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2005 East End Gratitude, The Crow That Started It All, I Put a Bird On It

Can a crow be a whale and a bird concurrently? Today’s inquiry delves deep into the nature of identity and anomalous monism. Psyche, we draining blubber, obvi. This is third in line to the lineage of most sought out barleywine after M and Wooden Hell. If you don’t believe me, go ask resident B dub expert Chadquest and he will show you on a ruler how hard this malty rarity gets him attenuated. So this one is the first Gratitude, the OG of the bird crew, 600 bottles from back in the day. I wanted this one to lay another White Whale to rest in a legit manner. Every other pic I had seen to date (1) had been some Juggalo 1oz pours and shit. You deserve better than that. I knew shit was real when I got 3 messages asking for the fucking empty bottle.

Anyway, let’s put a bird on this bitch and ruffle some feathers. One crow short of a murder.

I used to say "no crow no care" well, now it's time to fucking care.

I used to say “no crow no care” well, now it’s time to fucking care.

Brewed by East End Brewing Company
Style: Barley Wine
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania USA
11.5% abv

A: This is that same deep mahogany brown with a slight muddiness after over 8 years of captivity. The sheeting is notable and it has some nice legs that zambonies what minimal carb still exists. The edges have a sort of khaki dirtiness to it, but its like the hot ratchet chick at Coachella all covered in mud that you still wanna get up in them ugly waist high shorts so she has a story to tell her dorm mates when she gets back to Arizona. That kinda shit.

Pictured above: Beer Advocate user finds out that barleywines were made back in 2005

Pictured above: Beer Advocate user finds out that barleywines were made back in 2005

S: This still somehow smells fucking phenomenal. I was expecting some kinda oxy fest, white kids rubbing norco on their gums and listening to Macklemore and shit. No oxy fest to be found. It’s like East End aged this to perfection, abusing the 8 year old on the cellar gradually over time. If you have had this beer fresh this is a completely different experience. The hops have been acid washed out like some Jordache jeans and you are left with this Gloria Vanderbilt refined poise, the alpha acids almost come across as a wood profile, there’s a crisp oaky finish to the nose that compliments the sweet sticky fig/plum/caramelized raisin that reminds me of those Sugar Baby candies, or a Sugar Daddy I guess, if you love the D. This is still distinctively American Barleywine and if you are gonna go this hard, balls deep in the cellar, the English bitches cant stand the test of time, need them cones to snuggle up to on those cold nights, pulling the malty blanket up, peering through that cardboard wondering when its day will come, trying to silently masturbate in them yeasty sheets and not wake up the headmaster. Man that shit went off the rails pretty quickly.

T: This has a traditional sticky toffee, bitter underpinning, some port sherry and milk chocolate aspects to it, but again, the hops give this deceptive ass wood treatment to it because they have mellow to the point of interjecting some resinous complexity to the finish. If you are like me and bitch nonstop about the lack of barrel treatment (to the point of making YOUR OWN VERSION WHAT THE FUCK IS MY PROBLEM) this is the variant for you. I used to say that the 2010 is the perfect balance between hoppy profile and that sticky decadent profile but this is hands down the best vintage, or really any bottle that has this much time on it I guess. The faux american toasted oak from the hops unites the sweet malty malts and gives a platform to keep oxidation at bay.

you may never try the elusive crow, but you probably dont want to be that type of person in the first place.

you may never try the elusive crow, but you probably dont want to be that type of person in the first place.

M: As I noted before, this is a sticky muddy sweet lil minx, but it also has this residual dryness that keeps the bad bitch in check. I won’t say this has some sort of brandy or bourbon treatment to it, but it seems that the FG is far lower, the highs higher, pupils dilated running your face against the gentle crow. The abv is laughably integrated to the point of being a date rape bird, you can’t give consent after schooling this bitch. Triple double no assist, mix that crow and Malibu, call it Malibooya.

D: Exceptionally drinkable, for 11.5% this puts the pussy on the chainwax. 2013 tickers take fat loads on their face to land King Henrys and grat sits on the boards, there is no justice in this world. You can and should merk an entire bottle of Grat to yourself, and you wont feel like some fat shithead on State Disability while you do it. With this, I have tried every variant of Grat, laying birds to rest. The fresh variants are less drinkable, but this in particular goes down easier than a college sophomore with body image issues. Highly recommended, lube your butthole if you are gonna swing at the crow, feathers will be ruffled, jimmes: rustled.

The only wood that this beer was treated on is the furious tiny boners when people see what u about to make tickers eat crow.

The only wood that this beer was treated on is the furious tiny boners when people see what u about to make tickers eat crow.

Narrative: No one ever said that being a high school senior was easy, particularly not for an archmage living in the confines of Omaha’s suburbs. Bramblestitch Crowly earned a proud lineage in his own world and was unexcelled in alchemy, until a tragic accident sent him to our cruel reality. “HEY BRAMBLEBITCH, nice cloak, is there a NEEDLEDICK RAVE AFTER SCHOOL?!” the young men cajoled at his expense, his talismans clinking in metronomic pace as he walked slowly while thumbing through a calfskin tome with fragile parchment pages. “MR. CROWLY I SUPPOSE YOU FEEL THAT GEOMETRY IS GOING TO WAIT FOR YOU?” Mr. Billingsly boomed as Bramblestitch lowered his head and took his seat in a tiny desk in the back of the oppressive classroom. It was becoming clear that he may never return to his own time, a relic from the past, years beyond his time. Bramblestitch rolled a fresh quartz crystal in his palm, suffering the slings of adolescence, reflecting as to how a Nebraska school system would permit a fucking wizard to be enrolled completely without question.

Since someone asked, Kiwi Pediobear is coming along nicely, stay tuned tickbitches.

Since someone asked, Kiwi Pediobear is coming along nicely, stay tuned tickbitches.

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1991 De Neve Gueuze, A Beer That Is Older Than Your Girlfriend, sicko.

Finally DDB is getting back down to business and reviewing old ass beers, walez, Mr. International fedex player with a passport. In today’s review we review a 22 year old musky banger from across the pond. When this beer was brewed, you probably were like 6 years old, pre-pog phase, maybe you were starting to get hella into Nirvana and mainlining heroin, who am I to judge? Bust out those Anchor Blue jeans for this barely legal review.

Aint nobody tryna fuck with some ode ass beer.  Actually everyone is.

Aint nobody tryna fuck with some ode ass beer. Actually everyone is.

De Neve Gueuze
Belgium 5.2%
Likeyougiveafuck

A: Straight out of the gates, this asshole gets all AARP on you and slowly and gently lays itself into the glass like a warm easy chair for some episodes of Matlock. It has this turbid aspect that gives off this dull brown aspect with dark yellowing at the edges like costume jewelry that your nana loves to wear in the bath. The carbonation is there, but just barely, also like your nana.

If you are old to the beer game, you probably never tried his, if you are a 2012 n00b, you probably offered up a Cherry Rye for this.  Fuck everyone.

If you are old to the beer game, you probably never tried his, if you are a 2012 n00b, you probably offered up a Cherry Rye for this. Fuck everyone.

S: This has a beautiful acidic lactic profile but it is covered on cobwebs, horse barn musk, I get a bunch of orange/tamarindo aspects but again, the old paper meets sex attic is overwhelming. This isn’t as musky as OLD ASS BRABANTIAE but it is a page out of that same playbook. Some people search 50+ on Zoosk, some people like this kinda shit, get your shine on.

T: This follow through with a big acidic and lactic profile, no signs of offputting oxidation which is shocking, all things considered. There is a melon wrapped in cardboard aspect to this, and I don’t know if seeking out a 1991 gueuze and saying “past its prime” even makes any fucking sense because, you ordered the sex swing, you mounted it, now you are mad because people are judging you? This is truly original and makes me wonder what the fresh version tasted like, because the brett and musk aspects have taken to dominate this beer, like in Back to the Future II when Biff takes over. Maybe you like musk and old comic books covered in juice. Papercut your dickhole. See if I care.

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M: This is both dry, thin, and yet expansive and vaporous due to the musk and funk that this beer presents. Again, this is like going to antique stores or running your hands over a bunch of polyester clothes in a thrift store. It is awesome and novel but feels a little dirty. You come home with some stupid tin signs and are edified as a result.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I could put away a 750ml and not even share like a complete asshole. However, with full disclosure, it was either this beer or the 2 orders of XXL Nachos that I ate, but I got massive deuces. Some could say that the records were subpoenaed, even. This will tear up your guts like Peter North. Listen for it. That is the sound of my readers googling Peter North, now that is the sound of HR calling them into the conference room.

You can be old as hell, but still enjoy things, even if you will grow up to be a murderous waterhorse.

You can be old as hell, but still enjoy things, even if you will grow up to be a murderous waterhorse.

Narrative: Clarence Masterson had seen quite a few things in his day. It wasn’t just that he was old, God knows he was, however in 1991 he got on a spaceship with Fred Savage. Most people know this autobiographical documentary as Flight of the Navigator, however, the unsung song of 11 year old Clarence is often overlooked. Clarence was a stowaway on the ship long after Fred Savage left. His body was accelerating faster than light, aging, yet in perpetual stasis. After a respite in the cosmos, Clarence landed in the distant year 2013, to find a world changed drastically. First and foremost, he was 33 year old at this point, yet still looked exactly like a 13 yar old boy. His urged to tax both young and old poon were unacceptable. He was an anomaly in a world of fast paced communication. Clarence was too old for the ear flicking hijinks of 7th grade, yet unable to pick up lot lizards at local bars. He read about a Youtube dwarf who experienced a similar problem, but even that was not the same. He longed to discuss Keynesian economics, but didn’t even have pubes. He was old and young at the same time, the tip of Zeno’s paradox perpetually cleaving his reality, forever alone and soured as a result.