The drinking man's guide to fine (and not-so-fine) beer, wine and spirits
There is something wholly gratifying about getting thoroughly fucked-up on a beverage you made yourself. Akin to introducing two good friends to one-another: they fuck, and the subsequent offspring buys you booze for the rest of your life.
Move over Coors and Budweiser, there has been a trend in the craft beer industry to put good quality brew into cans! No longer are we limited to nights of shattered glass while dancing barefoot around an open fire, we can now slice our feet equally well with aluminum! So, at least for a few moments, say so long to the bottleneck; it’s going to be a wild aluminum ride!
Jesus, I had the most frustrating beer making experience of my life today.
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Whenever it may be, It’s a special time of the day: that climactic moment when you crack into your first beer- mouth watering, corpus cavernosa beginning to inflate- then fill your favorite glass and take your first drink of the day. Whether it’s 9:55 am (Abyss for breakfast?) or 6 pm. But there is nothing worse than going through this glorious ritual only to find that you’ve poured yourself a glass of poop: a spoiled or past-its-prime beer, now only a shell of its former self. Talk about fucking blue balls. A feeling probably much like the one Ronaldo felt when he realized his three beautiful call girls were actually men.
Picture yourself for a moment in the grotto at the Playboy Mansion, that legendary subterranean semen-laced hot tub wherein generations of women have allowed themselves to be ravished by innumerable lucky bastards. You’re the only dude, and you’ve just polished off a bottle of Dom with a tub full of Bunnies. On your left is Kendra. Not only is she butt naked and drunk, but she also has laryngitis and can’t talk — a huge bonus. On your right is Holly, no longer with Hef so you don’t feel bad about what you’re about to do with her. She’s also butt naked and looking at your meat like a starving dog. Bridgette’s on your lap, wearing the same imaginary swimsuit as the others. Across the tub is a ring of Playmates. Let’s say the Playmate of the Year for every year since 2000.
One day. Over 100 of the best Pinot Noir makers on the West Coast. One Wop with a wine glass. Can you say “Pig in Shit”?
Picture yourself with a jar of viagra and 6 hours free access to Caligula’s #1 harem.
The San Diego contingent of Boozereviewers escaped (wives, kids, responsibility in general) on a Saturday night to experiment with a one liter beer boot from Brendan at Bier Boot Haus. With some initial skepticism, we poured what appeared to be 2/3 of a one gallon growler of Ballast Point Dorado Double IPA (9.6% ABV). Skepticism because who the hell drinks a beer like this out of a boot? We do.
First observation: this is not your standard 12 or 22 oz curl. Second observation: the wide mouth of the glass invites uncontrollable urges to tip the boot back and chug, even with the least chuggable of beers. Quite an interesting visualization as the boot tips back toward your head in mid-chug, definitely delivering a “boot” upside the noggin.
I don’t know about you, but when I’m in Mexico’s mainland I find it damn near impossible to get hungover. And, believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve done the research on this subject.
Let’s take the other day, for example.
A good friend of mine, a girl we’re calling Your Mama in this post, is going to Costa Rica for the first time this month. Now, Your Mama likes to get busy. Once, while drinking heavily in Australia, she and a friend got into a competition to see who had screwed more letters of the alphabet (first name starts with…). Within 2 more beers they had identified the letters each needed to screw in order to round things out. I think she needed an M, an E and a K, or something like that. Anyway, they then made a bet to see who could get all the way from A to Z first.
She won. Of course she won, she’s a girl. Basically, all she has to say is “Hey Kevin, wanna screw me? I need a K.”. Unfair fight.
Now, I’ve taken it upon myself to write her a travel guide for her next trip. Here it is:
Ok, lemme start off by clarifying something: it’s OK if you don’t know what the fuck I’m going to be talking about here, based on the title of this review. In fact, I’m willing to bet that at least 75% of you don’t even know what that 2nd-to-last letter is in this post’s title, not to mention how to pronounce it. If one of my good friends wasn’t a crazy Brazilian film maker I wouldn’t know either. And if he wasn’t my best buddy’s brother-in-law, and if their father hadn’t passed his exceptionally good taste in booze on to his son and daughter, I wouldn’t have this bottle in my hand. This empty bottle.
This is a place where you can find honest reviews of beer, wine and spirits written by young snob-haters for the average Joe who just likes his or her liquor.
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