Ingestion of the quadripartite flavors so curiously burrowed into this Floridian mashup may cause a severe case of ADD. While yer distracted with a newfound mental disorder, a beloved sauna might be roasting in yer vicinity like a charred + flaming marshmallow. Jesus! It was only 200 degrees when we left for dinner.
Such tragedies are bound to happen when you’re contemplating the way Cigar City stamps this one on your bleaching hair and peeling summer skin. Out in the sun. All day. Baking and basking in nature’s oven. Nothing about this exbeerience is overcooked except yer sunstroked ass.
(solid crystals of salt hang like diamonds off yer forearms before tumbling unpredictably into salty rivers of sweat)
None of that matters though now. You’ve been hectically rotating your delirious solar thoughts around the four tenets of this ale for hours. Oats, Rye, Brown, Rye, India, OatsOatsRyeINDIA! They’re all jostling with one another in a gentlemanly debate; each one determined to curry favor with the tongue delegates of yer mouth-congress. According to Improvisacion rules, each ingredient will have equal and separate floor time to plead a yummy deposition. Apparently, this is how they do things in Florida.
(Sunshine State. Dywane Wade. Oranges. Gentrification. Manatees living in….)
WATER!
Shit, there’s still the issue of a huge, fiery sweatshack. There’s only one way to put out a hellish inferno of sauna flames. Rely on the good faith of a Canadian neighborhood. Similarly, there’s only one advisable reaction after defeating Satan’s combustion. Share this beer with a random Canuck or two, telling them, “Thanks for putting out my sauna fire by the lake last summer.”
They’re bound to know what yer talking about.
-Pedro Wooly
- 2 years ago
