Archive for Death.

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?

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.

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!

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.

Son Of A Peach VS. Sam Adams Imperial White

Posted in Spirit Guide, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 11, 2011 by Colin Walker

CAGE MATCH BIOTCHES!

Normally I only feature one beer. Normally, I’m too drunk to write these articles. What the hell is your point? Leave me alone. You’re not fit to judge me. Only Ernest Hemingway can’t judge me. He would beat your sissy ass if he saw you trying.

  In this picture, Ernie is so drunk he’s boxing ghosts.

I’ve chosen to feature these two beers today because they are, as of this writing, my two favorite summer brews. They are both wheat beers, but that’s pretty much where the similarities end. Well, let’s get to the rundown, or , as Ernest would say, “Get in the ring you Nancy-boy candy-ass! I can see you hiding behind that purple llama!”

 “Fuck this. I ain’t in it.”

AND IN THIS CORNER, WEIGHING IN AT TWELVE OUNCES, FROM SPARTANSBURG, SOUTH CAROLINA, “IRISH” SON OF A PEACH!

 “There is nothing at all Irish about me.”

I’ve drank a ton of fruit beers in my time. I’m a fruity bastard, especially when the mercury rises above seventy-five degrees. I’m not much for them in the winter, preferring porters and stouts, but you try kicking back at a BBQ downing bottle after bottle of  Flying Dog Gonzo.

 EPIC PARTY BRO!

Yep. That’s why I go for these beers. This beer in particular lends itself to all day slow chugging sitting out back of someones house watching other people play horseshoes. (Or, if I’m playing, sending people to the hospital with horseshoes.) It’s light and fizzy, with just the right amount of peach flavor. It’s cloudy, but drinks easy. Easy as your one friend’s sister whose always giving you the ‘Take Me Out Behind The Trampoline’ eyes. You know the one. Just like her, it also goes great with said BBQ.

“But Coddy,” you say, “I don’t really like peaches, bro.”

To this I say: “Go back to Russia, Ivan! How the hell do you not like peaches? Peaches, bacon, burgers, fried chicken, and watermelon are as American as apple-pie! Wait…What? USA!”

Break it down now. I SAID BREAK IT DOWN!

Taste: Peaches. Millions of peaches. Peaches for me. And you. And that guy! I LOVE YOU TERRY! YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN THE BEST OF THEM!

Drinkability: As easy to drink as soda. You’ll find yourself drunk and be surprised.

ABV: 4.7, a little higher than your average pilsner.

Cost: $8.49 a six-pack.

Hangover rating: These have gotten me once or twice. I don’t know if it has to do with the natural sugars in the peaches they use, but probably. They’ll thump your head right proper if you go past eight or so.

AND IN THIS CORNER, WEIGHING IN AT, WELL, TWELVE OUNCES, FROM BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, SAMUEL ADAMS “RAGING MICK” IMPERIAL WHITE!

 “My father is German, you stupid son of a…”

Whoa. Just whoa. This motherfucker right here means business. It’s a white beer too, but this and the other beer probably don’t even speak the same language, at least not the same dialect.

Example:

Son of a Peach: “How ya’ll doin’? Sure is a fine afternoon. Supposin’ y’all’d like ta sit over in the shade with me? I’ll spin you a yarn ’bout how my grandpappy charmed the werewolves and the immigrants out of the deep south.”

Sam Adams Imperial White: “AAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!IS THAT YOUR SISTER!? I NEED MEAT AND SOULS TO FEED THE ETERNAL VOID!

Yeah. This beer can be drunk outside, but be wary, it’s deceptively thick for a white beer. It borders on true Belgian status. Coriander and spice be up in this bitch. It’s as satisfying as ice cold revenge though, every sip you take is like hearing the lamentations of your enemies. And it hits so hard, you might actually hear those lamentations, after the cops remove the pick-ax from your hands.

 “We’ve never seen anyone fight through five tasers before.”

Tale of the tits Tape. Tape. I meant tape. For real.

Taste: Like thick orange and coriander goodness.

Drinkability: Pretty good, especially considering how thick it is.

ABV: 10% Sweet Jesus.

Cost: $10 a four-pack.

Hangover rating: There is a good reason they only sell this in four-packs.

FIGHT!

Sam Adams comes out swinging wildly! It’s nothing but haymakers and windmill fists! Son of a Peach dodges! Sam Adams has hit the ref! The ref is down! The Ref’s head has exploded! There’s brains and skull and shit! Oh my god! Son of a Peach is still dancing! Sam Adams can’t catch him! Sam Adams has slipped in brain matter! He’s on his back, apparently cursing the elder gods that gave him life!

 “I deny being any kind of elder god. You know, for the record.”

Sam Adams can’t get up! He’s too heavy! Son of a Peach is off in the audience, flirting with someone else’s wife! Oh, the insanity!

THE WINNER:

Son of a Peach, but only because summer drinking is a marathon, not a drag race.