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Funky Buddha Bonita Applebaum, No Winzipping, Only .Rar Archives in Today’s Review

Well what do we have here? A Funky Buddha limited beer that is bottled in a blank bomber? Sounds like something you could walk down to Binny’s and pick up, right next to the Daisy Cutter, right? This is one of like 28 bottles produced, and this sweet slice of pie is probably extinct, but let’s look back on desserts past in today’s review:

Applebaum jeans and the malts with the fur.

The Funky Buddha Lounge & Brewery
Florida, United States
American Brown Ale | 6.00% ABV

A: This is turbid and murky like bayou water. If Hill Farmstead uses Vermont water, I am confident that there is a bit of the everglades in this sticky brown ale. The sheeting is minimal and the lacing is pretty lackluster. It’s not the most unfortunate looking beer that I have ever seen but, it’s on the inside that counts, that’s what every person with stretch marks has ever told me.

This is how people react when you pour them this sweet treat. It also helps if they are overweight, and an alcoholic.

S: Holy sweet decadence. This beer is like walking into a fresh bakery and it happens to be a pie clearance sale. There are notes of brown sugar, biscuit malt, sweet apple, caramel, light vanilla, and this lovely cinnamon aspect to it. I said “lovely,” we are talking genteel civilized ales here.

T: This literally tastes exactly like a slice of fresh apple pie. I cannot explain it any more directly than that. It begins with a faint graham cracker and cinnamon then cinnamon and allspice come forward with apple aspects. You should pour this beer over a slice of vanilla ice cream and get shit a la mode real quick. This is the slice of American pie that your camp counselor never told you about.

If you are posting looking for Funky Buddha bottles, you are in the wrong neighborhood, motherfucker.

M: This is very thin and makes no secret about its brown ale roots. You know deep down, there was a normal base beer before they piled all of this incredibly strange but amiable elements on top of it. There’s not much coating but, with the pastries and confectionery going on, you don’t really have time to focus on that. How many times have you left the next morning without underwear on? Yeah, that’s what I thought, trollop.

D: This is decadent and excessive, but it is not exceptionally drinkable. Maybe if you were a baller ass 5th grader your sweet zones could take 22oz of this, but for those of us with pubes, the sweetness becomes cloying after a few ounces. This would almost be better served in nib bottles or as a gentle liqueur to serve to your overweight friends when they invariably get dumped for that tiny size 16 around the block. I would still love to have this again, I just wouldn’t eat a whole pie for dinner, because I have a small shred of self-respect.

You want a bottle of a beer that has less than 50 produced? Better start dropping fat stacks, racksonracksonracks.

Narrative: “Well if you can’t perform a scorpion into seconds with a DECENT TURNOUT, then maybe you need to lose some weight.” The 7 year old stood stunned before Sherry Sourmane, the most dour faced dance instructor in the tristate area. She thought of the sweet slice of pie that she had the night before and lowered her head to the ground. “I just..my tummy hurts and…” The room rattled with the clack of a 6 inch stiletto upon the ground. “Out of my sight, you like wretch.” She was a sour, stern instructor, best enjoyed in small doses. When dance class was over she took to berating the parents in turn. Each fully-grown person in attendance received a fully tailored dress down from Ms. Sourmane. John Marks collected his child and walked solemnly to his car. The dance instructor looked down her brow and took a bite of a Home Run Pie and was all too aware of the tu quoque that she lived on a daily basis.

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Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar, Juicing those Nuts for their Brown Nectar

Ah time for an ale throwback to revisit the old gateway drugs that get beer nerds hooked. It is usual the local pushers like Stone, Dogfish Head, Sam Adams or these guys. It would be a classic beer nerd form to look down on readily accessible beers and be a complete hater, however, that’s NOT HOW I ROLL. It can’t be walez all the time, gotta look back on solid nuts to know where you came from. Er, you know what I mean.

Old beers, new flows, shitty pics, good beer. Life is a juxtaposition.

Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar, 6.x%, Brown Ale

A: Nice wood bark tones with lots of transparency and deep cedar hues. The carbonation is aggressive but calms down after it finds its car keys deep in the depths of the glass. There is fantastic lacing that creates little archipelagos to live on, I just want to point out that I spelled that without Microsoft word’s help, it’s the little victories people. You know what word.

hazelnut might not be my favorite flavor, but it beats ginger.

S: I get a huge waft of walnuts, smoked peanuts, and Amonds. They call them amonds because they shake the L out of them at harvest ti- alright fine. Moving on.

T: The taste is pretty light and imparts the same nutty, woody notes that are on the nose. No bait and switch taking place here, just solid old Rogue products. I enjoy the simplicity of it and assertive nature of the malt backbone. It feels like Newcastle’s over achieving little brother, who secretly pines for greatness. In terms of brown ales, a category that I don’t usually care to notice, this is about as good as it gets. It reminds me of how I remembered that the Toyota FJ Cruiser was a pretty cool SUV in a lineup of items that I usually reserve for total shitheads.

This takes me back to the good old days of deep secrets and fulfilling simplicity.

M: It is a bit watery on the front but it is an alluring methodology that this beer employs. The woody notes strike swiftly from the bushes with a great drying effect, leaving the consume helpless to aid his situation but by calling in more watery mouth front, which, at that point a full on Catch 22 is on and Joseph Heller can rest content at a shitty mixed metaphor having been executed horribly.

D: This is very drinkable and reminds me of Chimay Blue in many respects. I know the hardcore beer intelligensia will spit imperial stout all over their respective monocles, but, this realm is not well traveled and if you absolutely must go this route, this is a fantastic Sherpa.

Back in 2006 this beast was too shocking for most people.

Narrative: “Hazel nut, cobb nut, yeah, call me whatever you damn well feel like” Shellers gruffly responded while fashioning a shiv out of what appeared to be the husk of a deceased walnut. “I seen every damn nut in this place, aint a single one cracked old Shellers yet, and I dare them to try.” He meant this, without trepidation. Shellers ran the nuthouse with precision and deft brutality. He would push his fellow nuts to the top of the pile for wanting consumers to smash and grind into paste with joy. “YOU THINK I AM A NEW VARIETAL!?” he called out from the bottom of the bin, not a single nut moved a shell. “THAT’S RIGHT WHO SAID ANYTHING WHEN WE GOT INFECTED WITH XANTHOMONAS?” no one could respond, that crippling blight was both Sheller’s own device and saving grace. “THAT’S RIGHT ME! SO IF YOU WANNA END UP A CONFECTIONARY GOOD FOR AN ELDERLY PERSON. Go right ahead, I will personally see to it your soft shelled ass makes it right to the top.” Sheller’s use of bitter irony and entendre was too much sometimes, so soft and sweet in his interior, but hard coated in exterior.

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Funky Buddha No Crusts, Pack This in Your Child’s Lunch, Crazy Trading Power At Recess

Do you like peanut butter? How about sticky jelly? You like being drunk? Well here is the solution for you, drunken PB and J explosion. I had this beer on two occassions, last June it was amazing, last January, it was like peanut butter Consecration and half the bottle erupted. In the interests of fairness, I will review the amazing first foray. Drink those Funky Buddha bottles early, guize, srsly.

Who knows, maybe your shining face will appear on this very illustrious beer website as an alecreeper. One can only dream.

The Funky Buddha Lounge & Brewery
Florida, United States
American Brown Ale | 6.00% ABV

A: This beer had a nice fluffy appearance and great transparency to it with lucid brown hues throughout with amber at the edges. There’s a tame stickiness to it like a turbid glass of sticky chocolate milk.

PB and J beer? Next level ale maneuver. Fucking smart.

S: This is bizarre through and through. It has a deep peanut smell to it. Seriously. It smells like a burnt peanut/walnut with some oiliness to it. There is a grape skin element to it as well. It smells like an uncrustable.

T: This will be incredible easy: this is a pureed peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That is all that needs to be said. A grape juiciness is imparted in the middle with a huge dry peanut finish. I cant believe that I just typed that but yes, it is a peanut and grape beer.

This beer reaches for new heights and scores hard in the paint. Peanut butter alegasm dunking on fools.

M: It is light and lingers gently with a peanut oils finish. There is a huge amount of sediment in the bottom of the glass. It washes away clean and tastes incredible. I have no style guidelines to base this on but its is just simply amazing.

D: I have no idea how that they did this but it is incredibly offbeat and amazing. This is my introduction to this bizarre brewery and I am incredibly impressed. I feel like I could drink a ton of this, in the same way that I weighed 120 lbs in 5th grade. I love PBnJ sammies. Hands down.

I am content, but I want this many more of these.

Narrative: The Ukraine Gulag was oppressive and cold. The winters were harsh and provided little reprieve to its prisoners. Fyodor broke granite slabs in the dry cold winds day in and day out. The prisoners would have no hope were it not for one thing: the smackerels. Sergeyevich, the local lifer had developed an incredible knack for taking the hard tack, provisions and crafting delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from them. The prisoners bit delightfully into the sticky messes with careless abandon. “To the devil with the proletariat masses who keep us within these walls brother Sergey, for a single bit of your smackerels, I would brave the plains of the Gobi desert TWICE OVER!” An overseeing magistrate rapped his cane hatefully on the metal railing twice and the prisoners meekly demurred. “for your jelly…I will live on.” The prisoners nodded in concurrence. Sergey raised a single palm and sagely advised: “I don’t think you are ready for this jelly. No Alexey, you are not ready for this jelly.” He exhaled with indolence and continued to smash granite slabs, looking out upon the icy plains.