Lord, Give Us This Day Our Daily (Liquid) Bread…

…And forgive us our debts (in which I have many, but who’s counting?)

For we ourselves forgive everyone who is indebted to us (so long as they get the next round.)

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from eeeeeeeevil.

Dearest Blogosphere,

It has been a long sojourn of phalanges from keyboard and I owe myself an apology. Every time I vow to blog and write more, I find a distraction to pull me away (third job, new relationship, binging and purging, epiphanies, distraction after distraction after distraction.) Needless to say, I’m trying my best to return and write daily. It was something I did long ago back in high school and it is time to turn two catharsisiseses into one. I love beer. I kind-of-sort-of like writing. I’m not going to make any promises, but I’m going to try my darnedest to write as much as… (I can see my mother already shaking her head.) Okay, okay. I PROMISE, I’m going to write at least once a week. Baby steps.

As many of you already know, I have an NSFW relationship with beer. If I could, I’d marry many of them I’ve had the pleasure of putting in my mouth. I’d be the Joseph Smith of beer courtship. I try my best to get my friends to try the beers I’m drinking. I try my best to turn non-beer drinkers into beer-swilling miscreants (you’re not going to beat me, you might as well join me.) I am under the firm belief that if you currently do not like beer you haven’t been introduced to the “one for you.”

I’m not going to look down my nose at you for drinking a domestic beer but with a history in imperialistic Pokemon gathering having to “catch them all” I have a morbidly strong desire to “drink them (beers) all.” If you should drink said domestic beer, I will more than likely suggest a beer akin to your libation; not for the sake of being a snob but only to open your eyes to the endless possibilities. Treatchyo tongue! I too have specific beers that are go-to sips, but I will not let that limit my palate from what the world has to offer.

To get to the point, I attempt to drink a different beer a day. Obviously there are some factors that interfere, but I am convinced that a beer a day keeps the doctor away. Working on my Lv.2 Cicerone, it is almost a must. Being that my Lisa Frank journal is full, I’ve decided to possibly maybe sort of keep track of the beers I’m drinking by posting them here; giving reviews and personal notes of what I think of the beers I am currently drinking…

Without further ado, I present to you the beer that I practically just chugged whilst typing all of this…

This beer happens to come from one of favorite breweries, Jolly Pumpkin out of the great state of Michigan. Jolly Pumpkin is well-known for the sour beers… they were also known as being a brewery called “Jolly Pumpkin” and having absolutely no beers with pumpkin in them. W.T.Hell? Confuzzled, I know, but I continued to guzzle their beers without questioning their genius.

Finally, La Parcela is Jolly Pumpkin’s first ale brewed with pumpkin! Yeah! Take that you friggin’ #PSL Nazis! It’s the best of two worlds: Sour Beers and the ever famous seasonal Pumpkin/Yam Beers…. And mother of all that is holy does the beer taste delish. BeerAdvocate.com gives the beer an overall rating of 87% which is pretty good marks considering it’s their first. They know what they’re doing with sour beers. You do get a slight hint of cinnamon and nutmeg in the aroma, but the pumpkin flavor is extremely subtle. Your taste buds will more than likely be dancing around the sour campfire in your mouth like nudists dropping acid and twerking to the Grateful Dead so it may be hard to find the pumpkin but snap out of your trance and you’ll see a slight glimmer of light left on your tongue. That’s the pumpkin. Grab that gourd and roll with it. I imagine that this is what a unicorn’s piss would taste like if its diet consisted solely of butternut squash and children’s laughter.

Is this the best introductory sour beer? Probably not. Is this the best pumpkin beer? No. Is this a really good beer if you’re a seasoned sour drinker? F-to-the-U-to-the-C-to-da-K-Yeah it is! Get a bottle. Enjoy this for what it is. You will not be disappointed. I give this beer two thumbs up and tightening of my pants agrees.

Until next time. Salud, broskies!

Alcoholic Aspiratoins

To think I’d ever end up in a place like this… at a time like this… and at this point in my life… Sober, I’d laugh at the negligibility of even the slightest of thoughts regarding my current situation. However, the indulgence of beverages of the fermented kind has left me in a state not undesirable at the moment and has led me either astray or right on target. Only time will tell and the sand in the hourglass falls ever more hurried with each passing spirit.

The air here…

Dense. Thick. To say a knife’s blade would rest well on the edge and still not cut through it would be an understatement. No, a serrated apparatus is required for the incision. The musk hangs like butchered cattle in a meat packing plant, dangles at the level of your nose, and is ridden with the stench of mature masculine and feminine by-products related to intercourse and debauchery. A chainsaw is needed… much like the one I have hanging in my garage. In a drunken stupor, I utilized it in the manufacturing of the device that would assist in my prevalent endeavor.

The noise here…

my thoughts are faint and distant compared. If not for the fictitious audience procured, this inner monologue would be almost not. Nevertheless, it is this reverberation that aids in the attainment of my recent unshakable aspiration. The resonance and its cadence cause a stirring within. With each passing spirit, a beast swells in the confines of my being yearning for liberation.

The light here…

its brilliance oscillates enigmatically until momentarily. The music dies for but a second and transitions into another composition as the rays of light pivot to an entity bringing it center stage. The light illuminates and appears to fill the article until it radiates with warmth and shimmers drawing me nearer. Perplexed and wide-eyed, I inch closer with arms outstretched until the tips of my fingers touch its surface.

Though giving the impression of heat, its exterior is frigid. It’s an inviting cold… like a first snowfall. Sliding my fingers across its length, it is smooth and slick… a residue of grease. The air is right. The noise is right. The light is right. The time is right. The moment I’ve been anticipating since my fifth shot of whiskey this eve has finally presented itself.

I mount the pole, shimmy to the top and with legs wrapped around it, fall backwards and slide its length while projectile vomiting into the bachelorette party below. And at this moment, I realize I will most likely fail my chem test in the morning. And at this moment, I realize I will never be a male stripper. But at this moment, I realize… I am a god.