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Your Macro Beer is About to Be Baller as Fuck

These assholes went and flipped the script on the beer game, look out for your shit Drie Fonteinen:

http://ontapbeer.com/

Summer is upon us, that means adjunct lagers, hefs out the ass, and trifling witbiers galore. You probably already look like the world’s hugest prick at any BBQ that you go to, what with you either 1) bringing your own beer 2) asking what they have or 3) bringing your own glassware. Fear not, a product that the world has been clamoring for is here: ONTAP BEER. No, not like draft beer, this shit:

OH FUCK IT’S LIKE MIO FOR YOUR ROLLING ROCK.

So the website expects you to carry this little vial in your pocket to spruce up your mediocre beer into a horrible craft beer analog. Don’t like the way that Miller 64 tastes? How about if we add some caramel extract and hop oil to it? BOOM INSTANT BOTTLE OF BA DARKLORD. I don’t understand this fucking product because even people in Section 8 housing can buy Lagunitas with their EBT cards. Craft beer is not expensive, at all. If you are in a place where you are fiending so bad for a shitty Fat Tire or some other bottomshelf craft offering, maybe skipping beer might be the option for you. Maybe you should clear your browser history before you let your GF use your computer. waitwut.

Imitation craft beer is almost always as good, your move Google.

Imitation craft beer is almost always as good, your move Google.

I love how one of the “flavors” is “American Ale.” What does that mean? This bottle of afterbirth shoots in and turns the adjunct lager into a top fermenting ale from America? They have made the lambic version of this product for years, it looks like this:

OH SHIT MY MICHELOB ULTRA JUST TURNED INTO DON QUIXOTE.

OH SHIT MY MICHELOB ULTRA JUST TURNED INTO DON QUIXOTE.

I love the spin that marketing likely prolapsed their collective buttholes to push out:

“Make each beer you drink the same or make each one different. Its up to you how each beer in the case tastes. Which is why we say it is time you get to enjoy Your Beer, Your Way!” You like American Ale? Put more in, boom instant amber, oh shit a lil more, who has a big barleywine now? Oh wait, entire bottle that Keystone just magically turned into an Old Ale. I think if you non-ironically pulled this shit out at any social gathering it should come with a card to enroll you into a 12 step program because your beer priorities are fucked.

I don't even know why I bother addressing shit like this.  The people who read my website are already degenerate asshole beer snobs well beyond the rebellious intro-FUCK MACRO phase.

I don’t even know why I bother addressing shit like this. The people who read my website are already degenerate asshole beer snobs well beyond the rebellious intro-FUCK MACRO phase.

Imagine the shit eating grin on your face at a wake when you pull out your PALE ALE FLAVOR and jazz up that paltry Shock Top offering from the host.

check this shit out in action:

The marketing committee then lets you know what an amazing deal this is, “The American Ale single bottle contains enough flavor enhancer to convert a 18-pack of domestic beer. That’s a saving of about $10.00 over buying 18 craft beers! Plus it is gluten, carbs and calorie free.” I am no scientist, I hardly even sparge bro, but how do you convert a shitty lager into a bold AMERICAN ALE without adding carbs, gluten, or calories? Oh, it’s xantham gum and brown food coloring? I knew Goose Island had some proprietary secrets.

This product is like hiring a cut rate tranny off of Craigslist to hold a plastic vagina for you. There are cheaper and less degrading ways to get what you are seeking, put your plastic object away.

yeah it seems like craft beer, until a real world class craft beer shows up and War Machines your butthole into a pale mess.

yeah it seems like craft beer, until a real world class craft beer shows up and War Machines your butthole into a pale mess.

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@tiredhandsbeer Hophands, for when you done working at the dispensery and your hands be smelling all like sticky cones

Tired Hands week is wrapping up and we have seen all kinds of things in the interim, oyster stouts, saisons, pale ales, so how do we close this one out? We go to the old hoppy wheelhouse and consult a draft only classic: NOW TOGETHER IN ONE CONVENIENT PACKAGE. Some naysayers hate on the hoppy saison genre and say that it betrays the musk and nuanced Belgian profile. Other hop heads feel that the base of a saison is too substantial and interferes with the hop oil experience. FUCK BOTH OF THOSE GUYS. Today we are going cones deep into some fertile soil with a straight up hoppy American Pale Ale.

EDIT TO MY PRIOR POST: I did not review this shit previously, I am a drunk pre-diabetic idiot. The cage match was between Singel Hop and Regular FARMHANDS.

Oh shit, picking all these juniper berries and then wiping petrulli oil on myself, hands be all hoppy.

Oh shit, picking all these juniper berries and then wiping petrulli oil on myself, hands be all hoppy.

Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
American Pale Ale (APA) | 5.20% ABV

A: The beer pours with nice carbonation albeit very little lacing, a turbid deep orange and almost amber color. The beer has generous big bubbles and eschews the microfine carbonation that you might anticipate in a bottle conditioned beer. It kinda reminds me of a mix of pineapple and orange juice with the yellow and orange blend look to it.

The interplay between the resin and the citrus aspects of this beer shows some serious fucking hop team work.

The interplay between the resin and the citrus aspects of this beer shows some serious fucking hop team work.

S: Holy hell, if Entropic was the gentle APA brother who spends time in his room working on interpretive dance, this is the jock asshole hop brother who rolls in an IROC Camaro and socks nerds. This is incredibly resinous and hits the familiar APA zones of pine, lupulin, orange zest i.e. the white part, there is a Jamba Juice wheatgrass aspect to this and closes with a citrus tangelo REREREREREEEEMIXXXX on the backend. There is a ton of feels packed into the smell, if you know what I mean.

T: This imparts more of the citrus than I was expecting from the nose but carries itself confidently through the halls of lupus gaiety. You get a pineapple and tangerine sweetness at the front which fades into a deeper pinecone and dry finish with the oils leaving you both satisfied but wanting another sip because that sweet citrus opener is a hard act to follow. It’s like when AFI opened for Blink 182 in the late 90’s and you were all like “what, how did this. wait.”

At a certain point, taking a simple beer like a pale ale to these heights is borderline obsessive.

At a certain point, taking a simple beer like a pale ale to these heights is borderline obsessive.

M: This is incredibly light and shines as an APA and does not toe that questionable ass genre crossing line like Zombie Dust does. This is hoppy to def with fishtanks in the Civic because Tired Hands pimped their ride with hop cones in the rims. I love the interplay between straight up water and intense hops, the malts are like an abused child getting transferred back and forth in custody battles. The real victim is your bitter zones, you can smoke one of these growlers with a quickness and wonder why your Fedex bills are so high. If that is a drawback, THEN SIGN ME UP.

D: This is not quite as drinkable as Entropic, but strong in different ways. I wouldn’t say this is one of the crowning achievements of the APA realm like Hoppy Birthday or Zombie Dust, but it maintains an exceptional character of residual hops, drinkability, and just straight up vibrant citrus tones that I have not had in any bottle pale ale, to say the absolute least. This is incredibly drinkable and makes me have so many sads that I can’t just go drain this on the regular like Beachwood Alphamaster or something local and amazing. This APA fills an amazing void in the world of resctum stretching stouts and acidic sours always raping your mouthhole. This APA is like a gentle hand holding sessions, blowing dandelions in a field, a light hoppy kiss on the cheek that anyone would be down for.

Drink pale ales once in a while, you dont need to be a tiny dicked bad ass all the time.

Drink pale ales once in a while, you dont need to be a tiny dicked bad ass all the time.

Narrative: Trent Kim had a problem that not many could associate with: his banter was too damn pleasant. He had seen several sociolinguists as a child and, during the testing phases he had affected them in such a genial way that they simply dismissed him as playful. It was a clear disability though, Trent had inadvertently coasted through elementary school accidentally coaxing all of his teachers and beguiling all officials with his Godlike gift of bonhomie. Once, when he was 14 Trent came home after driving his parents car to a liquor store, to purchase crack cocaine. He lowered his head in shame when his mother asked “TRENT WHERE DID YOU-” “I know mother, I know exactly what I did wrong, I can’t justify my actions and-” suddenly his mom began peeling a ripe orange and bit into it and exclaimed “oh WHATS A LITTLE CRACK COCAINE FOR A GROWING BOY! I can’t stay mad at you Trent!” The haggard companion in a vinyl skirt was both in awe, and clearly a cheap prostitute that Trent had plied into giving him a handjob for free. Being this likable would be his downfall someday, but for now Trent bit into an orange slice and tossed his back of crack on the kitchen counter.

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Peeper American Pale Ale, Maine Beer Company, Peeping So Hard Right Now

Jeepers Creepers Stop Peeping

Jeepers Creepers Why You Peeping So Hard?

Not since Ma$e have so many been Peeped upon so hard.

Maine Beer Company, Peeper, American Pale Ale, 5.5% ABV

A: There is a deep gold hue to this beer with tons of foamy white carbonation. There’s some lacing but it is a pretty standard affair, you pretty much know what you’re getting when you buy a Pennywise album. Ironically, this isn’t a beer that I would be peeping on all hard. It is an average outing

S: This beer smells of sweet pine, orange zest, mild pie crust and some light honey. I am accustomed to being olfactory raped by IPAs and DIPAs so this is more of a pleasant walk in the park with an old sweetheart. A sweetheart who gently rubs sweet honey and grapefruit all over your nostr- man, this Pale Ale talk is getting all salacious all of a sudden.

T: This is a pale ale but the maltiness and grapefruit notes make me believe in my heart of hearts that this started as an IPA, but hey, who am I to point hop cones? There’s a really nice breadiness and sweet juicy hop profile that makes this a very relaxing beer to drink. The taste is honestly not that complex but Paper Mario wasn’t a complex game and I enjoyed that so, hey, there’s an inapposite analogy to stick in your cap.

M: This is extremely light and as soon as the flavor is imparted, it scurries off like a Quaker prom date, with no additional fulfillment in store. That isn’t to say that this is somehow deficient, it is just overly EFFicient. Maybe linger around for a bit Pale Ale, watch Just Friends starring Ryan Reynolds at my place? No romancing for this Pale Ale.

D: This is easily this beer’s selling point. It is incredibly refreshing and just extends an entreating hand to pull you along lovingly gulp after gulp. I would almost, this is a strong almost, prefer this to Blind Pig, if only because it is more session able, albeit less memorable.

Narrative: “And therefore, the ignoble pursuits set forth within the ambit of ideals encapsulated in Kratos’s actions in God of War, is therefore, anything but godlike. Thank you.” Walter Currington concluded his opening statement at the Video Game Ethics convention. Not a single eye was left dry after his classic appeals to G.E. Moore with regards to Earthbound and the delicately woven parallels between Banjo Kazooey and Sartre seemed entirely organic. Rick shifted in his chair, “RICK! It’s….your turn….” the grand ballroom of the Radisson seemed entirely empty as casual gamer Rick strode to the podium and placed his Bubbilicious on the handrail on his way up. “I don’t need a lot, I don’t ask for a ton from my games and well, my life.” The crowd hushed intently and paused for his famous Epicurean defense of casual gaming. “Truth is, I was going to come up here and defend who I was, and talk about the simplicity of Peggle and Farmville but…” he scanned the room with his piercing blue eyes, “the truth is, you don’t need an ethical system to tell you what’s good, just go with it.” The crowd waited a beat and burst into applause. “HE HAS JUST REVOLUTIONIZED INTERSUBJECTIVE ETHICS FOR CASUAL VIDEO GAMES,” one excited attendee commented as Rick coolly passed by. Rick had been coming to these things for the free food and gave a couple simple speeches about “Kinect or Wii or whatever, and people just get all into it, and that’s fine, I just want to be a fun guy to have around, not be all serious.” After revolutionizing ethical systems, Rick piled into his Chevy Aveo and put a Smashmouth CD on.

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Zombie Dust, 3 Floyd’s, It’s like 7th grade, only drunker

Oh shit Pale Ales just got real

Umbrella Corp's Finest Brew, from Raccoon City Brew Co.

3 Floyd’s Zombie Dust, 6.2% Pale Ale

A: There’s not a lot of pale in this pale ale, its more a mellow deep gold, the type you buy from Target, let’s call it a locket for a 6th grade amorous affair. Wait, got a little Corneille on you there, but for cereal, it is radiant and at the same time dull. A precise but bent blade with a nice fluffy head for dicing through mixed metaphors. It disappears and you wonder where it went like that show My Brother and Me. Seriously.

S: If this is a pale ale, then I don’t know what I will do when the zombies actually come because apparently shit is about to get hoppy very quickly. The bouquet is redolent of trillium and ivy, deep grassy notes, citrus candles from bath and body works, and grammies’ bathroom. There’s a ton of citra and galaxy hops going on, which makes me wonder if this can follow through with a taste haymaker. Sure that UFC fighter at the bar can make pretty eyes with his sweet cauliflower ears but, what will he do with his jagged dental-insurance-free smile?

T: Well the citrus is still there and the grapefruit is still very pleasant, but in a more Savage Garden listening level. I don’t get an intense alcoholic waft or a drying hoppy censure but wow, it just tastes incredibly and has such a refreshing waft to it. The juiciness just sits and stews for a moment on the palate and makes this beer seem far bigger than the britches index would dictate. I have to exercise active restraint not to swallow this entire glass with my fraternity number being called overhead like a resplendent debasing glottal fricative. SHOUTING AND LOUD NOISES.

M: It is strange because this allegedly isn’t an IPA, ok fine, I will grant you that, it is light and fun, like times with Husky Scampers in the woodshed, but it feels like it knows something that I do not. There’s just way, way too much flavor taking place for the simplicity of the canvas presented. It is minimalist like a 1960’s Carrera 911, but performs so well. It is fitting that the serving size is a 6 pack because I could see myself powering through this like an undead army.

D: If this is what we are supposed to drink when the zombie apocalypse comes, then humanity is basically in the palm of Raccoon City and Umbrella Corp. To say that this is drinkable is a wild understatement. This beer exists as a thin, wispy flavor delivery apparatus of German engineering. Not a single part of this hop buffalo is wasted and these zombie native americans also are enamored with shiny things, namely the sweet succor of perfectly executed hops. The question everyone will be asking: Does this take the crown from Hoppy Birthday, the best Pale Ale ever made? Not quite, now now, quiet down. It is good, fantastic even, but there is a mild Gose saltiness in the finish and it just doesn’t have the brightness that a Hoppy Birthday growler has. I will allow you all to file out to confront your Midwestern pals with this grave news. AND THE PUNS KEEP ON COMIN-

Narrative: The shells kept slipping out of Avery’s hands while she crouched in the desolate remains of what used to be the West Side Pavilions shopping center. “God has it only been 23 days?” she wondered to herself as she taped two bullpup clips together and deftly loaded them into her P2000. “It seems like just yesterday I was a mild mannered Korean girl studying for some irrelevant AP tests and now, here I am, killing the undead and fighting off the hopocalypse.” Some would later opine that the Bud-Miller-Coors triumvirate caused the mass hysteria and outbreak but, truthfully, it was the hop growers. Avery stared out of the slats of what used to be an Orange Julius, “shit, the vines, they’re moving like kudzu towards the northwest parking lot,” and spun a .45 magnum round in classic fashion. Those scientists who had sought to save the world with their ivory tower of alpha acids had now created hops so potent, people were completely unaware that they were becoming drunk, undead even. They roamed the earth, ravaging Taco Bells and Del Tacos, mostly. When those were depleted, even loud Linkin Park music could not stop their ravenous hunger. The hops had caused this, and the hops would end this. “AVERY!” her stringent father called from the balcony of the food court in some apparent type of boiled-down reconciliation. After 90 minutes of interaction, her harsh abrasive botanist father became a rounded character, realized that she needed her own space, and together, through their differences, music and botany or some shit, realized how to poison the hop plant and save everyone. But she still had to practice violin and go to UC Irvine. Or some shit.