@gooseisland Cthulhu, Srs Revue guise, not jokes time. Not ruining beer time. Srs.

Alright, by now you have already probably seen DDB do dumbshit and ruin Cahutlow in a coovie, but I got plenty of messages asking me to actually address what the fuck this 320 bottle midwestwhale actually TASTED like. Sometimes ruining shit is not enough, people want subjective opinions to go with their free experience on DDB. Alright, so let’s just get this out of the way off the bat: this beer is awesome, but there is no way it was worth what you gave up to land it. If you enter this maltyanoos pounder with that in mind, victim complex in hand, then the healing will be so much easier.

Bootleg tome ghost repping that bootleg Parabola in the cut.

Bootleg tome ghost repping that bootleg Parabola in the cut.

Goose Island Beer Co.
Oatmeal Stout | 10.00% ABV

First and foremost, thanks to tbadiuk and thousandfoldthought for donating this bottle for me to fucking ruin.

A: This is deep black at the center with no light permeating this bad bitch at any point. It goes hard and crushes all photons up in the chocolate malt game. The mocha foam looks like a river in Ohio, except this beer doesn’t catch on fire. The carb is on point, the lacing is phenomenal and this is beautiful and has this ebony dream sort of execution to it like a POWERFUL BOURBON STALLION YOU JUST WANT TO MOUNT AND RIDE HARD AND PUT AWAY WET. You know the feeling, your lips and thighs all raw.

Wait. Not on shelves? low bottle count? This can't possible be from Chicago. No Magic allowed.

Wait. Not on shelves? low bottle count? This can’t possible be from Chicago. No Magic allowed.

S: This is the halfway house between the vanilla/coconut/oak from Elijah craig but the base beer contributes this sort of 4 roses barrel treatment sweetness that is like mallowfoam and caramel. It is fucking phenomenal on the nose and exceeds Parabola in this regard. That is as hard for me to type as you can imagine. This whole fucking beer is like, alright they release the Porsche 911 and you are like “fuck, that is sick.” but then for $45,000.00 more, you can get a lil bit more horsepower and some extra badges. Yes, it is 8.5% doper than Parabola, but god damn this shit is optioned out so hard the dealer will be dancing on your grave before you pay it off. They need to toss this shit in 4 packs and stop pushing beer nerds collective faces into the 550 thread count stout sheets.

T: This has a fucking mind blowing balance between the roast, decadent coffee/chocolate sweetness, brownie batter and just barrel for days that just pounds like an Ernie Ball stingray out of that Ampeg 8×10 cab. The beats are steady knocking and the oak gives the sweetness a partner in crime that dries but leaves shit all sticky, like when you used to piss the bed, except it is a torrent of chocolate bourbon piss, like in your dreams. I got some people asking me how we did that “camera trick” when I poured a fuckload of this into a bowl, no camera trick, but I sure as fuck ALMOST regret it because this beer is just that good. When I say I am srs, i am not jk, am srs.

FT: one of 320 bottles so rare ISO: a fucking girlfriend

FT: one of 320 bottles so rare ISO: a fucking girlfriend

M: This is sticky as huna, but less substantial in those patented CCB sugars. It doesn’t roll that Three Floyd’s 1.045 FG. It doesn’t go all eating disorder thin like Eclipse. It somehow addresses the issues that I had with base BCBS (which is essentially fucking nothing) and improves upon the barrel, fusel notes, ratchets the heat down, improves that silky mouthfeel with a blast of oat, and just leaves you with a bukkake chocolate blast all over your gumline.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and just gets drained LIKE V FROM ERIC NORTHMAN TO SOOKIE STACKHOUSE AMIRITE. You want more, and it is gone and you shake a snowglobe like a complete pussy and think of stouts long past: that first sip of FBS before your life was in shambles, a yeasty shell of accomplishments. This is a great beer, but it is tough to justify the cost of entry and I am sure many a person walked with a limp after getting their tradeanooes distended, giving up top tier lambic and shit. The 312 will always w[h]in[e].



Narrative: “NOBODY CHARGES ME FOR ADDITIONAL SAUCES, NO BODY.” His neck strained with rage and a sweaty brow. He used to be such a good friend and, for a few moments he was actually pretty fun, but this is not the Chad that you remember from college. “OH I AM SORRY AM I MAKING A SCENE? well guess what GOOD I DONT NEED TO BE EATING HERE BRO I JUST WANTED SOME GOD DAMN RANCH FOR THESE STRIPS. I DONT. LIKE. DRY. STRIPS!!!” The smell of chocolate and bourbon hung in the air. It takes so much just to even meet up with this guy. You hang your head sulking, oh great, a co-worker happens to come into this Denny’s? It used to be such a good time with Chad, going to ball games, kicking back a few brews, now he is misquoting the Da Vinci code and hitting on the receptionist from your office. “YEAH SO THATS WHY THEY CALL IT A JET BOAT, I am sorry, too much for you? Too much speed? Or you just dont know nothing about boats? Don’t touch me bro, I am hollering at this girl, OH IM SORRY, SORRY FOR BEING SO EMBARASSING YOU, CAPTAIN NO SEX WITH HAYLEY SINCE 5 MONTHS AGO. “We should do this more often, check please.” You would only meet once, but that was a powerful bourbon soaked endeavor.


Goose Island Bourbon County Stout, I Could Fight Infinite Geese

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.”