There is a union. It represents yer capacity to have fun. Currently it is negotiating with a bottle of the League of Hops. You have unleashed the hellstorm of secrecy, caffeine-laced debate sessions, and predictable trips to the liquor counter to ease the swollen mental lobes.
The union wants the freedom to sample the vast varieties of hops, while the League throws an unseemly wrench into the machine, “Drink only Double Trouble. It’ll end you anyway. Throw away yer illusions about loving another hop-filled drink.” There’s a scratching sound that echos loudly in the negotiation room. It’s the Union of Fun digging its fingernails deep into the giant oak conference desk.
It’s true.
There’s no escaping how much you crave the sadistic hop assault designed by Founders. Only through this bottle will the union satisfy certain animalistic urges and thirst quenching desires. And only in Michigan could such a scale-tipping enticement be produced. A liquid carrot tied and hung on a alcohol melded rod of Hop vines. There is little, if anything, false or fallacious about the League’s Bargain.
Deal. And at last, the keys to a city of Double Trouble are handed over by the Warlords of Michigan. Reluctant, though they are, the masters of this hoppy domain understand yer plight. Under the conditions, at least. There is a glimmer of beery heaven awaiting in each of these bottles.
Eliminate the mediator and find a settlement of yer own. Slice the through the Michigander gauntlet and find the true source of pure hop enjoyment.
-Pedro Wooly
- 3 years ago
Appallingly grotesque metaphor: David Foster Wallace’s corpse reanimated as a bum in the early morning light transposed with the first 15 minutes of a Next Generation episode. That’s Oskar Blues Gordon DIPA…more or less.
Now I’m not as thirsty as the bum who was willing to pay me for a face full of dog piss but I am certainly always ready for a good DIPA. 2 days and halway down a growler, this beer puts me in a good mood before dinner and a better mood after a Captain Picard verbal smackdown. And the like the ridges of Lieutenant Worf’s brow, the hops in the beer cut a bristling line across the top of your mouth. But the flavor doesn’t pain you, it sails like heinous JFK-like sailboat on a sea of bourbon.
Traditional is the mildest adjective I can think of for this brew. Isn’t that terribly interesting? Please do try this Colorado delicacy. No, I have not been paid to say that…yet.
-Pedro Wooley
- 3 years ago
