finding a bottle opener but need to get drunk to forget about that one night in Cinncinnati? OH SHIT AN APPLBEES MUG WITH AN OPENER BUILT INTO IT:

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/591192052/open-brew-beer-never-search-for-a-bottle-opener-ag?ref=live

Next time when you wanna sip Framboos out of a clunky shitty plastic mug, YOU WONT NEED TO FIND ANYTHING TO GET THE CORK OU- oh. Shit. This technically isn’t from brewers, but I am sure it will make any virgin/Steelers fan happy.

If you donate $10,000 to my horrible anuswater startup you will receive one baby Pangolin.

Perhaps you want to see Colorado’s struggling beer scene finally get the legs that it so desperately needs. Maybe you read Jurassic Park one too many times and now draw erotic dinosaur fan fiction. Well these guys at Fossil Brewing have you covered:

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1368342567/fossil-brewing-company?ref=live

If you donate $1,000.00 to them you get…TO NAME THEIR FERMENTER. I am not shitting you up the dick, you will ascend to a God-like level and be able to his the ultimate apotheosis in naming a huge aluminum cylinder. The woman that works at Chik-Fil-A has 5 dildos, each with a different name. For way less money you can name her next marital aid and feel good about helping people under the poverty line.

I was just gonna waste hundred of dollars on heroin this year but then I saw this dude IS GONNA MAKE BROWN ALES HOLY FUCK

I was just gonna waste hundred of dollars on heroin this year but then I saw this dude IS GONNA MAKE TRADITIONAL BROWN ALES HOLY FUCK

Maybe you didn’t read about it in the news but Phoenix is in a state of complete national emergency THERE IS NOWHERE TO PURCHASE A QUALITY CZECH LAGER. Co-eds from Tempe have been bussing in and sucking cocks just to land precious bottles of that rare libation. Have no fear, these guys are here to save the fucking day:

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1359827264/dubina-brewing-co?ref=search

You may be thinking “wait, what qualifies these guys to take upwards of a G from me?” Uh well, a little something called “AWARDS” maybe youve heard of them? Unnamed awards from PLACES. Also, “[the brewer] showed up to a local Oktoberfest with a cinnamon sourdough concoction. His kegs were dry long before those of the local breweries surrounding him. People asked “Sourdough and cinnamon? Why?” His answer was simple: “Because I can.” It is with this tenacious “Because I can.” mentality that he approaches each and every brew.” BECAUSE IT IS ARIZONA SO FUCK YOU.

WAIT FUCK HOW MANY LOGO PINT GLASSES FOR YOUR IMAGINARY COMPANY DO I GET HANG ON I NEED TO SEE IF I CAN LIQUIDATE MY 401K REALLY QUICK

In summation, if you don’t have a legitimate business plan, real backers, financial acumen, a tested product, a consumer base that actually gives a fuck, unique beers that don’t rely on shitty adjuncts, and a proven track record beyond praise from your alcoholic/child molester uncle: you probably shouldn’t be opening a brewery. Get back to selling oranges by the freeway and dreaming of your TRIPEL ORANGE CREAM DREAMSICLE WITBIER AGED IN GRAND MARNIER BARRELS AND HONDURAN TEARS.

Post your favorite shitty kickstarter in the comments section.