Brad Pitt’s Favorite Number…

Spoiler Alert: I’m drinking a Bud Light Lime (of the A-Rita variety). Yep, it’s fucking Peach and I’m somewhat ok with it. 

There is a method to my madness though, I promise you. 

WrestleMania 7 was a prickly one. The original venue in Los Angeles was moved for reasons unknown into a smaller venue. I’m just going to guess it’s because the line up sucked. Wrestling nerdery aside, it sucked. The main event was lackluster at best, once again pitting…guess who…

Nothing?…

Come on. You know who…

Yeah, Hulk Hogan shows up again– for the 6th year– against Sergeant Slaughter, you know of G.I Joe fame. He came in as WWF Champion. The controversy here was that Slaughter was an Iraqi sympathizer and turned his back on America and America didn’t really appreciate that. Completely off subject: I just had to mention that Alex Trebek is the ring announcer and Regis Philbin is doing color commentary. WrestleMania 7 in a nutshell but first, here is Austin Powers in a nutshell…

The U.S.A laden Hulk Hogan promised justice and a new WWF Championship reign. Will he be a man of his word?…

????….

Now the Peach A Rita all makes sense right??!! Shitty main event means a shitty beer/malt beverage thingamajig. Not much to say but it’s a heavily carbonated, slightly Peach flavored, very interesting tasting liquid. That’s my review and I’m sticking to it. 

Momentum is swinging in many directions as USA chants are deafening. I feel like the only equivalent to this match would be pitting Bernie Sanders vs Donald Trump (who is actually sitting front row in the audience) but maybe that’s just me. Not a wrestling clinic by any means, the usual atomic drops, clotheslines, and 10 count punches were in full effect. General Adnan (you can’t make this shit up) was a huge distraction on the outside while Hogan went to the top rope but was knocked off by the opposing Slaughter…

No Slaughter of the 80’s, not you. The actual Slaughter used a steel chair and Hogan is busted open!!! Hogan is busted open!!! The Iraqi flag is in play and Hogan is doing his classic no sell. It’s only a matter of time now as the crimson mask flows down the face of the challenger and just like that it’s…

Big Boot…Leg Drop…

1…2…3!!

Hogan is once again the WWF Champion for the 10,000th time. Will he headline his 7th WrestleMania??? 

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The man with the Golden Beer…

The said man in the title is me, get it?!

Gross. Third nipple. Yes, within 45 seconds of this movie there is a third nipple. Aaaah, so the man with this golden gun has a third nipple or as Roger Moore so eloquently put it, a superfluous papilla. Interesting choice but even more interesting is the music selection for the title song. I still love ya John Barry but the 70’s just isn’t your scene, I don’t fault you for it. His name is Scaramanga, which every time I hear it, I hear Kancamagus (pronounced Kan-ga-main-gus). Two very different things of course. 

First you have Scaramanga…

Gentleman with a third nipple.

And now the Kancamagus…

(Obviously a highway)

Now onto the beer at hand or more specifically in my hand. Busch, yes there is a non light version, is my first soirée into the non light/ice beers in this series. Looking at my Untappd (dougilovebeer) this is the highest rating I’ve given to a shit beer so far. Judge me if you must as I’m not a beer snob by any means but that’s for a whole ‘nother post. 

This Roger Moore is more of an edgy Bond as the sexual innuendos are flying and he even pushes kids off of boats. It’s true. Speaking of little kids, not little kids, but people that look like little kids, wow this is going to an awkward place, my apologies. What I was trying to say is there a little person by the name of Hervé Villechaize, or you may know him as, Tattoo. You know him and the ironic thing is that he lives on an island in this as well. Typecasting at its finest I guess. 

Not a ton of complaints so far but there has been some weird shit in this one I tell ya. From third nipples to flying cars with wings and every racist Asian phrase you can think of, I’m intrigued to say the least. 

The least. 

Twenty five ounces are gone and their is now a kind of killing obstacle course thing that started out the movie. Who will win?! Will James Bond finally perish?! With 16 more movies to go I’m going to say a hard no on that but it’s fun to have fake suspense. 

Right?!

Life and Let High. 

Here goes nothin. I honestly was dreading this beer most, and needless to say between this and already don’t like Roger Moore’s gun pose, this could be a long two hours.

The stage is set at the U.N and looks eerily familiar to the original Batman movie where the Penguin used Commodore Schmidlapp’s dehydrator invention to, you guessed it, de hydrate world leaders into dust?! Doesn’t it?!

Aaah High Life, we meet again. I’ve drank you and then I moved on to bigger and better things. That being said, I don’t know why I ever liked you and in this long planned meeting you find ways to disappoint me once again. 

In other news Dr. Quinn, yes medicine woman, is the love interest of the new and not improved Bond, Roger Moore. Spectre is gone and I’m actually not too sure who the enemy is, but there’s a lot of voodo and New Orleans happening so we’ll see. Wait a second, I found the enemy Mr. Big aka Mr Kananga who had this fucking weird looking rubber mask/disguise thing…

In my own world, plus wearing my VHS of Wayne’s World, this is always Mr. Big to me…

There is forty ounces of Miller High Life in me and Roger Moore’s “interesting” debut as Bond as just about in the books. Boat chases, Voodoo, horrific New-or-lee-ans accent mixed with the champagne of beers (whatever the fuck that means) summed up the evening. 

The genius of John Barry has been well documented but one thing that somewhat saved this movie was the music. Sir Paul McCartney and his band of Wings provided the theme and I was a-o-fucking-k with that. 

And the Oscar goes to…

Quite a hard week here. The emotions overflowed like a levy breaking, while the physical toll besmirched all reality in its path. Disappointment came silent and left with the fire of a thousand suns…

(You have just read my overly dramatic and subpar grammatic explanation of these two beers just plain old sucking.)

Plus, I had to somehow get “besmirched” in this blog somehow, right meaning or not. 

Anyway, the two combatants this week were like losing your last life in the Nintendo classic, Paperboy, they didn’t deliver…

Coming in at slight low 8% ABV is Uinta Detour. I love Uinta, I really do, as seen in one of my first blog posts Salt Lake City, Uinta but this is a misstep. The smoothness was there but the hoppiness alas was not, but in the end it was able to take out its rival Raja…

Fajah??

No no no…

Avery Raja. In the weirdest explanation I can think of is that it’s a hop explosion but not in a good way. It’s like when you get really excited about something and then a fucking train runs you over. If you haven’t noticed I’m still going with the over dramatized shtick but this was sub par to say the least. This had more of a session feel to it than a DIPA, so I had to persevere and drink the whole thing. Poor me. 

Uinta had a plan and sliced through the competition if you know what I mean.