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.

New Belgium Passion Saison

Posted in Spirit Guide with tags , , , , , , , on December 20, 2011 by Colin Walker

Spirit Guide

Let me make something clear. I am a man who can admit when he was wrong. Back in August, I ribbed New Belgium Brewing Company a bit. It wasn’t about the beer, I loved the beer, but I did make some disparaging remarks about their name and their website. These remarks may have been true, but I’d like to go ahead and retract them now anyway.

“But why?” you ask, “Coddy, you’ve always been the lone shining beacon of truth in our otherwise murky world.  When the fog of lies and propaganda gathers, it is only you who pierces that deceptive murk with your everlasting sword of light and purity.”

It is to you I say, “Who the fuck are you, and how did you find this website?”

I’m retracting the statements I made because I have now become convinced that New Belgium Brewing can do no wrong. What I’m saying is, I want to have New Belgium’s babies.

So, now that it’s been established that I’m a mincing twat for New Belgium, let’s get to what I’m reviewing:

Inseminate me, you amber bastard.

It’s the Prickly Passion Saison, and it’s the shit. They took prickly pear and passion fruit and threw that shit on top of a high ABV farmhouse ale. It’s fruity, yeasty, and it will knock you on your ass.

The two fruits combine to form an almost mango character. Which is weird, but not unpleasant, kind of like my uncle Sal.

“Wear the pajamas I like.”

Pair this with a good filet of whatthefuckeveritdoesntmatter and go drink some right now.

Taste: Tart and yeasty. This is only bad when we’re talking about the fairer sex.

Drinkability: Tricky at first, but after the first few sips, it becomes almost addictive.

ABV: 8.5%

Cost: $8/22 oz.

Hangover Rating: Three will crack your skull and eat your brains like a famished gorilla. (gorillas do that.)

Just A Minor Gastric Apocalypse, Your Grace

Posted in Culinary Cataclysm with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 8, 2011 by Colin Walker

Here were are again, with me a few weeks older and absolutely no wiser. It’s the Culinary Cataclysm, wherein I attempt to raise a host from the base-born commoners of the Value Menus in franchise restaurants and combine them like Voltron to best the chain’s mighty champion.

Why? Because I love you guys. And I fucking hate my toilet.

 Jiggle the handle? Motherfucker, JIGGLE THIS!

So, last time, this went badly. I did a double feature on KFC and Taco Bell, and not only were the results close to inedible, I was in such bad shape afterwards that people from northern Japan were sending care packages to my butthole for two weeks.  I swore I’d take some time before I did the next installment.

But then my fiance’ went out of town. I was driving to pick up my daughter from jazz band when I heard the raspy voice in my left ear.

“Codpiece, it’s time.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh, yes. Time for another article. Time to eat.”

“No, man. Seriously, look, the last time we did this, the city had to destroy the sewer lines for blocks south of my house and a para-military unit had to be deployed to hunt the sentient racoons  that had been birthed from the incident.”

“Codddddpiece. You’re going to do it. You’ve ignored the King thus far, and have offended him. He demands fealty.”

“C’mon, man. I’ve got my daughter with me.”

“Take her with you. Sweets for the sweet.”

“Yeah, okay. Works for me.”

Then I was at Burger King. My daughter ordered the number seven, the chicken fries meal. She’s got my metabolism and weighs like a buck-o-five, so whatever. I scour the Value Menu and wind up ordering  a Double Stacker, a double cheeseburger, and a Spicy Tendercrisp. Total: $4.50 (for my part of the order).  The Whopper is the King’s Grand Champ, but I knew I had that whipped. A Double Whopper with cheese is $4.90 though, so that’s the meaty bastard I put in my crosshairs. We got home, and I got down to business.

 Houses Stark, Tully, and Baratheon, respectively.

The camera on my phone predates the written word. This looked way better in person.

Unwrap the Double Stacker, flip it over, and remove the bottom bun.

“And when the fiery chicken mounts the cheesy cow, an unholy alliance will form.”

Unwrap the Spicy Tendercrisp, remove bottom bun, and place on top of Double Stacker.

The Triple Sesame Sasquatch!

Unwrap double cheeseburger, discard bottom bun, place on top. Unleash the fury of the Northlands.

View from the north tower.

Have daughter place next to her head to provide sense of scale.

Have your daughter take a picture of you holding the monstrosity, while laughing, so you wind up looking like a viking with Parkinson’s. And yes, I always eat shirtless. DON’T JUDGE ME!

But I can judge this sandwich. It was fanfuckintastic. I wouldn’t recommend eating a Spicy Tendercrisp on it’s own, because Burger King’s chicken has the consistency of sawmill waste, but in between the two towers of cheesy burger love it gave just the right amount of zip. The Special Sauce is there near your taste buds, and then there’s the bacon. Bacon is like the mounted cavalry in your sandwich’s war party.

Let’s see how it does against the flagship:

Double Whopper with cheese:

Price: $4.90

Two beef patties

Two slices of cheese

Tomato

Lettuce

Pickles

Onion

Mayo

Sesame seed bun

1010 calories

Triple Sesame Sasquatch:

Four beef patties

Four slices of cheese

Spicy Tendercrisp patty

Lettuce

Mayo

Ketchup

Mustard

Pickles

Special Sauce

Three sesame seed buns

FUCKING BACON

1520 calories

Now, some of you are thinking that you can add bacon to the Double Whopper. You can, but it adds eighty-five cents to the price. So, we have an uncontested winner. For Winterfell!

This Lady Is The Most Daring Racist I’ve Ever Seen

Posted in Uncategorized on November 28, 2011 by Colin Walker

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=i47HoiM0Au8#!

(WordPress used to let me upload videos for free. Not anymore. Maybe go watch the video and come back? PROTIP: clicking your mouse wheel on the link will open the video in a new tab. Sad fucking panda.)

This woman here. Wow. Everybody either knows someone, or has someone in their family who is racist. It’s unfortunate, but it’s a part of life. Normally our acquaintances and family members keep this to themselves. Sure, they’ll spout off about the ‘Darkies’, or about how they don’t trust the guy at the convenience store because he’s an ‘A-rab’ to you, but out in public they’ll keep their mouths shut.

Not this lady. Holy shit.

I don’t know what’s worse, her using that baby as a shield, (because I’m pretty sure she’d get her ass whipped if the kid wasn’t on her lap), or that she has a kid in the fist place. What a truly horrible bitch.

Go back to Si-fucking-nig-rgragua, indeed.

New Blog

Posted in Uncategorized on November 26, 2011 by Colin Walker

I’ve decided to start a new blog for my more ‘serious’ writing. There’s nothing really there yet, so don’t break your neck getting there. (You can break your neck navigating the internet, I’ve seen it happen.) The address is: http://corpsedance.org/

It’s got it’s own domain and everything. Oh, I’m fancy now. I’ll also post it in the blogroll in the right hand part of the page.

I won’t forget you, I mean, anymore than I do already. There’s still beer to drink and cars to destroy and inventive ways to kill myself with food, so don’t lose heart.

The Evils That Men Do (To Themselves)

Posted in Culinary Cataclysm with tags , , , , , , , , on November 12, 2011 by Colin Walker

Ok, so this is the segment where I do idiotic things with food. Last time, I brought you all the McGangbang Supreme. That was pretty good shakes, let me tell you. I was pleased with myself that I was able to go into a fast food franchise and cobble something together from the dollar menu that was more filling than the chain’s flagship sandwich. I was so pleased, that I decided that I’d have to write another of these soon, trying the same formula out on other fast food places.

Well, ‘soon’ is a relative term. First off, I’m a Grown-Ass-Man, with a family and responsibilities and what-not.  The opportunity to raid the burger joint and do evil simply doesn’t come up all that much, considering that we are a fuctional family that eats meals together.

 “Look, I know you spent a while on this, but I’m gonna just go and see if I can’t make my colon hate me real quick.”

Also, I was a bit reluctant to continue on with a segment that had such a high chance of resulting in death. But, as luck would have it, the fiance is out of town, and my daughter decided to spend the night at a friend’s house at the last minute. So, the reaper was calling.

I had a budget of nine bucks, and there’s a Taco Bell and a KFC lined up nice and pretty on the main strip. Would this be as satisfying as my McDonald’s adventure? I’ll try and scratch a message on the wall and let you know before I buy it.

 Because I fucking love bacon.

Part One: The Taco Bell Imminent Rectal Prolapse

I was disappointed at Taco Bell. The value menu (the Why Pay More menu for you corporate attorneys)  didn’t have a lot of good stuff on it, at least for the purpose of this experiment. What the hell is a cheese roll-up? How am I going to incorporate a caramel empanada into a dinner sandwich? Why the hell am I doing this again?

Keeping with the theme from the last segment, I chose three items. The Five Layer Beefy Burrito, ($1.59) a Chicken Burrito, ($1.89) and a Soft Taco ($0.99). I was disappointed again when I heard that the total with tax was $4.95. I had gotten out of McDonald’s at $3.18. “Why Pay More?” I said to myself, then cackled madly. When I heard “Excuse me, sir?” I realized that the lady on the other end of the speaker could still hear me. I drove around, embarrassed.

I threw some newspaper on the table, because god knew what could happen here, and started assembling.

 The bottom one says Chalupa because education.

First, I unwrapped the Five Layer Beefy Burrito.

 “Yum.”–Satan.

Then I squirted some fire sauce on that whore.

 There, that’ll make it better.

Then I unwrapped the Chicken Burrito, and placed it on top.

 To say that I didn’t expect that color green is something of an understatement.

Then I threw the Soft Taco on top of that.

 A 17 layer death wish.

After some seriously taxing wrapping, and a little time taken out to hastily write out my last will and testament on one of Taco Bell’s brown napkins, this is what I wound up with:

 “Hate Burrito” is the name of my new band, by the way.

And then…I put it in my mouth.

It wasn’t…bad? I mean, it tasted like like Taco bell food, which, if you’re conditioned to eating it, isn’t horrible. It’s imitation bland Mexican, for sure, and those two ‘Fire” sauce packs I put on there did nothing to liven it up, but I wasn’t actively choking.

Then about halfway through, I looked at it.

 Florg.

And I couldn’t eat anymore. That visual, combined with the taste in my mouth closed the deal. Don’t do this to yourself. People care about you.

The KFC Immediate Regret

KFC’s value menu is even worse than Taco Bell’s. They have two price options ($0.99 and $1.99) and choosing between the two of them is like your rapist asking you how you want it. Because of the $4.95 I had just spent at Taco bell, I had to stick with the $0.99 choices. There were three. I could get a Crispy Snacker, a Honey BBQ Snacker, or two biscuits. I ordered two BBQ Snackers and a Crispy. God help me, I should have just ordered the biscuits. Their biscuits are okay.

 You see how they all say ‘Special’? I love when a product tries to reassure me before it strangles me with sadness.

I open the Honey BBQ Snacker.

 What. The. Fuck.

Um…Yeah. So I continued. The Crispy Snacker.

  “No…I…No. Okay?”

First off, what the fuck is that sauce? And why is there only a complementary dollop of it? Just because I don’t know what it is doesn’t mean I don’t want more of it. Damn it. This was promising to be dry, so I went and got some sweet chili sauce and put it on there. No pic is available because I was actively weeping and wasn’t sure I could keep the camera still.

Then, the other Honey BBQ Snacker:

 It will never be my birthday again.

I was less than excited about this. But, some things look bad and taste good, right? So, I tried it.

AND ALL MY WORST FEARS WERE REALIZED.

It was still dry. I don’t know what animal that is, but I’ll be damned if it was a chicken, and KFC buys their BBQ sauce in lots from a subsidiary of Elmer’s Glue Corp. Also, the whole thing went sideways on me.

 Even the damn dog is ashamed.

Don’t do this, either. As far as value menu mash-ups go, McDonald’s is still grand champ.  I’d also like to mention that Taco bell and KFC are both owned by a Chinese company called Yum Foods. A lot of people over here have been worried about war with the Chinese for a while now. Let me tell you. They are already winning. And we, we don’t even know we’re fighting.