@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.


Dark Horse Brewing One Oatmeal Stout, One Stout to Bind Them

Ok so you drank One, but what is it called? And other such “who’s on first jokes.” I always enjoy the mouthfeel of this style but hearing that it was done by the kings of HUGE BEERS, Dark Horse, I knew a shitstorm was a brewing. Let’s check the drizzle in today’s review.

If you are drinking this for breakfast, you probably work at the Post Office or some other government job with zero accountability.

Dark Horse Brewery, Oatmeal Stout Ale, 8% abv

A: I was expecting a bit of welcoming breakfast time fun here but it was just a petulant hatred of deep blacks and mild browns within the murky middle carbonation. The khaki head has that great lacing and tiny bubbles that I used to lay awake in my bunk and dream about in summer camp. Nice tiny bubbles and a coffee appearance make this clear that this is for big people and tattered livers.

This beer is just out of control, I don’t know what to do with it Maury.

S: This has a great coffee and chocolate profile with a mild cameo from everyone’s favorite trickster duo, toffee and caramel. Their appearance is fleeting and you wonder if they got IMDB credit in this project.

T: This is more bitter and acidic than the pleasing Founders Breakfast Stout, however, the bitterness isn’t cloying and the sweet chocolate notes balance this out pretty well. It’s like finding weed in your 7th grader son’s comic book binder: you aren’t mad, just disappointed. The experience doesn’t linger and keeps this to more of an everyday sort of stout instead of those 4 a.m. in Iowa City bender stouts where you walk around with khaki colored teeth. We have all been there.

This is clearly not the work of amateur brewers.

M: This is an oatmeal stout so I expected it to crush it out of the park in this category but, eh, it doesn’t have that silkiness and creamy pseudo-nitro tap feel to it that usually slam dunks this category. It seems almost like a black IPA were the coffee notes not so all up in the mix. It is decent but for an oatmeal stout, the mouthfeel should be too legit, even to quit.

D: This is moderately drinkable, and very pairable, for the old obvious reasons. I can’t say that this is a bad stout but it certainly doesn’t knock it out of the park and feels more like a baby Imperial Russian Stout instead of an Oatmeal Stout. It needs to practice its major chords and let go of its rock star arpeggio shredding dreams.

This is a great stout, without Koalifiers.

Narrative: “MICHAEL? God I swear sometimes you just don’t listen, go get some Gladwrap and DO NOT GET SARAN WRAP, you did that last time and ruined the bake sale for everyone, so if you want Kaitlyn to cry, go get Saran, you’re good at that, ok so can you handle just getting GLAD. WRAP? OK?” Michael stared off and ruminated to himself about the dreams that he entertained at age 16, gripping the steering wheel of a broken down Plymouth Neon Espresso. Now he gripped the plastic bar of a supermarket shopping cart and was the regular recipient of admonishing and chastising for minor purchase deviations. “Yeah, the Sara- GLAD. Ok, Glad.” He nodded and thought back to the raw energy of those first bluegrass shows that he attended. The raw oats crushed into the ground and the sticky sweet twang of the steel guitar. Now he felt so mildly bitter and artificial. “They, well, the Glad was more expensive so I got the other-” “GOD DAMNIT MIKE, is it really that hard not to be a complete failure at everything?” During his wife’s diatribe he heard the sweet dulcet tones of Loretta Lynn and drifted away to a time bereft of cellophane wrapping.


Iron Fist Velvet Glove, I knew a guy with a tongue in a velvet sack, it was a Crown Royal bag. Headline unrelated.

Some people overlook this beer because it’s a strange style (imperial oatmeal stout?) or maybe they are the 99% who can’t afford $11.99 for chocolate coachella in their domepiece. I dont know. That shit cray.

Take an amazing Imperial Oatmeal Stout, now serve it on nitro fresh from the tanks. Serves 1 jelly. You. you jelly.

Iron First Brewing – Velvet Glove 9% stout

A: Murky black with some dark brown notes on the pour, nice 1 inch head with a murky brown foam and tiny bubbles, very little lacing, great coating on the glass. It’s like a Sir Mix a Lot video sponsored by Exxon Valdez.

I wish I could compel people to stop and try this. The stopping power of this beer is not insubstantial. The head brewer is also a super nice guy, if that rattles your customer service cage.

S: Tons of coffee on the nose, I was expecting more chocolate but the coffee dryness is welcome. Actually, it makes sense once you taste it, the rope circle is sprung, you think you’re in for a pedestrian outing and then oh shit it’s a 3 a.m. sort of night. Where are my shoes-

T: The coffee subsides from the nose and the chocolate shines through in a huge way, much like chocolate rain without the heat and big body. Great sweet taste with chewy maltiness and sweet finish that’s supported by a mild hoppy profile. It’s tough to overstate or make jokes about something with such great balance and amazing drinkability. I bet if this was in 12oz servings…it would cost more, fuck that, I must quote my friend D. Garcia “it’s call you man up and you take that bottle to the danger zone.” Take that shit to the danger zone.

"Take your exploding knees to the Danger Zone" - D. Garcia

M: The tiny bubbles deliver an piquant effervescence that carries the chocolate malt delicately. The coating is awesome, not in a thick oppressive way, It carries a huge beer character with the accessibility of a thin middle body to it. I am not sure how they did it but it straddles two worlds without feeling one note.

D: Usually with imperial stouts this is where I make obvious statements about how big the beer is and after one it’s an unwelcome Saturday morning houseguest, but, I simply cannot in this instance. The drink ability is fantastic due to the chocolate profile, tiny bubbles, and fantastic mouthfeel. This ascends to the “wish it was packed in 12oz bottles” category. This would be a great introductory imperial stout to transcend people beyond their Guiness fancies into the world of obfuscating darkness.

At first you feel like you are getting ripped off, then you realize HOW MUCH YOU ARE GETTING.

Narrative: Being an accountant for brigand gypsies didn’t seem like an altogether waste of Jeff Deyoung’s time, it just felt a little misplaced. Well first there was the problem with appraising the value of stolen VCR’s and then amortizing them over a S corp structure. Then he had to figure out a way to write off all Robitussin and knife hits that his company of rogues was imbibing at a breakneck pace. All in all, Jeff was a black hearted scoundrel with the rest, but with a cunning ability to ease his way below the subterfuge. Sure, he might be figuring out ways to liquidate bootleg DVDs, but his coal black hair and khaki suit gave you the air that inspire confidence in his less than scrupulous dealings. If you invited him over for dinner, he would tell your family that he arranged government contracts and owned several mobile unilateral pawn shops. A tongue in a velvet sack, that old Jeff. You can’t quite trust him, but at the same time you feel at ease, until your iPad is gone. Now you need to buy a new iPad.