The smallest elementary particles of the universe are in constant flux. The notion of virtual (parallel) pairs of muon, gluons and electrons baffles yer gourd nearly the same way this ale befuddles yer stomach. A glowing, hearthy flame of flavor exists simultaneously in yer nose-holes and bowels—yet you’ve only taken a sniff. Dangerous scientific practices are surely to blame.
Early reports indicated that the FDA was holding this beer back due to unknown quantum fluctuations. A gathering of wizard-beard-stroking mages (aka gov’t appointed scientists) gazed curiously at the contents of this bottle. They spent the hours of the owl muttering ominous thoughts aloud, like…
“This stinks of bad methodology and lost reality.” “Jesus! Who would’ve thought it’ll all end this way?” Or “The bastards have doomed us all.”
But you’ve got no beard to stroke on this issue. You turn the other cheek to apocalyptic theoretical physics.
Unfurl a throaty scream “PISS OFF!” to the FDA. Embrace the buttered bullets of flavor about to shoot into yer kevlar liver. Absorb the impact and sting from Curieux’s iron-fist-in-velvet-glove wallop. Inhale deeply and feel decaying sweetness ricochet across your chest just as you would take down a deep cross on the soccer pitch.
Stare narrowly into the eyes of the defender inside yer glass and break his ankles with a mind bending GULP. You imbibe to the awe of everyone around you—almost Horrorstruck. Then, GOLGLUGGOLGLUG. Yer finished and a myriad of sportswriters and barmates applaud your brilliance. But you humbly insist that credit be given where credit is due: a deft assist from Allagash.
-Pedro
- 04.09.10
