Sacajawea Bares Gifts

It was a typical hot as volcano lava Midwestern summer day back in August of 1981 when a group of four freshly graduated college kids descended on St. Louis to begin their training for a stint in the Peace Corps. (Corps as in CORE, not CORPSE). Little did they know how that magical summer of free love, free herbs and free range chicken would be the start of a lifelong friendship. Prince Mike and his bride to be, Sacajawea Sweet Pea had both just graduated with honors in Amish Fashion Design at Florida A&M University where Prince was not only a three time All-American in interpretive break dancing, but also spent time rupturing spleens on the horny lads that ignored the "look but don't lick" policy while working as a bouncer at the local "gettin nekkid salon" called The Lusty Lady. The other half of the fantastic foursome, Big Audio Dynamite and his newlywed wife, a mud "rassler" who went by the moniker Dirty Coconuts had just celebrated Big Audio's release from the Nottahoochee County Jail in Pascagoula, Mississippi where he had spent almost 7 full hours being locked up for indecent exposure after giving an entire dorm full of unwed mothers a ride on his custom built "chopper" while wearing only his birthday suit and a smile. After their basic training, the group did a 6 month tour in Equatorial Guinea teaching the locals such things as how to grow "medicinal" herbs and the importance of performing weekly prostate exams on both the men and goats to ensure the tribes virility would be maintained. A possible career path that would have seen them tour various developing nations throughout southeast Asia and along the coastal regions of sub saharan Africa was interrupted when the boys answered a casting call looking for stunt doubles for Crockett and Tubbs on the hit tv show Miami Vice. Torn between their love for adventure and exotic damsels wearing little more than grass skirts, the lure of fast cash and an endless supply of luxurious Italian made suits made the decision to forgo helping the lesser fortunate that much easier. Sacajawea had recently returned to St. Louis to volunteer for a week teaching the art of braiding cornrows to a new batch of wide-eyed coeds eager to change the world. While she was there, she scored the BC4M a slew of new beers which we were anxious to taste. Coincidentally, Big Audio was also celebrating another year of aging, so the boys gathered at Prince Mike's for our weekly meeting. First up was a Tallgrass Brewing Co. Oasis (7.2%), which arrived in a can that looked like it could pass for one of those energy drinks. It featured a picture of the monopoly man getting sodomized by a globe and despite the puke inducing thoughts from that visual, the beer was actually pretty good. Malty and as dry as a box of sand, it had a decent hop explosion that didn't buckle your giblets. Next was an Odell Brewing Co. Red Ale (6.5%). Deep rich red in color, this one was much better than the standard mass marketed swill like Killian's and also rated a good. Big Audio remarked, "Damn, the only way this would be better is if it was on tap, and I had a bucket of wings being served to me by a naked Hooter's girl". "Amen to that" said Snake as we moved on to a Charleville Vineyard and Microbrewery Hoptimistic IPA (6.5%). The bottle had a label featuring a scarecrow on stilts harvesting hop vines and a sappy message on the side from "Joal" the brewer. "What kind of pole smoker spells the name Joel like that" asked Fred, as we poured a frothy concoction that tasted like a dispenser full of liquid soap. "Maybe we can use this to clean the carpets later" said Bim as we gave it a so-so and went on to a Goose Island Demolition (7.2%), a Belgian golden ale that screamed out "you won't like it" to the Belgian yeast despising assemblage. The label said it would taste fresh up to 6 months past the bottling date, so we were a bit apprehensive when we saw that the it got capped in January (of 2009). The beer poured both crisply and cleanly and remarkably, the flavor was damn good. "Easily one of the best blondes I have ever wrapped my lips around" said Wilder, as we gave this one a surprising good. Up next was a Boulevard Brewing Dark Truth Stout (9.7%), which is part of their "smokestack" series. Pouring out from the bottle the smell was reminiscent of a recently doused cub scout campfire as the smokey scent hit your nostrils. The flavor was ok at best, but the presence of what was probably pulverized used charcoal briquettes in the bottle caused us to pour most of the bottle down the drain. Hoping that we hadn't just created a superfund site in Prince Mike's garbage disposal with the contents, we poured a gallon of bleach in the sink to kill off the evidence and then opened a Big Sky Brewing Moose Drool Brown Ale (5.1%). While the name and label are fantastic, the beer itself is just FUCKING awful. "What did they use to brew this, moose jizz?" asked renowned neighborhood wildlife admirer Bim as we attempted to swallow what was accurately described by Big Audio as "curdled chocolate moose milk". A true sucks, this is one of the worst beers we have ever rated. Hoping to turn the night around, we tried a Ska Brewing True Blond Dubbel (8.0%). "I do love me some blonde doubles" said Snake, to which Fred replied, "They aren't talking about DD's, but I know what you mean brother". The bottle label featured a pair of Parisian streetwalkers leaning on one of "them fancy scooters a European metrosexual would be riding" said the Harley riding Big Audio. "You know what fat chicks and mopeds have in common?" asked Snake, "They're both fun to ride until D-Rail comes around?" suggested Fred, referring to D-Rails propensity to bang scooter riding chubbies while back home in his native Singapore. The beer was ok at best, featuring a mouth filling amount of that insidious Belgian yeast we still don't like so we rated it a so-so. Only three beers remained, the first was a Stevens Point Brewery 2012 Black Ale (5.4%), which was light as a bag of cotton candy but darker than the underside of a Ugandan porn queen's belly roll. The taste was a little sweet, with a hint of hops that just wasn't enough to make the rating rise above so-so. Next was an Odell Brewing Co. Cutthroat Porter (4.8%).The beer had a cool label and a very light smokey porter style taste that was decent and quite sessionable. "I could pound them all night" said Wilder, "but I sure as fuck wouldn't want to" for a beer we rated a good. The final beer of the night was a Bear Republic Racer#5 IPA (7.0%). It poured strong with a definitive citrusy aroma that said "there are some hops in this mofo", and the taste was quite good as well. Not in the same zip code as a Pliny, it still possessed a strong body and subtle kick and was a great way to finish the night off. We decided to call it an evening, since Big Audio had to take his better half down to Elizabeth City for a coed jello wrestling tournament at Headlights, so we bid them adieu and wished them the best of luck. Another successful evening, we thanked Sweet Pea for her efforts to increase our catalog of beers rated. Until next time boys and girls......listen to the immortal words of the greatest heavyweight champion of all time, the Nature Boy Ric Flair as he "tells it like it is"...

The First Ever Collaboration Post

Collaboration beers are all the rage. The boys at Dogfish Head get together with the boys from Sierra Nevada, they do the brewing version of a circle jerk, in turn producing some amazing beer that we all drool over. Well, prepare to start drooling, because the most famous group of beer swilling publicity whores on the east coast has decided to collaborate with one of the greatest pornographic beer bloggers in the country. That's right, BC4M meets the Dude! The idea was to drink and rate the same 3 beers and post each other's reviews. The following is his review of 3 local Virginia beers. Catch our interpretation at his web site, http://www.itsafuckingbeer.com/. Enjoy, fuckers!


And then there was that one time ye olde chaps from the Commonwealth of Virginia sent me some fine ales in the fucking post. I was quite astounded as they picked my tastes to a tee - an India Pale Ale, a Chocolate Porter and a Russian Imperial Stout.
You see, I had stumbled home one late night to wonder WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS!?!? when I besottedly tripped over the box on my front steppe. I cursed whomever had left it there, though, as I reside alone, I had no doubt that I had accidentally ordered some sort of three dimensional printed porn in a late night debaucherous state.

The first fine bev I had the time to imbibe was Olde Richmonde Batche Numbere Elevene IPAe. (If those fucks can go ten kinds of extraneous with the letter "e," I sure as shite can.) The hops were quite nice, and I noticed a bit of sweetness. I saw no note of alcohol on the bottle, so I assumed there was none - I took the drink for breakfast. It was a foolish lot, but I cast the fuck out of it, so the pleasant morning that followed was my own to enjoy. I figure there's not an IPA out there that will disappoint in the AM, so maybe I'll have to revisit. That being said, there's nothing to telegraph home about, but it's stands as a quite solid IPA that I could pound a baker's dozen of over a cookout or funeral. Or a cookout-funeral. That would actually be rather badass. Imagine if all funerals were followed by a cookout? Even southerners get way shitty at cookouts. Our funeral after-parties are quite loathsome and bland. Time to buck fucking tradition and go haywire at the next funeral I attend - luckily I live across the way from a funeral a home, so there's no shortage of opportunities. Maybe I'll bring an Olde Richmond brew with me.

Moving on to the Legend Brewing Co. Chocolate Porter for lunch, I've noticed that they primed the sweet jesus fuck out of this beer or some shit. It's carbonated like a motherfucker, so much so that there's no body whatsoever. It claims it's a porter flavored with natural cocoa. I'm not sure it's really flavored with cocoa...or porter, for that matter. There's a tiny hint of fucking cocoa right up front, but then the shit foams up in your mouth like a sour, ass-flavored alka seltzer. I can't imagine anyone drinking more than zero of these at any given time, but I suppose people need something to do with their time other than incest and meth. Don't get me wrong, incest and meth have their place - it's called COPS and is fun to watch from a distance, not unlike rape porn and minorities.

And finally we come upon the dinner, the winter of our tasting season. And to the darkest, gnarliest beer I've come upon thus far in my day of wrath. I hold a special fucking place in my heart for Russian Imperial Stouts, and this St. George Brewing shit is a worthy contender. Как дела, bitches? This here's a badass motherfucking stout, none-too-full-bodied, but with a great roasted malt character that lingers so much like an ugly chick you drunkenly hooked up with, all waiting for breakfast and a kiss by the door. Fuck that shit. Wait. No, this is a good linger, though, like that Cranberries song from the 90s and shit. Well, pretty OK, if you're into that kind of thing. I'm not gonna phone in the national guard to put out the loin-fires of my taste buds or anything, but I'd definitely drink the sweet fuck out of this shit again and again.

Road Trip to Foothills Brewing

Each year, various breweries around the country have a release party for their rarest of rare beers. Brewing heavyweights like Three Floyd's have their Dark Lord Day, Surly has Darkness Day and Portsmouth Brewing's Kate the Great Day all mean one thing, long as fuck lines but lots of really fucking good beers to buy, trade and taste. Since the closest of those places is over 16 hours away, we thought we were SOL when it came to getting some of our favorite beers direct from the breweries themselves. Thinking we would have to once again resort to the extortionist pricing of Ebay to obtain these once a year gems, we were pleased to discover that a relatively local brewery was having their annual release party this past week. Foothills Brewing in Winston Salem NC releases a Russian Imperial Stout called Sexual Chocolate every year and the boys of the BC4M decided a road trip was in order. We had tried the 2010 version of Sexual Chocolate (or as Nubian queen aficionado Bim likes to call it Luscious Cocoa) and had rated it a really good so were looking forward to getting our hands on some more. We found out the bottle limit was 4 per person, the bottles would go on sale at 11 am and that lines started forming as early as 3 or 4 am. Most of the BC4M membership was either out of town on work related stuff or in the case of Bim, off to Maggie Valley, NC to serve as Grandmaster for the 14th annual Banjo and Ammo Festival. This left only Johnny Wilder and Fred available for the trip. Since we wanted to maximize the number of bottles we could get, we recruited our brides to come along for an all night energy drink and beef jerky fueled race against the clock. Wilder's wife, Dr. Cricket Sassafrass begged off from the trip since she was scheduled to film a self-defense video titled "Bitch Please" at her kickboxing studio, so our trip became a modern day version of the classic bootlegging movie, Smokey and the Bandit with Bandit (Fred), and the Snowman (Wilder) hopping in Frog's (Foxy Flamingo) grocery getter. We set off at 2am, with the outside temperature a balmy 24 degrees, driving down the longest and possible most boring trek of asphalt in all of America, Route 58. This notorious hodgepodge of 4 lane highway features speed limits that seem to change at almost every turn and usually has some Kojak with a Kodak waiting to bust you for going 57 in a 55. We made it past the gauntlet of Smokies by creeping along with the cruise control set dead nuts on the posted speed and then thankfully reached I-85 where we could finally put the "pedal to the metal". The trip went smoothly, and before we knew it, we could see the skyline of downtown Winston Salem. The brewery is right off the exit, so as we turned the corner, we could see a small throng of people lined up for a chance to claim a few bottles of Sexual Chocolate. As we parked and gathered our meager belongings, we quickly realized we had not prepared as well as we should have. We saw portable heaters, grills, and coolers filled with what we would later find out was a plethora of hard to get beers that the fine folks in line were eager to share. We set up camp about 150 people deep in the line, and promptly began to freeze our asses off. "Hmm, supposed to be 60 and sunny later today" said Wilder, as Fred replied, "Lets hope we survive that long". Foxy added, "Remind me again who's idea this was?" as both her and Wilder glared at the now suffering from hyperthermia Fred.

"This shit better be worth losing my left nut for" said Wilder, as he bundled up from head to toe in a full length royal blue snuggie to fight off the numbing pain from the cold. It was so cold, that the texting mad Wilder couldn't keep up with his 20,000 text a day habit, leading him to spew a volley of wise cracks to the two billy goat herders behind us that deemed it warm enough for shorts and t-shirts. Luckily for him, right across the street from the brewery is the local methadone clinic that seemed to be giving something away from the looks of the crowd pouring in and out of the place. Six thirty in the morning and it was as busy as a Dunkin Donuts having a free donut giveaway. The hours stretched by as we patiently awaited for the sun to rise and hopefully thaw us out, and we noticed that the majority of folks in line with us looked like they belonged at a Deadhead show, not a craft beer release. Finally, the line started moving, and as we slowly made our way to the door, we saw multiple people pile out of cars and cut in line. This caused a now angry Foxy to say, "I traveled all night, no sleep, no breakfast and cold as hell, if I don't get some of that beer, some bitch is gonna eat pavement". Thankfully, we got inside and were rewarded with three wristbands signifying we hadn't made the trip in vain, so now all we had to do was wait till 11am for the beer to go on sale. Since it was only 9:15 and we hadn't had anything to drink all morning, we made a quick trip over to a beer store located around the corner called City Beverage. What a great place, they were loaded with craft beers from all over that we simply cannot get back home. They also have 5 beers on tap that you can have while you shop. We decided to try a Bell's Batch 10,000 Ale (9.2%), an American strong ale that was smooth and sweet, almost like a barleywine. "I ain't gonna lie" said Wilder, "this shit is good". Fred agreed, and added, "Nothing like a nine percent kick to the frozen nads to start your day off". This one was a really good, and after we had dropped a couple hundred on some new beers, we made our way back to Foothills. Inside was a beehive of activity as they started calling out numbers for folks to come get their beers. We had lunch and ordered a Seeing Double IPA (9.5%) that we had previously rated a good at the Great American Beer Festival. This time, it was a little off and we actually liked the Hoppyum IPA (6.3%) better on draft. We then heard our numbers called, so we went and paid for the 12 bottles of Chocolate along with 6 bottles of Hoppyum. As Wilder and Fred went to the back to pick up the beers, Foxy paid the lunch tab and then we met outside to pack up the truck. The wristbands got cut off as you picked up your beer, so as we started to leave, Fred noticed that Foxy still had her wristband. "Maybe we can score four more Sexy's" said Wilder, so we dropped her off out front and within minutes she was walking towards the truck with 4 more bottles and a mischievous grin on her face. We looked at the time, and knew we had to make a quick return back home, as Wilder and Cricket were once again expected to take home first prize in the annual "his n her" combat karaoke contest that was taking place that night down at the oceanfront. We were "East Bound and Down" as Foxy made like Danica Patrick and boogied her way down the highway and back home with just enough time for the Wilder's to put on their "lucky" karaoke outfits and get out the door. A successful trip, we had scored not 12 but 16 bottles of Sexual Chocolate as well as a whole slew of new beers to eventually taste and rate. Hopefully the weather will cooperate better next year and we can get an even bigger BC4M contingent on the road trip. Until next time remember......."Nobody makes Sheriff Bufurd T. Justice look like a possums pecker."