Rabbit Imperialism, Briar Patches Appropriated
Duck Rabbit Rabid Duck, 10% abv imperial stout
A: A thinnish black with some deep browns, not a completely oily nightmare, just
moderate BP situation. Nice lacing and stickiness on the glass, like a 2 Live Crew Video.
S: huge smells of figs, dates, roasted walnuts and melted raisin. The smoky profile is
light but huge in dark fruits. The chocolate presents some dryness, but you aren't all
sad like at the end of an episode of Teen Mom, a good dryness.
T: The taste has none of the fruits present and relies more upon a smoky element
and dark chocolate maltiness. If the maltiness were stronger it would come off
like dark chocolate milk but the watery profile pulls away from it.
No heat from the 10% abv is present.
M: Surprisingly light given the appearance and the result is a beer that isn’t
too big for several bouts, nice coating but not a huge malty overload. 1950's diners aint
got NATHAN ON THESE MALTS.
D: As far at Imperial Stouts go, the thin body makes it less memorable, less complex
but more drinkable. It serves a strange purpose in that it doesn’t exactly strive
for a One Day Crazy Release but seeks to be more of a solid everyman’s imperial stout
cum de Yeti, Founders; but it isn’t readily available so it’s drink ability basically
must carry the day and it ultimately does not.
Narrative: Michael Clempson knew exactly what he was walking into. There was an
auspicious trailer at the entry to the cul de sac, unmarked Crowne Victoria cars along
the seemingly benign residential streets. Michael trolled Yahoo chat rooms relentlessly
seeking the undercover Dateline operatives to lead to this epic event. He feigned interest
in a person posing as a 13 year old girl for the strict purpose of making his swift dark plan.
“COME ON IN SILLY GET OUT OF THE RAIN!” Michael chuckled to himself at the pathetic acting
from the operative luring him into the house. He held his head up high and awaited the ambush.
On this blustery overcast day, Perverted Justice would receive justice of their own.
“I MADE YOU SOME SWEET TEA SO JUST COME IN AND HAVE A SEAT!” the voice resonated off of
the surrounding track homes. Michael grinned and gripped the detonator in the pocket of his
cargo shorts, each stick of c4 making light abrasions against his chest as he entered the
house with his murky dark intentions.
Abacus, Firestone Walker, 13% Barley Wine
A: Amazing deep amber hues with some yellowing at the edges. Great carbonation out of the
bottle and the lacing looks like a Gallagher show, just mess everywhere, in a good way. Ladies
be mad peeping when you have a bottle of this in the club, mostly like "where did he even get
that?" but mad peeping nonetheless. Things are peeped upon.
S: There are sweet hot notes with cinnamon and dark fruits. It’s tough to take in with
nutmeg and some sort of hot currant smells going on. I usually hate barley wines but
this smells nothing short of amazing. It's like that first time you popped that Snow cassette in
and sang to Informer.
T: Just wow, this is the best barley wine that I have ever had. There is an amazing
great hot finish with sweet licorice and figs. The heat rolls through and finishes a
juicy plum note. Plum juice all up in this mix like a Michael Bay joint.
M: The mouthfeel isn’t too heavy and really impressed me. Again, I really dislike
this style in all its iteration and if this is this good now, I shudder to think what
a couple years would do to a 2011. The coating has a great finish with deep dark
turbinado sugar and nutmeg. In short, it is very complex, just like a Wayan's brothers
D: This is scary drinkable for 13% abv. I shared this with some friends and they all
demurred and preferred their Pliny, which, for good reason I can understand. But for a
beer this huge, its tough to argue with. The interplay of all of the elements at once feels
like a Mars Volta record where you aren’t sure how they did it, but you are satisfied to
be left in the dark as long as it tastes amazing. This is exceptional and well worthy of
Narrative: Tyler Folsom was a nice person. Sure he was a 4 sport athlete, donated time
on weekends to explicitly blind orphans, adopted 5 shelter cats, ran makeshift sickle
cell anemia cure test centers in his garage, and had a laundry list of acceptance letters
to a litany of schools, but, he was a nice guy. Some would say that he had too much on
his plate. He never knew what was going on with Pretty Little Liars, his record collection
was woefully wanting for a 17 year old guy, but somehow, his rough translations from Aramaic
to Latin to hexidecimal for a new kernel that he was debugging made it all worth it.
“Oh sure, we could run scripts under English syntax, if you want spaghetti loops in
your DLLs!” He exclaimed in a rare moment of tension while nursing a Koala deftly.
“But ultimately, if the kids don’t eat, I don’t eat.” He meant this literally.
He had adopted Peter Singer’s theory of ethics and regularly starved himself for days
on end, still outperforming all other student athletes. “It’s basically just about being
a NICE GUY.” He noted as he put the finishing touches on his double fermented 4Loko batch
that was 0 calorie and 0 carb, a gift for his friends for an upcoming soiree
against teen inebriation.