"Jason" Rates a Mystery Beer

"Jason" says: I open the next unlabeled bottle from my fridge, the one of which Bim has no clue as to the contents. Could be good, could be bad, could kill me. Thankfully it didn't kill me, though if I'd had more than the two sips it may have done just that. After the quick sampling, an image is immediately projected into my mind. Someone has had this beer before. I believe this is a fairly adequate description, hence my breviloquence.


Jason

Bim Responds:  "Jason", it is true that this unlabeled bottle was in fact one of our early homebrewing attempts. I believe it was called CHC Best Bitter, which was really a misnomer, since it is the "best" of nothing. As noted on a previous post, we were drunk while brewing, while not technically a crime, it should be as noted by this brewing result. It's possible that we may have used Drano in the brewing process as well as several other toxic household chemicals. There is a definite hint of Ortho wasp killer in the taste. Our previous description of this particular concoction was that "I hesitate to even call it beer". In hindsight, it's more of a medicinal tonic, best used to relieve oneself of constipation. In fact, it is sold in twelve countries as a colonoscopy prep. Now that you've sampled it, we're glad to have one less bottle we have to choke down. If you were a friend, I'd tell you to immediately seek medical attention. In your case, my advice would be to "go towards the light".

Bim

Bim's Two Fisted Chicken Choke

It was a cool evening early last week when we gathered around the brand new Costa Rican marble fire pit in Johnny Wilder's backyard for a quick tasting session. D-Rail, who had just recently accepted a position as a "Brazilian waxing specialist" at a local spa called "Bushwhackers", arrived just in time to join Fred, Bim,Johnny along with their better halves for a night that would forever change the way we looked at Bim, our renowned animal rights activist. The BC4M has always been a champion for those with "unique" traits that set them apart from the norm of society. As you loyal readers have learned, we are a varied assortment of characters that share one thing in common, a thirst for great craft beer. It wasn't until about halfway through the session that we witnessed the first public appearance of the apparent alter ego of our beloved Bim, a doppelganger we would later learn was a disturbed British nobleman named Sir Peter Wanker. It seems that young Peter had one day mistakenly told his coquettish and buxom fiance that he had gotten into some fisticuffs and had beaten off three guys. The young lady, a woman from the upper crust of "society" immediately called off the engagement before she was wed to this "deviant". Stunned by her dismissal, Peter spent the next year locked in his basement writing wistful lovelorn sonnets and learning how to "take care" of himself. But before we get ahead of ourselves, we started off the evening with a new Belgian sour beer Brouwerij DeProef Zoetzuur (7.0%) or literally "sweet and sour". An amazingly balanced beer that has both prevalent sweet and tart notes, it was smooth and tangy, sort of like drinking an alcoholic version of sour gummi bears. The sour beer contingent, Fred and Wilder loved it, while Bim and D-Rail each said the taste was definitely growing on them so it rated a really good. Next was a New Belgium Sahti (7.2%), a unique style of beer that has come to our shores from Scandanavia, utilizing juniper twigs for flavor enhancement. The junipers they have out in Colorado where this shit is made must be artificial ones, cause this was an empty bomber that had little flavor at all. Carbonation was decent, but then the taste that followed was like unsweetened cotton candy as it washed over your tongue like a bottle of seltzer water. "Holy shit this sucks" said D-Rail, while Bim added, "You think we could use it as a hair tonic?" "What a fucking waste" said Fred as we each poured out the remains of our glasses for a "beer" that easily earned a sucks. Hoping for better results, we opened an Avery Seventeen Anniversary Ale (8.69%), a dry hopped black lager. The taste on this bottle wasn't any better than the Sahti, as we poured a round of what looked like jet black cola into our glasses. The taste was a mixed bag of mint, chocolate, toffee and bitter that finished with an abrasive boozy finish that screamed out "needs more time to mellow" This one could be pretty good in time, but as of now, its a so-so. We then tried a Left Hand Brewing Stranger (5.0%) pale ale that must have been spiked with either peyote or mescaline because it was after we tried this that we found out Bim was unknowingly afflicted with an extremely uncommon affliction called bipolar monkey syndrome. After downing his beer, a surprisingly sessiony pale ale that rated a good, Bim's demeanor instantly changed as he stood up and addressed us in an accent that would have fit right in at the upcoming royal wedding. "I do say ole chaps, but what a fine beverage indeed. A profound treat for the palate, I shall require more of these for my travels this summer to Rhodesia". "What the fuck are you talking about" said a stunned Fred, as a bewildered Wilder asked, "did you mean Rhode Island?". "No you right bah-stard, said the suddenly angry "Englishman". "I bloody well meant Rhodesia, a small outpost full of strumpets and tarts you petulant snogger". About this time, Wilder's yellow lab came bounding out the door towards the group. This evil twin must also have an unnatural love for canines like Bim has as it was precisely at that moment, that our lives were forever changed as we watched our "guest" leap onto his chair and start to pretend he was choking his chicken. He alternated first with his left hand (apparently the angry hand) yelling out "I'm gonna kill you, you ungrateful whoring motherfucker", then as the docile hand took over he softly whispered, "Ah my sweet, come let me pet you, I won't hurt you". For what seemed like 10 minutes we watched in both horror and unbridled laughter as this charlatan entertained us with the "dueling chicken choke". Apparently, these sessions are sporadic, as Bim suddenly reemerged wondering out loud, "What the fuck just happened". "Dude, you just went schizo on us and tried to punch the clown with both hands", said Wilder as Fred added, "I wish we had caught that shit on tape". Bim's wife, Florence Naughtygale was laughing herself silly as she said, "And all this time, I thought all those weird sounds he has been making at night were just him dreaming". "He's been doing this shit for weeks, talking dirty to himself all night" she added. As if nothing had happened at all, Bim got up and got the final beers of the night, two from Porterhouse Brewing, their Red (4.4%) a decent irish red that is smoother and much more malty than a Killians, rating a good, and an Oyster Stout (5.2%) that had a roasted malt flavor that was thick and tasty, which also rated a good. We ended the night with a Pyramid Outburst Imperial IPA (8.5%) which surprised all of us with how hoppy and delicious it was, garnering a really good followed by a Victory Old Horizontal (11%). This barleywine was a sugary booze bomb that pushed us over the edge and into a drunken stupor. Thick and sugary, it was like shot gunning a gallon of Nyquil but still tasted damn good and went down as easily. As we departed, we all walked away wondering if this was the only time we would be visited by the newest "member" of the BC4M, the unparalleled "king of banana buffing", who obviously lives by the mantra, "The monkey needs a spanking". Little did we know, that he would make an encore appearance a mere week later. Stay tuned........

Road Trip to The Weeping Radish

Dear Penthouse Forum, I know this is going to sound like a crazy fantasy but every word of this story is true.

Many of you may recall reading or perhaps "hearing" stories to good to be true in the popular adult fiction magazine, stories about the hot babysitter, the horny twins or maybe if you were unlucky like D-Rail, you read about the creepy neighbor that liked to "tuck" you in and share naked snuggle time. Recently, a few members of the BC4M got to experience a story too good to be true when they went on location to celebrate Johnny Wilder's 38th birthday. Johnny's bride, dance party champion Dr. Cricket Sassafrass, had set up a special dinner for the J-Man at one of his favorite OBX brewpubs, The Weeping Radish. Snake provided the transportation for Fred, D-Rail, and Johnny each along with their better halves. Even D-Rail, known for his numerous failed attempts to score with any single lady available during our annual neighborhood New Year's Eve crawl had somehow managed to convince a charming German lass named Heinie Gootenmunch to accompany us for dinner. Little did she or any of us know that the special dinner was actually gonna end up being a live version of "Dazed and Confused" with the pub's owners. As we sped towards the restaurant down a pitch black route 158 in Snake's pimped out "cowboy cadillac", we wondered if the beers would be any better on draft than they had been in bottles. Wilder assured us that he had been there many times and thought their offerings were quite tasty on draft. "We'll see about that shit" said the always sunshiney Fred. We arrived shortly after 8pm to a deserted parking lot that was surrounded by a pen of baying goats that screamed Friday the 13th meets Deliverance. Outside to greet the group was the glassy-eyed co-owner of the eatery, Eileen, a veteran of multiple years of cross-country travel as the sous chef for a lesbian crocheting group called "Hempus Straponamus". We were quickly ushered into an empty (save for a lone fellow drinking at the bar) warehouse sized brewpub that made us think we had just entered the Hotel California. The other half of the ownership duo, whom we would later dub Dopey, was a ponytailed charlatan that looked like the bastard love child produced from a weekend of lovemaking between "Superbad's" McLovin and music legend Alice Cooper, greeted us and promptly explained how our evening was gonna unfold. We found our seats around the table and were told by Dopey that we would be joined for dinner by the guy at the bar, a hot tub repairman named "Stephon" and that the first round of beers was gonna be on him. Eileen then promptly snuck up behind Fred's wife, Darby O'Hooterhan and asked her if she was single. Not knowing if our hostess was looking for a little girl on almost a girl action, she explained that Stephon was single and ready to mingle. We laughed her brazen attempt at matchmaking off and then watched as "Dopey" slurred on about each of the different beers that they had for us to try. Realizing that the two of them probably spend the majority of their afternoons cooking up a few bowls, we decided to play along and go with the flow. We ordered up a few flights of their beers and were pleasantly surprised that they all didn't fucking suck. The six beers of the flight included a Weeping Radish Weizen (4.7%) which was the typical clove and artificial banana flavored wheat beer that we despise with all our might so it only got a so-so, a Kolsch (4.9%) that caused Fred to remark that shitty beer like this was why the Krauts lost both WW1 and WW2. The Fest Amber Lager (5.2%) was a Märzen style that was quite tasty and received a really good while the Black Radish (4.6%) was dark but thin in body with a nice malt backbone that wasn't overpowering, scoring another solid good. The final two beers were a Corolla Gold Helles Lager (5.0%), a weak watery mess that still fucking sucks and a Radler (2.0%) a mixture of lemonade and light lager that was like drinking a 7-Up but with a surprisingly nice tartness that rated a good. While we downed the beers, we tried to order some food from their sparse menu, which features traditional German staples like cheeseburgers and fish and chips. Wilder loves an appetizer called "pig wings" which are actually the hacked off shoulder joints of roadkill eating turkey buzzards that have been maimed by passing cars as they graze on the dead carcasses that litter the OBX roadways. As we ordered a platter of "wings" to start the evening off with, Dopey started to take our dinner order but before Darby could answer him, he gave her a gruff "Screw You" and moved on to a shocked but giggling Cricket Sassafrass who quickly ordered before he could shoot her down as well. By then he had made it around the table to Heini, but before she could open her mouth, he scolded her with, "Hey, if you don't like it, go on down to the Horse Piss Saloon, I bet your sweet ass could find a bunch of new boyfriends in no time honey." Too surreal to believe this was actually happening, we decided to dismiss his rudeness to the amount of sticky icky he had probably ingested. Dopey's concentration appeared to be severely impaired and was obviously suffering from various hallucinations as he had a hard time making pen meet paper during the ordering so most of us simply asked for the burger to make his night easier with the exception of the fish and chips ordering D-Rail who had decided to give up "meat" for Lent. While we waited for our food, we noticed that Dopey and Eileen had been gone for quite some time so Johnny decided to make himself useful and poured us a round of the good stuff in steins the size of a small zeppelin. After about a half hour, Stephon went and found Dopey somewhere in the kitchen and came back to tell us we needed to go on a tour of the brewery. "This is some bullshit" said Snake, as we scurried up a flight of stairs and then into a dimly lit room that appeared to be where the beers were made. After navigating a river of what we hoped was runoff from the fermenting tanks but was probably pig vomit, our tour guide took us to the butchery part of the building where we figured we would be quickly disembowled and ground up into sausage. By this time, Dopey had shown back up in a haze of smoke and said that he had found his wife passed out on the kitchen floor while making our dinner and that if we wanted to eat, we needed to "chill out man". He then took us outside to see the "majestic" full moon and ask if any of us liked to "smoke", sorta like our old friend Ganja Bob from California. While Dopey explained that they in the process of establishing themselves as a certified "organic" farm, we decided the safest course of action was to head back inside before we were all arrested by the ATF and DEA agents that were more than likely keeping watch on the building. As we sat back down at the table, Dopey finally brought out various platters that may or may not have been what we ordered. "Tough shit" he said, as everyone but D-Rail got their food. "Oh yea, I guess we fucked up" said Dopey. Eventually D-Rail got his portion of fish and chips that looked like a school of menhaden deep fried in peanut husks. The meal was actually decent, and despite the fact that we waited 2 hours to eat, we had a blast. After dinner, we asked "Sleepy" if Johnny could jump into the costume of the Brewpub's mascot, Ricky Radish.

"Fuck yes he can" she replied as we watched her climb on the counter to help get the costume ready. Not realizing the counter was only a thin sheet of plywood, we were grateful she wasn't hurt when she crashed through the top of the counter and almost busted her ass. After watching Johnny perform his best chicken dance routine, we noticed that our hosts were fading fast and were probably jonesing for another hit on their bong. We went to pay the tab and watched as Dopey looked like a retarded one handed monkey humping a beach ball as he attempted to figure out how much 10 beers and 8 hamburgers cost. Luckily, Snake was there to guide him through the process of ringing the bill up. Even though the bill seemed to be highly inflated, the entertainment value was certainly priceless. Had this been any other restaurant or any other night, we probably would never return, but this was a unique night that was funny as fuck. As we gathered our belongings to go, we said our goodbyes and laughed as Dopey tried to squeeze out extra long hugs from the ladies. Easily the most bizarre birthday any of us had ever been a part of, we still had a blast and the beers weren't half bad either. In the immortal words of Wooderson in Dazed and Confused, "The older you get, the more rules they are going to try and get you to follow. You just gotta keep on livin', man. L-I-V-I-N"

Fruit of the Loom

Fruit beers. Just the name can nauseate beer connoisseurs. We have always felt that fruit beers are for people who either don't like beer, or those who like their drinks with little paper umbrellas in the glasses. The only fruit we like in our beers is the hop - technically not a fruit, but close enough. So it was that Fred called an impromptu gathering of the Founding Fathers to sample a few fruity selections from his massive beer fridge, that he could no longer bear to watch age. Upon hearing the cry for a Fruit of the Loom night, Wilder ran to Bim's house with Fred in hot pursuit, both in the uniform of the day. We started off with a New Glarus Raspberry Tart (4.0%). This amazing beer uses a shitload of fermented raspberries in each bottle. It has a few of the other traditional beer ingredients as well, like hops, yeast and barley, but you'd be hard pressed to find any hint of them here. This is one fruity drink, but a damn good one! We could drink this shit by the gallon, kind of like Crazy Ken's fruity moonshine brewed by his uncle Popcorn. It was an easy RFG. Next up was New Glarus Wisconsin Belgian Red (4.0%), another over-the-top fruit bomb that we loved. Think Luden's cough drop, in liquid form, with a little bit of alcohol, and you've got this beer. It was easily another RFG. Then came the Brassiere Cantillon's Kreik Lambic (5%). This beer smelled like ass initially, which would put off most beer drinkers but not us. We continued on and were rewarded with a really good beer. Bubbly and sour, an easy Really Good rating. Avery Brabant (8.65%) is a barrel aged wild ale that's aged in zinfandel barrels. What a nice beer. Smooth, with a sour wine taste at the end, rating it a really good. Avery Depuceleuse (9.59%) is another beer aged in zinfandel barrels. This sour beer is a little lighter in color than it's cousin, and much more sour with a slight baby applesauce smell. Don't believe us??? Drink one yourself, asshole! All in attendence agreed it was really good. Last up was a Port Brewing Mongo IPA (8.5%). No, this is no fruit beer, but it was a damn good beer nonetheless. A fruity, Pliny-like smell, smooth as silk, hoppy as shit. This is a damn good IPA, rating a really good. With no more beers to taste, this informal Fruit of the Loom night had come to an end, and the group departed home with dreams of sugar plumb fairies and raspberry tarts dancing in our heads.