Archive for the Spirit Guide Category

The End Of An Era

Posted in Spirit Guide with tags , , , , , , , on April 9, 2013 by Colin Walker

Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Sorry about that, truly. I had several constant readers, and as I piddled my time away doing other things besides writing, I’m sure they found better things to do than reading my stuff. Fair is fair and all that.

I have no excuses, but I do have a reason.

I have to come right out and tell you guys this: there will be no more beer reviews on this site. Say sorry, but say true. It’s that’s what you came here for, I thank you for your time, but must bid you a fond adieu.

adieu Little fucker even has a monocle!

And, it’s not the beer’s fault. It’s mine. See, sometime around August, I slipped into alcoholism.

slippery To be fair, I probably would have tripped over those embellishes ‘s’es, too. Shouldn’t leave them lying around like that.

Yep, the bottle got me. Just as it bit my father before me. I went from beer, to vodka, to vodka like almost all the fucking time. Now you’re probably thinking ‘Shit, the codpiece walked around stinking drunk for months, and no one stopped him?’ But that’s not right, that’s not how it was. See, I can walk around with about four ounces of vodka in me constantly, and I’d defy anyone to notice without a breathalyzer. Just part of my fantastic Irish constitution. And I didn’t put it out in the open. I was slick with it.

SlickMe, in my mind, being a slick son of a bitch.

So, yes, I walked around for months, legally drunk, with no consequence. I didn’t wreak cars, or get into fights, or dip my dick into the Jell-o dessert at parties. But my life did start to disintegrate around me. I stopped paying attention to anything that wasn’t terribly interesting to me, which was mostly vodka and doing whatever the hell I wanted.

In fact, the drinking never really did get me busted. If you’re reading this looking for one of those hard bottom endings where I drop from stellar heights to lows unknown, I’m sorry to disappoint you. There’s none of that here. My wife called me out on some of my behavioral bullshit and that’s when I realized the drinking was getting in the way of who I wanted to be. I wasn’t being a good husband or father, and was all around acting like an irresponsible asshole. You want the bottom, there it is. May it be as soft for all others, although I know it won’t be. Maybe it’s because I saw my old man fall so far that I was able to pull the cord so early.

But, It’s over. It’s been more than a week since I’ve had a drink, (including soda, I used to mix it with all kinds, and now it kind of makes me ill. Shit’s bad for you anyway.) and I’ll admit, for the first few days, it sucked bad. I had the shakes, the chills, the sleeplessness, the whole bit. But, that’s over. Then I had the few ‘holy shit, I feel great!‘ days that follow that, and now they’re gone too. But I’m still here, still not drinking. And, it’s not even a thing anymore. I don’t see why I did it in the first place, but hey, we are who we are, right? Me and the bottle were bound to tangle, but I’ll be damned if something that lives in a container is going to get the best of me for very long.

So, to all the drinkers out there, bottoms up! I begrudge you nothing. But I blew out my metaphorical knee, so nothing but the bench for me. Happy trails.

But don’t go anywhere, I haven’t stopped torturing my gut with frankenfoods, or reviewing expensive cars. Shit, we might even blow some shit up. Who knows?

Unibroue Terrible And Samuel Smith Organic Apricot: A Hazy, Sweet, Mahogany Smack Down

Posted in Spirit Guide, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 6, 2012 by Colin Walker

 Spirit Guide

Well, I sure went off the rails with my posting schedule, didn’t I? Yeah, well, that happens. There was only one perfect person born on this earth, ever, and his name was Arnold Paupington, of Spelthorne, Surrey. No one really knows much about him though, as perfect people have a tendency to be woefully fucking boring.

 How boring? No search results boring.

To err is human, and to throw your posting schedule out the window is how The Codpiece gets down. So, let’s break back into it, shall we? Starting off with a big, dark, Canuk that just don’t give a damn.

   Head’s so damn big it uses a large dog bed for a pillow.

Unibroue Terrible

I’ve never trusted the Canadians. You want it out there? Fine, it’s out there. I know that all of you have been wondering about my position regarding my northern neighbors for a while now, so BAM, there it is. Some who know me will say, ‘But Coddy, your paternal grandfather was French Canadian.’ I will then call you a freaky-ass stalker, because I hardly tell anybody that. You need to get the hell out of my family tree–seriously. And I’ve never even met my paternal grandfather, so there. Not to try and start in on a sob story, but there dude ran out on my grandmother before my father had even drawn breath into his partially territoriality handicapped lungs. There’s also the fact that the Canadians in general are just too damn quiet. I know what that means. I used to be that guy when I was a teenager. I used to stay up in my room for hours, and they’d never hear a peep out of me. You know what I was up to?

Almost satanic levels of mischief, that’s what.

 Pictured: What I believe to be a Canadian greeting card.

So when I heard about Unibroue, a Quebec-based brewery that opened in 1990 with the intention of becoming the first brewery in North America no faithfully mimic the Belgian style of brewing beer, I was more than skeptical. I got down right scared. And then I got armed.

 Because like I said, Canadians are fucking crazy, that’s why.

I bought a bottle of their ‘Terrible’ offering from The Wooden Keg as part of my birthday ‘Here, honey, please drink yourself to death’ present. I mean, I had to buy it, right? Look at that bottle. There’s really nothing on it save for a silver strip with the word ‘Terrible’ cut out of it. Intriguing, to say the least. I poured it and took that picture up there. There was some serious head right off the bat, even with a careful down the glass slow pour. That, indeed, is a characteristic of a Belgian Trappist-style beer. I raised my eyebrow, then the glass.

And my distrust of Canadians was instantly reinforced. “See!” I shouted, much to the distress of my wife and our teenage daughter. “You see that!? You can’t trust a goddamn one of them! This isn’t terrible at all! This is fantastic!”

 And then I just kind of rocked the fuck out for a while.

This beer is straight-up great. It’s almost as good as SKULLSPLITTER , and it shares a lot of the same traits. It appears to be black coming out of the bottle, but when held up to the light, it has a definite mahogany hue. There is a rich malty-ness with distinct fruit overtones and a barely there smoky finish. It really gets on your tongue and does a dance. And it’s not some kind of low-rent boiler room jig, either. This smooth maple leaf motherfucker waltzes, gliding across your tongue like some kind of be-pinstriped ballroom dancer.

Any kind of strongly flavored grilled meat would complement this brew tremendously, although food is by no means necessary to enjoy this beer. One could simply lean back in a favored chair, resting their feet on the naked minority of their choosing, smoking a fine cigar, and a good night would be guaranteed.

So, there you have it. I’ve been won over by a Canadian. That’s one out of thirty four and a half million. And I’ve got my fucking eye on the rest of them.

TASTE:  Elegant, complex, and powerful. Like the space shuttle in a dress.

DRINKABILITY: This is a fantastic sipping beer, but you could always be a heathen and chug it. Try not to throw up on the Dave Matthews poster you still have hanging in the man cave in your basement, though.

A.B.V.: %10.5

 COST: $12/1pt.9oz.

HANGOVER RATING: I wouldn’t go past three bombers of this.

 Source

Samuel Smith’s Organic Apricot Ale

I’ll let you all in on a little secret. I’m not really all that fond of Samuel Smith beers. The browns and porters fall flat, in my opinion, being kind of mundane and unremarkable. It’s why I don’t do reviews on them, or reviews on beers that I’m just kind of uninspired by all together. Because opening up an article and seeing the word ‘Meh’, followed by this picture:

Is a waste of both of our times.

But hey, you know what Samuel Smith can do right? Fruit beer! Damn right, Coddy’s preferred summertime libation jackpunched by an old English brew house. I’ve had all of them, but on the same night I tried ‘Terrible’, I got to try what I believe to be the best one for the first time.

Samuel Smith’s Organic Apricot is everything a fruit beer should be, and then some. First off, if you don’t like apricot, stay the hell away, because they sure didn’t go easy on it. The apricot here is far more prevalent then in the offerings from Pyrimid, Sea Dog, or Dogfishead. These apricots kick in your door, sit on your sofa, and demand chips.

 Apricots.

There is a thickness to this beer that is actually quite pleasant. I can’t stand that sort of thing in a berry beer, but here it just sort of works. Perhaps it’s because apricots (unless fresh or dehydrated) are usually served with some kind of syrup, and my mouth has no trouble at all with the associated viscosity.

This is absolutely wonderful, and if you were to put it in your face hole with something, I would suggest plain high quality cheesecake.

TASTE:  FUCKING APRICOTS

DRINKABILITY: Too damn easy. You could put yourself in the hole pretty quick with this, and have fun doing it.

A.B.V.: %5.1

 COST: $7/1pt.9oz.

HANGOVER RATING: Gotta be careful with something this sweet. ‘Wine Crushing Headfuck’ isn’t just a great band name, you know.

And then…

Samuel’s Sunsetter: The Apricot At The Threshold

Now, those of you that read this blog regularly know that I like to do this retarded thing with food where I smash two things or more together and try and see if I can survive/enjoy it. 

It was only a matter of time before I did this with beer, and you damn well knew it.  So what happens when you have roughly equal amounts of these two beers sitting in your fridge? Do you do the responsible, acceptable thing and pour a small glass of one, then the other? Not if you’re me, you wouldn’t. Hell, this glass holds sixteen ounces. I’m not wasting them.

It would be really easy to sit there on the other end of the internet and say: “Coddy, I coulda told, ya, man, that’s gonna be a bad idea. Brew Masters worked for countless hours on the formulation and manufacture of those two beers, and you just can’t go playing god and splicing their delicious beer genes together like that, bro.”

Well, then you’d be a smug asshole with no sense of adventure. You would also be woefully wrong.

Because this combination is awesome.  Smoked peaches? A complex symphony of taste over a simple beat of sweetness? A thick, yet refreshing body?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

In related news, I am now a minor beer deity. Go forth, child, go forth and conquer! 

Revisiting DuClaw: Soul Jacker

Posted in Spirit Guide with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 19, 2012 by Colin Walker

 Spirit Guide

After yesterday’s post, you would think that a rational man would steer clear of the dog that just bit him. You would come to the conclusion that a level-headed, reasonable gentleman, would show good sense and avoid getting into the same cage with the tiger that had just mauled him. You’d be right. A reasonable man would do that.

But this is a picture of me.

So, while a forward thinking fellow would take a wide berth of that tiger cage, you can rest assured that the Codpiece would be back the next day he was able to walk, smirking and calling that tiger names.

 Why? Because that son of a bitch thinks he’s better than me, that’s why.

DuClaw bit me on the ass. I’ve come back to see if they can do it again. Also, and more importantly, it’s already been paid for and is sitting in my fridge. I refuse to be afraid of anything in my own refrigerator.

 Except for that. I didn’t even fucking see that, so it’s not my responsibility. I’m not touching it.

DuClaw? DuClaw.

 DuClaw’s Soul Jacker

Another fancy label, anther cool name, another high alcohol content. So far, DuClaw hasn’t deviated from the formula that whipped my ass so soundly last time. Swell.

Soul Jacker is so named because it is actually a mix of two of the breweries other offerings. The ‘Soul’ bit comes from Devil’s Milk, which is an American barleywine. The ‘Jacker’ part comes from Black Jack, DuClaw’s imperial stout. Well, I’m actually not fond of barleywines, but I do love a good imperial stout. So, what happens when they throw one of them on top of the other?

It pours a dark, translucent, reddish-brown. Not a whole lot of head, but with this alcohol volume (and not being bottle fermented) this is to be expected. To the lips and…

It’s not bad, actually. The imperial stout stomps pretty soundly on that barleywine taste that I don’t like, while leaving some of its pleasant qualities behind. Unlike Nemesis, you can hardly taste the alcohol here at all, even though this is only %1.5 ABV lower. Chocolate and malt up front, with a little vanilla peeking through in the middle to a trace of hops at the end. All in all, I was expecting something a little more robust. this was actually quite mellow and soothing. By the end of the bottle, i was nodding my head in appreciation.

Food pairings? Asiago cheese and some hot salami.

 Double entendre, I was talking about my junk.

TASTE:  Balanced and pleasant.

DRINKABILITY: Really easy, leaves the barleywine far behind.

A.B.V.: %9.5

 COST: $10/1pt.9oz.

HANGOVER RATING: Not too bad, but as with anything, it would be easy to over do it.

Beer Week Almost Derailed By Nemesis

Posted in Spirit Guide with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 18, 2012 by Colin Walker

Spirit Guide

“The first and greatest commandment is, don’t let them scare you.”- Elmer Davis

“Fortune favors the brave”-Publius Terence

“I swear these motherfuckers at DuClaw are trying to kill me.”-Codpiece

We were rolling strong until about two days ago, my fine readers. (I drink the beers and the review goes up two days later–I don’t write these as I’m drinking.) I was floating along the river Hops, in my flat-bottom barley boat, whistling to myself as I drifted past the fruit trees. I had laid back with an easy drinking porter, chilled out with my new Viking main-man, and even hosted a rowdy tempest that was more peat than malt. All in all, good times. A few harsh words were uttered, but nothing completely untoward. Looked like smooth sailing.

Then, Hop river sped up, took a sharp turn around a blind bend and dumped me into the wide end of a bottleneck. The water’s will was steady, but in my way, preventing me from continuing on to the estuary and the sea beyond was a evil-looking bomber. DuClaw’s Pax Nemesis.

 Fuck.

It turns out, the name was appropriate.

Enough with the maritime metaphors. This beer kicked my ass and nearly capsized my boat (sorry…not really.)

 “And ye almost shoved yer own misen mast trough the poop-deck. ARRR.”

DuClaw is from Abbington, MD. That’s about 100 miles from where I sit, but since they’re in MD, that technically makes them ‘local’. I wanna love the local boys, it’s always good to root for the home team. Plus, DuClaw has some seriously kick-ass labels, and anyone who tells you that they’ve never bought a beer solely because of the label is a bald-faced liar.

That’s right I called you back from yesterday’s post to call you a fucking liar. Smooth malts my ass. Don’t point that thing at me!

So, swayed by the cool labels and the cool names, I picked up three bombers from DuClaw at The Wooden Keg.  This is the first. It’s a jacked-up altbeir. An altbeir (old beer) is brewed with a top fermenting yeast at low temperature. It starts out muddy, becoming clearer and lighter in color as time goes on. Mostly, altbeirs don’t reach %11. This one, does. I don’t know what they did to it, but I wish they hadn’t.

The taste of this beer is almost completely artificial. It’s strange, almost as if they formulated a trippel and a bock in a lab, then slammed them into each other under a grain alcohol shower. It’s kind of thick, cloyingly sweet, and somewhat oily. And the alcoholic aftertaste? Dear lord. I’m not a weak man when it comes to spirits, and I’ve had brews well above %11, but none has ever given me  the problems this one did. Have you ever poured vodka into soda and forgotten to stir it, just chugging it back right after you pour it, then regretting it as that taste of pure, unexpected alcohol made you burp and your saliva glands go into overdrive? This is just like that, except the soda sucks.

I was honestly stuck here, should I sip lightly, avoiding the feeling of nausea, putting up with the taste of this stuff? Or, should I chug bravely, throwing cation to the wind in an attempt to move onto a better beer and leave this foul experience behind me?

I think that, if you know me, you know which path I chose.

This was almost me.

Man, by the end of it, I was sure I was going to lose it. My stomach was in pure revolt. Never again with this. I’ve got two more, but different DuClaws in the fridge. Let’s hope they’re better.

Taste:  If you love yourself…

Drinkability:  stay the hell away from this.

A.B.V: %11

Cost: $10

Hangover rating: I’m sure that if you drank two of these, you’d need Gorilla tape to get your head back together.

Codpiece VS. The Scots: BrewDog Storm And SKULLSPLITTER

Posted in Spirit Guide with tags , , , , , , on July 17, 2012 by Colin Walker

Spirit Guide

Two days in a row around here is like getting a hurricane after a drought. But, as a drought is a dry state, that doesn’t fit the climate in my house right now. No, after the Happy Birthday spending spree at The Wooden Keg, my area (and my brain) are quite wet. It be rainin’ beers, is what I’m saying! Also, I drink. Um…what? Whatever. Stop hassling me.

 Motherfuckers don’t understand how big I am in Germany.

So, in my unfaltering pursuit to bring you all the beer reviews and culinary abortions  possible, I’ll be reviewing all of them. I’ll probably take a break in the middle of it and post about something else, so the whole front page of the site isn’t swamped with nothing but beer reviews. But, who knows? I might not show up again for a couple months, and anyone who doesn’t like it can gobble taint.

 This was in the top ten results for ‘Gobble Taint’ on Google Image Search, and is therefore a relevant picture.

Today we’re being invaded by Scots. Both Brewdog’s Storm and Orkney’s SKULLSPLITTER (caps are mine, but c’mon, look at that fucking name. you have to cap that.) hail from the land of kilts and William Wallace.

 Mel Gibson is as Scottish as…

I’ve tried some Scottish beers before, and for the most part was unimpressed, but that’s like someone from Ireland claiming they don’t like American beers when all they’ve ever tried is Budweiser and Coors. So, let’s give them a shot, shall we? And remember, they can take our beers, but…No. No, they can’t take our beers.

 No, you seriously can’t fucking have them.

Brewdog Storm

  Brewdog is fucking crazy. Let’s just get that out of the way up front.  If you don’t remember the name, let me remind you of this:

 That is seriously some David Lynch shit right there.

Yep, they’re responsible for that. That’s End Of The World, a %55 ABV more-than-beer that comes wrapped in taxidermied, optionally dressed animals. A six pack of that will run you about $700. I’ve been eyeballing bottles of their Tactical Nuclear Penguin and Sink The Bismark ($80 and $100, respectively), and have not yet been able to justify he purchase. So, when I saw a bottle of this for $6, I saw it as a good opportunity to try a Brewdog beer.

Storm is an IPA that is made with New Zealand hops and aged in a  Scottish islet whiskey cask. Say what? Yeah, that’s how Brewdog does shit. They’re like your fucked up uncle that was always trying to get that old decommissioned jet engine running so he could duct tape it o the top of his Olds and blast down Main on a Sunday wearing no pants. Nuts, but you gotta respect him, he’s kind of dangerous.

 Pictured: The apex of automotive excellence.

Storm pours out with zero carbonation or head. That is to say, this beer comes flat right out of the bottle. I went online and checked to see if this was a fluke and I didn’t have a bad beer, but no, that’s how it’s supposed to be. So, I drank it, and…

Do you like Scotch? I do. Scotch is good. But, do you know what I’m not expecting when I drink a beer, even a beer that’s been aged in a scotch cask? Not scotch. This beer tasted like watered down Scotch. All woodsmoke and peat, right up front, dominating everything. No hint of the IPA was left.

Now, don’t get me wrong, once over the initial shock, I was fine. I finished the whole bottle. But, I was drinking beer to drink beer. When I want a Scotch, I’ll have that. So, ultimately, I’ll have to call this one a failure, despite how excited I was at the outset. Oh well, maybe they get better as you head up their product line. We’ll see.

Taste:  I’m pretty sure this would be impossible to drink if you didn’t like Scotch.

Drinkablity:  It’s weird that there’s no bubbles. Also, see above.

A.B.V. %8

Cost:  $6 a 12oz. bottle. That means it would cost me $30 to get drunk off of this.

Hangover rating:  Just drank the one, so I can’t call it.

Orkney Brewery’s SKULLSPLITTER

Oh shit, son. When a beer has a name like that, it’s either a case of  Names To Run Away From Really Fast, or Deathbringer The Adorable. We’ll see.

Oh, quick history lesson for you, if you were wondering what a Viking is doing on a bottle of Scottish beer, it’s because that’s  Thorfinn Turf-Einersson, Earl Of Orkney. His nickname was SKULLSPLITTER. No shit. The Vikings ran shit in northern Scotland until the mid 12th century, and the SKULLSPLITTER was a Jarl up there. You know, like in Skyrim.

The beer pours reddish brown and smells quite pleasant. Dark, but fruity. The taste is phenomenal. I was expecting an overly malty mess, but this is a balanced blend of plums and smoke and toffee. Drinking this is like smoking a cigar while draped over the ass of a plus-size model. Fuck what it looks like, man, it feels good.

Buy this beer. Because, it didn’t wind up being a case of either naming trope being true. SKULLSPLITTER isn’t an empty threat or a complete berserker. He’s your Viking homeboy. And if you get a four pack, we’ll all go and ride unicorns. TOGETHER.

 Oh my god fuck yes.

Taste:  A wonderful surprise. Very complex and enjoyable.

Drinkability:  Easy. despite how dark this is, there’s no trouble whatsoever.

A.B.V. %8.5

Cost: $10 for four

Hangover Rating: I have to buy more of these to know, I’ll update this later.

Firestone Brewing Company, Walker’s Reserve

Posted in Spirit Guide on July 16, 2012 by Colin Walker

Spirit Guide

Codpiece back up in this motherfucker! I know you all missed me. It’s pretty messed up, actually, how you guys are so emotionally invested in me that when I’m away for long periods you start collecting cats, and animal themed slippers, and empty condiment bottles. I mean, that’s fucking strange. Why do you do that? I called up your phone and went to leave a voice mail, but the message was just one long, wailing, sob that trailed off into what I think was a sewing machine falling down a set of stairs. Freaked me out, so I didn’t leave a message. I still love you though, baby. Trust.

 “I’m sayin’, guuurl, you ain’t gotta wear them tinfoil draws when I’m away, neither.”

So, bought a house, and got married. Been kind of a busy year so far. Hopefully it will slow down and I’ll be able to spend more time with you wonderful folks, before you show at my house, holding a pitchfork that has a doll head tied to it, wearing nothing but a tattered prom dress. (I’m not going to say any names, Melvin.)

It was my birthday last weekend! Yay me! I’m not going to tell you how old I am now, just rest assured that this here is a meat that you let age, you know what I’m saying? This kind of sexy doesn’t come with a shelf life.

 Nahmean?

The good thing about birthdays when you’re a beer-o-phile, you will almost certainly receive bottled barley goodness. This year was no exception. I got at least nine new, weird, beers to go through, and I’m going to try no to do it too fast, so I’ll actually have some hope of actually remembering the experience the next day.

 “Pulled her dress up and her meat was like…at least dis big. I wuz liike Shit! but den, whooz gunna know, ya hear me?”

Off to the races.

  Firestone Brewing Company, Walker’s Reserve 

Now, you know I had to get this dark, foamy, tramp. Shit has my surname right there on the bottle. I’m willing to bet it’s actually someone else, but hell, who knows, right? Could have been I reserved this shit and then straight forgot about it until I came stumbling upon it later. Wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.

Although the label on the bottle implies an old English heritage, Firestone Brewing Co. has only been around since 1996. Located outside of Santa Barbara, CA, They are a four-time World Beer Cup Champion. Pretty decent for a sixteen year old. When I was sixteen the only thing I was a champion at was smoking bad weed and clumsy sex with girls with really bad judgment.

 “Yeah, I know what you mean! Clothes are like…so restrictive, you know? It would be better if…Hey! You haven’t seen my lighter, have you? Naw, naw, naw, not that one. It’s the Nine Inch Nails one. No? Shit. What was I talking about? Tits? No! Shit! Clothes!”

So, the black goddess threatens to be good, at least by reputation. So I poured it in my Sam Adams glass. (Yes, I know, fuck you. Beer tastes different out of that glass. It’s one of the few things Sam Adams has done right.)

Black. This shit is completely black. Like The Nothing from The NeverEnding Story black. Shawty got a head on her, too. Thick and shot through with caramel threads. Whoo-whee, it looks good.

Looks aren’t the only thing this beer has going for it. My namesake is tasty, just like me. Although while Walker’s Reserve Porter is smooth and surprisingly light, with chocolate and roasted caramel overtones and a slight bitter back bite, Walker Classic mostly tastes like salty bacon sweat and disappointment.

 My Viking sweat is so toxin-filled I actually repel mosquitoes.

Walker’s Reserve would go fantastically with some really pungent cheese, or some prime rib. Although, I think pretty much anything is good with a prime rib.

 Except a mime. Fuck a mime.

Taste:  Heavenly. This is a very classy porter.

Drinkability:  Surprisingly light. Not nearly as thick as I would have expected.

A.B.V.:  %5.8

Cost: %6 for 1 pint, 9 oz.

Hangover Rating: I only had one, but I can’t imagine this being too bad.

Wild Black, & Flying Dog Disobedience

Posted in Spirit Guide with tags , , , , , , , on April 20, 2012 by Colin Walker

Spirit Guide

Damn, it’s been a minute, hasn’t it? Sorry about that. It’s not that I’ve abstained from drinking, (pause to hear your collective sighs of relief) but rather that I’ve been busier than a customs agent trying to stop the flow of cholo-lobbed counterfeit lunch meat lately. Some of you were probably thinking, Oh, it’s good that The Codpiece finally put his self-destructive behavior behind him. No one can consume that much hooch and hellmeat and survive. Maybe now he’ll turn over a new leaf and start giving back to the community or something.

We have been here for years, and you people still don’t know me. I have nothing against self-improvement, my internet buddy Amber is currently on a journey of  wellness and self-resets, and if you’d like to read some inspiring writing on the subject, check her out here. But, as much as I wish Amber all the success in the world, we’re in two very different places.

Yes, I do go to the gym regularly. I have to lift those weights so that I can look good when the Red Hat Society and I conveniently show up at Denny’s at the same time. Just fucking with ya, those ladies haven’t talked to me since the Great Bingo Orgy And Totally Accidental Electrified Pomeranian Incident. I go to the gym and lift weights sort of like how I make payments on my credit card. I pay well over the minimum, sure, but let’s be honest, I’m not going to get out of this life debt free. Nope, I jack myself up so I can pour more poison and Mexican Hatecrimes right back in. It’s not the best plan, but when the reaper and I start our inevitable ninja charge at one another, at least I’ll be in good enough shape to maybe do something stupid to him before he kills me. I dunno, put a bucket on his head or some shit.

  Just as good, I guess.

And with all that out of the way, I bring you two new beer reviews. Let’s get to them.

Anheuser-Busch , Wild Black


A beer so new I couldn’t even find proper pictures of it on the internet. Hope you enjoy my Lannister-esque drapes.

Anheuser-Busch created Wild Blue a few years ago to kind of sneak in the craft beer uprising like a huge corporate narc. It’s their shot at a high ABV fruit beer, and nowhere on the label does it say anything about being tethered to InBev through the Clydesdale fail wagon. Sneaky indeed, but all you had to do was taste the beer to know that it had been the victim of brew-by-committee  shenanigans. They decided that wanted a fruit beer, so they went with blueberries, they decided they wanted it not to be a pussy beer and have an ABV that would give it some ‘street cred’.* They didn’t like the way that tasted, so they added more blueberries. You could still taste the alcohol, so they added more sweeteners. Then, when they were done, they had a 260 calorie beer, (Guinness is less than half that) slapped a crafty looking label on it, and released it into the world to facilitate date rapes everywhere.

*Actual dialog fr0m corporate meeting. 

  “Dimetapp Grape? Yeah, I know it does. Have some more.”

Well, if you thought that Wild Black was going to be any different, you were wrong. In true don’t-fix-it-unless-over-half-the-population-goes-blind fashion, all Anheuser did was change the fruit (Blackberries now), put a different dog on the label, and call it good. You should really skip this, especially if you’re  new to fruit beers. This shit might make you swear them off for all time.

That dog is kind of cute, though.

Wrapping this sad shit up:

Taste: Like a bad ripple. I feel like I should be under a bridge with a broken ciggerette hanging out of my mouth, shouting about the Peanut-Butter Overloard.

Drinkability: If you like cough syrup…Naw, fuck it, keep drinking cough syrup.

ABV: %8

Cost: $9

Hangover rating:  It’s not so much the hangover, as it is waking up still drunk.

 Flying Dog Disobedience

 By the way, Anheuser, that is how you put a picture of your product up on the internet.

Flying Dog is my favorite brewery, hands down. Yes, I know I’ve prattled on like a poff before for New Belgium, and they are a close second, but Flying Dog, man, they’re who got me into good beer in the first place. The bottles that started my over 200 bottle collection? Flying Dog. Poster in my house? Flying Dog. Best goddamn Imperial Porter? Flying Dog. Also, only about twenty minutes away? Flying dog. ‘Good Beer, No Shit.’ is printed right there on some of the bottles, and when some folks in Colorado said, ‘Hey, you can’t do that.’ They said, ‘Oh, fuck yes, we can.’   There are quotes from Hunter S. Thompson all over thier products. These are my kind of people, is what I’m saying.

So, when I learned that they had released a limited edition corked and caged bottle holding a over 7 ABV maple sweetened brew, I kind of had a fanboy moment.

“Dear God, can it be?”

But…even fanboys get the blues, right? Just ask all those people who waited in line forever to see the Phantom Menace when it first came out. They went in looking like they were chewing cocaine candy and came out looking like Jar-jar Binks   shit in their tub of popcorn. Or, more recently, when the Green Lantern movie had Ryan Reynolds fucking their eye sockets for nearly two hours with a giant CGI green dildo of misfortune.

Well, this is nothing like that. Go out and get you some of this shit. It is absolutely fantastic. There are dark fruits at work. The alcohol is there, but way in the back, just chilling. The maple syrup slides over your tongue like something ethereal.

Eating this with some glazed ham would be like licking the inside of a  Seraphim’s thigh. Go. Get. This. Shit.

“And stay the fuck away from my thigh.”

Taste: Somehow dark and light at the same time, with a hint of sweetness.

Drinkability:  Surprisingly easy, considering the ABV

ABV: 7.6

Cost: $11/ 1 pint, 9 oz. Uh, it’s a collector’s item? It’s worth it. Go get it.