For the love of god, please stop serving beer in a frosted glass.
Please.
Pretty Please.
Fuck.
Tag: wordpress
Big Lager Lies
Are you fucking kidding me??…
Eric the Vampire was Ziggy’s Dad???!!!…
And Lenny Kravitz’s daughter killed him??!!!…
…
Sorry, I’m too busy screaming out loud at the TV at this season finale. Holy shit. I’m so flabbergasted that I put the name Lager in the title and I’m drinking an Ale, unreal.
I know I’m late to the party on this but wowwy wow, what an amazing seven episodes.
HBO, I would like to kiss you right on the mouth. 
Yes Paul Rudd, you’re absolutely correct. Fuck, watch this right now.
Right. Now.
And drink a beer to because we all know it makes everything better.
Better.
Americas Next Top Bottle?…
It’s 2017 and art, fashion, and style are infiltrating just about every “medium” there is…
(See what I did there? Fashion…Medium…get it?!)
…and beer is now no exception. The art on these craft beer cans/bottles has upped the ante in making certain brews more sought after just because of the amazing art on them. This isn’t just a slap on a logo type deal, these breweries take their time and make the labels so eye catching that you (or maybe just I) just have to stop and say, “I must have you, you’re coming with me.” (As I read that back, it’s a little on the creepy side but you see what I’m getting at…I hope.) Cans and bottles are cool but what if you still want to make a statement on an 80 degree January day and you need to keep your beer cold but don’t want these bad boys?…
Well, a very smart man out of St.Louis came up with a sexy alternative that was inspired by the craft beer artwork that also works insanely better. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you Bomber Jackets. Started in 2015 (MMXV), Alexander Nicolazzi was drinking a 22oz bomber of 4 Hands Brewing “Volume 3”. As the beer was getting warm he pondered, drank, pondered, drank some more, pondered some more, and thought…
Not really, but he did know there was a way to #saynotowarmbeer and the B-22 was born. When I saw them on a random Instagram session, I had to look into it. I’m all about keeping my beers cold and loved the artwork and the detail of these Bomber Jackets, I mean, they have a fucking zipper for crying out loud, I was hooked. Not only are there bomber sized but there are tall can size (C-16) which is great for all the amazing artful craft beer you can enjoy. Even better, you can look at cleavage!!!…
Yes, cleavage but not of the beautiful female persuasion, but the bottle and can variety…
Just clap your hands.
I know you all loved #dipadecember (fingers crossed) so with great pleasure I introduce to you, late as it may be, #jacketjanuary. I will be drinking some great beer in these genius vessels, while showing some of the crazy modern style that, I think, is the future. More styles and different size beverages will be accommodated such as B-12, C-32, and B-750. (Twelve ounce, crowler size, and 750ml size respectively.) All the information you need is right here:
Art, style, AND beer?!?!? Where do I sign up?? I just told you where to sign up… or order, in this case… so no excuse! You won’t be disappointed, and there can be plenty of not warm beer and cleavage for all.
For realzy.
I spy with my beer eye, another spy. Wait what?
What a slacker. Looks like James needed an extra years rest because for the first time in the series history, it has been 3 years in between films. He might’ve needed it as watching the first 10 minutes, he’s in a shoot out that I have to say looks totally realistic. Like insanely realistic, not completely fake at all, at all. (Is that sarcasm enough for you?)
He just bit through a chain!! For the love of god, he just bit through a chain!!
(Jim Ross. He’s a wrestling announcer. Look him up)
I now sit at a banquet and no, not that banquet, but the somewhat weirdly named beer of all the banquets, Coors Original. It’s not ice, it’s not light, it’s just plain old beer. I will not complain about this one. I said it and I meant it, I won’t complaint. I was once told by a wise man to embrace the contraction, thanks Mitch.
Seems like Mr.Bond has an ally in another spy, which he didn’t know was an ally who also was a spy, that also didn’t know James was an ally, who of course is a spy and…
In my opinion the Bond nemesis Mr. Karl Stromberg is a BAMF to say the least, I mean his underwater lair is like something out of a movie…
Wait?
Anyway he has a chrome mouthed henchmen* who is sort of like a vampire, because he kills people with his mouth, but they don’t turn into chrome mouths because that would obviously just be weird. This Roger Moore must up the ante, as he does with his amphibious car, only to scare the bejesus out of some unexpecting Italians. This fella Stromberg has quite the human armory and I’ve always thought how do these villains get all these guys? He’s already paid whatever the fuck for a giant submarine, so is he paying them off or just brainwashing them with gas, or?? Who knows but this question will forever intrigue me. Also, the seventies have no fully influenced the in movie soundtrack, which makes me a trite bit sad.
Stromberg dies by an under the table tube gun, metal mouth survives to hopefully return again, and James fucks to the end credits. Typical Bond if I do say so myself. Well, I don’t know if it’s all the water scenes or the 25 oz of Coors in my belly but I gotta hit the head, or in blog terms, this post is officially over.
In better news, chrome mouth is this guy. I’ll give you a hint.
He’s been called Frankenstein and he has a fat foot…
Lets get ready to…
RRRRUUUUMMMMBBBBLLLEEEE!!!!!
It went 12 rounds and needed a judges decision for this epic confrontation. Like out of the pages of a comic book, the action took place everywhere you could imagine, even unimaginable places such as:
- My couch
- My bed
- Dining room
- Other side of my couch
- Other side of my bed
- My dog Henry’s crate
Hahahaha. Just seeing if you were paying attention but you get my point, I hope.
I thinked and thanked, as I drinked and dranked (my best Dr.Seuss impression) and I came to an outcome. A very Hazy outcome you could say (wink wink) and so it was done.
The winner and new #dipadecember champion of the world…
- …
- …
- *suspense*
- …
- …
- *is killing you*
…
HAZE!!!
Congrats to all the participants and I cordially invite you to try again next year. Seriously though, please try again. You can try tomorrow if you want, I need more beer anyway.
Kettle sours are the tits…
That is all.
For real, that’s all I wanted to say.
Got the heelch goin up, on a Monday…
So a blind pirate and a beer (bear & deer = beer) walk into a bar…
…and they drank quietly on a Monday night in Anderson Valley. The beer-enity now meaning of that statement is that these beers were simply just ok.
Getting to the first Monday night beer* is ironically enough, Monday Night Brewing Blind Pirate. Despite the pretty cool name, which seems to be Night’s modus operandi, a somewhat dissapointing beer follows. This one reminded me of Uinta Detour from And the Oscar goes to… with its sub par taste with a super light hop flavor.
Looks we’re back in the Bonanza days here with Anderson Valley…
Bonanza?!
Yes, the 60’s television show Bonanza starring Michael Landon…
You don’t know it?!?!
I know I’m old, 34 thank you, but Bonanza is an institution. An institution I tell you.
The heelch of hops that is Anderson Valley is unfortunately not too much better. The short and skinny of it is that maybe the word “heelch” means not so hoppy in beer language.
When beer is not up to snuff, I write less. Maybe that’s a good thing.
* A Monday night beer is something I completely made up and is basically is a beer that is below average to average.
Swimming with Horses.
This is shocking, especially to me, but I have never blogged hungover. The whole idea is weird to me as I’m thinking about beer while I don’t want to, but I also love beer and it is pretty much always on my mind.
This should be interesting…
The sharks were circling their prey, going in for the kill, and for their efforts they got a horseshoe right to the dome piece. This might’ve been the closest battle yet but good luck came through, and it was Lakefront Brewing Hop Jockey crossing the finish line by a hop. I’m doing my best to put in the word “hop” for just about everything if you haven’t noticed, I need like a hop thesaurus…am I right?? Or is it a synonym??
Anyway, the shark in question…
No, not one of those sharks (Insert laughter here). The actual shark was Ballast Point Dorado. I was a little nervous going in due to the somewhat boozy nature of the Watermelon Dorado, but I was pleasantly surprised. Oh yeah, I just have to say this, double digit DIPA in the hoooouuussse, ok sorry it’s out of my system. In a weird way I like to describe it as hops galore but with something delicious to hide.
Peek A Boo…
The jockeys of hops is weirdly like Watermelon Dorado but at the same time, not at is apparently the post that makes no sense so bare with me, it will hopefully be worth it. If I can say boldly I would ride this fucking horse any day of the week and I would name it Citra Central…done. (Citra is a Hop)
Needless to say this was a battle for the ages, and in the end was smooth as Carlos Santana but I need to concentrate on Westworld because this show is fucking confusing.
Here’s some summer reading…
Beer-enity Now! 