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

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

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

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.

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.

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.


@cptlawrencebeer Flaming Fury, First Your Mouth is Flaming, Then Your Angus Is Flamed by this Rari

2013 ticker alienation continues with another old whale from times past. Back before the white whale list was filled with T25’s and Mimosa, this used to be a sought out old standby. Then sometime around 18 months ago, people started the old rumor mill of wackiness “ERMAGERD ITS LIKE NAIL PERLESH” and other unsubstantiated claims. Then, haters who will never try the beer, take that and validate their own inability to try it and give credence to the sourest of grapes. Anyway, I said fuck Benzino and got the cover of the Source. I still wanted to tick it, so here we are. Let’s see if this acidic asshole has learned to calm down since 2009 or if its still Flaming so hard

Johnny Blaze flaming on with that Reed Richards tip.

Johnny Blaze flaming on with that Reed Richards tip.

Captain Lawrence, New York
American Wild Ale
10% (?)

Bottle Hype: This was a fun one to make. We took some of our barrel aged sour golden ale and added a bunch of fresh picked local peaches and let the barrels ripen. The flavors are earthy, fruity and of course…SOUR. Enjoy this one on a hot summer day with a ripe juicy peach in hand. From the Captain’s cellar to yours, we hope you enjoy!

A: This looks like a radiant, welcoming lil snifter of sunlight. The lacing is actually pretty substantial given the claims of insane acidity and the srm remains inviting throughout with soapy bubbles that don’t just crackle and peace out instantly. If you liked the way Ithaca Brute looked in a nightgown, here’s another New Yorker that will move that malt paddle.

Don't let the hard rep of this beer scare you, it has a soft gentle aspect to it

Don’t let the hard rep of this beer scare you, it has a soft gentle aspect to it

S: Ok, butthole tightening commencing forthright. This is unquestionably an ph bomber dropping in that sub-4 range gracefully and letting you know the danger like a Monarch butterfly. Signaling phenotypes all up in this bitch. There is a light musk, lemongrass, some wet hay but overridingly so this is an apricot and orange pith bomb with huge citrus leaping out of the glass and melting your face like those Nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. A deep pull will give you a sort of “unbalanced Fou Foune” aspect to it, like if an American decided Foune needed a bigger wing, racing stripes and MOMO 5 point harness seats. That. Fucking aggro foune, essentially.

T: This ramps up the delicate profile of Foune and adds apricot, but then covers all those tastes up with amped up acidity, then ramps up the tannic dryness until it feels like you are getting your ass beat to join a Lambic gang that you never asked to be a part of. This is pleasant and so over the top in the foregoing ways that you need to take small sips and let it warm up to even make heads or tails of the wall of death/circle pit taking place. The musk is almost non-present and if you have ever had a mid-2000’s fou foune, then dialed back the musk/funk for a sort of creamy acidity: you have just been flamed. You might as well dye your pubes fire engine red after sampling this bad bitch, completely flaming. Ronald McBush for sheeze.

drop this in the cup, then run to the GI specialist.

drop this in the cup, then run to the GI specialist.

M: This is incredibly drying, wipes out the gumline with covering fire, uproots your bicuspids with a deep burn like sick box jumps bro super RHABDO. Acidity is banging and they prolly were gonna bottle this in a non-silica based container since it may eat through the bottle soon: this shit is dry and verrryyyy sour. That being said, this is not Motherfunker, this isn’t 2010 Weyerbacher Riserva, this isn’t THAT kinda sour. People reach far too quickly for nail polish/vinegar or whatever tired ass uninspired adjectives to toss on this beer. Flaming Fury isn’t that. It is just imperial acidity without the off flavors attendant thereto. It is shockingly delicious for how punishing it is. You ever play that game Dark Souls? You know how you get so mad and it just keeps kicking the shit out of you, but you just want more? That’s Flaming Fury. It will tear you up and you will like it.

feel the cankersores forming and your face be like

feel the cankersores forming and your face be like

D: This is strangle crushable in the way that Hot Cheetos are oddly addicting. You take a drink and you are like FUCK THIS BURNS LET ME TAKE ANOTHER SIP TO FIX THIS. Then you have red fingers and a scorched mouth, just wanting more. Sure, it is rare. Sure, there might be some other “comparable” American wilds, a completely unbalanced DDG comes to mind. But ultimately nothing is QUITE the same. This is def worth a tick, still drinking strong, worth trading for and well worth the cost of entry if not for the memorable lambic deuce you will drop the next morning. Dust off that Lindley Park and go embarrass yourself trying to lock this one down. I believe in you.

At first you only consider your brain and insides melting, then you feel a strange welcoming aspect to the experience

At first you only consider your brain and insides melting, then you feel a strange welcoming aspect to the experience

Narrative: Flaming Man was one of Dr. Wily’s little known creations. The old doctor never took the trouble to make him his own realm, or even to patent a power for poor old Flaming Man: such was his burden. In reality Flaming Man was really just a huge anthropomorphic beaker of pure acid. There was little use for him around the castle but Dr. Wily felt bad turning such an acidic bastard out on his haunches like Protoman. “Sssiirrrr, I errrhmmm need towelllsss I scorcheddd the entryyyy way marbllleeee. SSSSoorrryyyy-” Flaming Man droned on while attempting to push the pools of acid around with a Brawny towel, making things immeasurably worse. “FOR FUCKS SAKE FLAMING, just, stop get out of here, go bother Cutman or something-” Dr. Wily ordered with a stern command. He had been around for so long and some were outright afraid of him. But deep down the acidity was his undeniable charm, his scorching efficacy, his tingling embrace. He would later earn serious points by spilling and melting Rush’s face off, completely by accident. Not even Megaman himself could deny the memorable wrangling of this caustic bastard.


Armand’4 Geuze Herfst (Fall), Dropping 32 euros on a bottle of beer Herfst so good.

How negligent can this website get? I reviewed Spring, Summer, and Winter of the Armand’4 series and straight up neglected to provide you with this banger: HERFST. Just so this is clear, here is how I would rank these Armand seasons: Zomer, Lente, Herfst, Winter. IN THAT ORDER. Well taking the bronze in such amazing company is nothing to be a sad panda about. Let’s get puckered in today’s review, for the geuze haters.

Love HERFST. Gueuze scars.

Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen
Gueuze | 6.00% ABV

A This has a huge generous billowing cloud of carbonation that is cummulus to the fullest. It is light orange at its center with light yellow and gold edges. It boasts a slightly unfiltered appearance. It’s like a 6 year old at CVS, you don’t want to touch him but you know he is a little sticky and filthy. The lacing is substantial as well, it leaves little party streamers on the edges of the glass with gracious aplomb.

With every season you expect a normal geuze, BUT THEN YOU GET AN AMAZING SUPER SOUR SOAKER. Dnt be fukn stpid Gooby.

S: Not surprisingly, it is stick and filthy. There are sour and sweet tart notes are blended with hints of granny smith apples underneath. I don’t want to go out on a limb but I am going to say a Skittle reduction is at play here. Compared to the other seasons, this has a funk and earthiness to it like the landscaping section of Home Depot. There is a great wet dog meets soggy alfalfa aspect that integrates with the acidity in a fantastic way.

T There is a pleasant sweetness for a split second with a latent backroundhouse to the bitter zones immediately thereafter. Its a sucker punch which leaves your mouth a bit dry but welcoming more if only for the strange assault. It’s like getting socked in the armpit, you aren’t mad youre just a little perplexed and glad it wasn’t worse. It provides a mild hop bite and this toes the line closer to an extremely funky saison but this provides an incredible acrimonious punch to the tart zones.

This is a huge beer, but small and restrained at the same time. It is a paradigm of delicate imbalance.

M: This is very light and dries in a refreshing fashion hitting that gumline deep and hard. It reminds you of an advanced cousin, the one who learned compound cussing earlier and gave you Too Short cassette tapes. Its like the tiny asian fighter who you underestimate who delivers fast swift blows that disorient and surprise your mouth. It is clean, crisp and damaging to your bitter zones. It is concurrently musty, funky, and also coats with a nice wheaty aspect to it.

D: This style is in my opinion fantastic for hot weather and, if you have some water on hand, a great companion outdoors on the beach or a boat. If you like very mild lagers then you will disagree but then you are also a raging pacifist and it is unclear how you ended up reading this review in the first place. The juiciness and earthiness of this perfectly captures the spirit of fall: straddling the heat and acidity of Zomer with the somber earthy tones of Winter.

32 euros PLUS shipping from Belgium? This is why we can’t have nice things.

Narrative: 47 years of service. Francine Manzana gave that caramel apple pop company the best years of her life and she was terminated “for cause” for reading a Patricia Cornwell novel when she wasn’t clocked out. Francine wasn’t going to take this lying down. She knew the secret behind the tartness in those pops, and she had full intention on taking this issue public. With her box of belongings from her desk she strode over to the quality control center only to find that Loretta was out. “I will make them feel the tart bitterness of abandonment, just like they showed me.” With a few calibrations she reset the dials and the mixture began running an entirely new batch of Caramel Apple pops through the line. Her acidic personality boiled inside with a deep complexity. She stared at her spiteful reflection in the bubbling pool of acidic green glucose. The wafts of the additional citric acid stung her eyes and nostrils. Francine smiled and tossed her mystery novel into the simmering goo, for she had an unemployment officer to speak to.