Alright so if you were around way back in the 2011’s there was once a shithead with no foresight or foreskin who kept pumping a shitty brett forward homebrew clone of Depuration. That beer is now deep in the annals of history as Depomation, a perfect product of hype whose 42 bottle yield and Jefferz5000 label only the most legit/now deleted accounts got to savor. With LurchingBeast and Spdkilz and DJbutters having drank the last bottles we can finally move on and stop talking about that Shasta offbeat/beatoff clone. Let’s review Depuration, sip Pediobear and rub pellicles on some mantits.

Before you pay your shitty $500 mortage on your 5 bedroom Indiana home, that pour doesn’t mean I am one of you.

Russian River Brewing Company visit their website
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.00% ABV

A: This has minimal levels of carb and sits murky and not giving a fuck like a girl with headgear on at prom that gets no love. In a word this is straight Doesjelling, if you know what I mean. There is a tepid aspect that swirls with some lackluster zero-fucks-given wispiness and a deep orange at the center. Here is where you talk shit about the size of my pour again, and then oh wait I skulled the vast majority of this bitch:

Before you ask: yes I later blended it with Coors Light.

S: The nose on this is fantastic and taking it head to head with a 2012 Temptation shows that what this beer lost in lovable acidity, it gained in muskiness and depth. There is an oakiness, sweetness akin to martinelli’s cider that I can only assume was the remainder of the grapes, a deep leather and hay combined with dry yard trimmings and a lemony acidity closes it out. As far as AWA’s go, this holsters the juvenile acid overload and proceeds to neck kiss up on 41 year old substitute teachers. “Mr. Vinnie doesn let us-” “Well I am not Mr. Vinnie.”

Bros be showing up at a Depuration tasting with Mexican Cake variants, the lulz not insubstantial straight cascading through my palatial estate.

T: This does not taste as amazing as the nose would suggest but despite it being faded harder than Jordache jeans, it still delivers like a Body Glove t-shirt. The taste is almost creamy in its smootheness, there is a light tingle of acidity like pop rocks and a lemon zest that is coupled with some sort of darker fruits which was really surprising something in the realm of bruised peaches and plum. I be balling in the D league, speaking Swaghili. You could crush one of these far faster than Temptation, and honestly this is a completely different beer in every aspect. While Temptation is brighter and simpler like the girl next door, this shit takes you back to the days of hands soaked with yearbook ink and musky cardboard, back when boners counted more, back when you wanted to beat off immediately after a movie date. Less restrained and far more complicated times.

This is a sour predator but it gives you a deep acidic hug and you look deep into those golden eyes- whoa is this an erotic fiction blog now? nice.

M: This has an incredible creaminess to it that coats and crackles like a strange pudding that has pop rocks and lemon juice in it. It is what I would imagine it would be like to go down on Jubilee or Dazzler. It’s not about the tastes here, it is the nose and mouth, straight ENT on these bitches. Temptation dries more, this provides a milky crackle to it like carbonated horchata, I GUESS.

D: This is wildly drinkable and did put that acidity up in me like paid experimentation. The only caveat is that since this beer is a one off/retired/essentially extinct is that telling people to seek this out is little more than veiled taunting. The best part of this is I didn’t have to drink this with 14 other dudes in a Joliet backyard with a bunch of 30%+ BMI dudes all photographing their molar units. I love it when a plan comes together. Oh yeah, and in case I didn’t address this fully, Depomation is wildly worse than this beer and essentially tasted like a brett C overload contrasted to this lactic/pedio masterpiece. Since there are exactly 19 running jokes in the beer community, keep those tired ass jams coming like playing Cupid Shuffle at a wedding.

Daddy went to jail on a come up at his Radioshack job tryna lock down some ticks. Cellar shit is a sour life.

Narrative: It was a strange existence, being a single guy in a big city. I guess being the webmaster and server technician for Match.com just added to the burn. He knew his own shortcoming, Kyle Rancors wasn’t the most outspoken person, or the most witty, but he had the ability to defrag your kernel faster than most in that bustling metropolis. That wasn’t an entendre, his skills were really that misaligned. Sure, he could carry average banter, had a working knowledge of Gray’s Anatomy that made him seem cloyingly sweet, just no one that a girl wanted to have a raucous session with. Performing maintenance on servers that helped others find love just seemed like an ironic twist of lemon into his heart. He was a good guy deep down, and somewhere, a mediocre enzyme would fit with his substrate complex to create the perfect lock and key. Those are the kinds of things that Kyle Rancors would actually think. There was a certain creaminess to his interaction that didn’t leave you feeling greased up, but rather lubricated for a lifetime of fulfillment. Plus he could slang mad Pokes on Fbook with no DNS entry.