This is from a few years ago (2018) when I had regular friends in Tucson. Since I moved back to Gilbert and am under 24/7 supervision (spouse), now they are just virtual figures on my text machine. Memories.
There’s no fucking free lunch in this world, and that applies to beer too, goddamnit.
Larry’s been Captain Peer Pressure and hauling free beer for us tennis idiots (to away matches only) for years. Most tennis players have self-esteem issues (Gibson). But Larry has the social self-confidence of a 12-year-old jewish boy who was forced to attend high school at Our Lady of Perpetual Guilt for wayward girls.
It’s OK Larry, we don’t know what those nuns and other bitches did to you, but we would talk to you even if you didn’t get us all sloppy by the 3rd set.
Larry just about cried when he saw we had enough cash for him to get the “precious” (fermenter).
So he gave me a free 8-pack of his home-brewed-stout aged in whiskey barrels. But that was a day I rode my bike. Nowhere to carry an 8-pack.
The first two bottles destroyed my weak little cycling knapsack, plopped out and spilled all over the ground. That made for a lot of happy ants as they staggered in crooked lines across the concrete.
Two days later, Larry brought the beer back — the next 6 went home in my car.
“But you gotta tell me how they are!” he insisted.
“Ok,” I said, like a dumb shit.
Later, I realized I just signed up for another fucking unpaid job, “Beer Reviewer”.
All I know about beer is:
- I like it
- Some more than others
- I have no idea why
It’s a pack of generic brown bottles with different labels on the caps. The only way to keep them straight is to take a picture of the bottle. Then instead of drinking them in peace, I gotta tap out a review on this little fucking keyboard on my piece of shit iPhone before it’s fucking battery dies…
Way to take all the pleasure out of drinking beer. OK, a picture and a text is pretty easy. But find something intelligent to say about beer. Mission fucking impossible.
I watched 50 hours of “Beerland” on ViceLand TV . But all that little blonde does is sniff it and say “mmm that’s good beer.” I switched to Brew Dogs. But I can’t understand a word those Scottish gits say.
So here it is folks — my real time reviews in the order I drank them
5 p.m. B3
Unlike goat-fucking Geno, this had a very active head.
This beer filled my frosty mug with chocolaty goodness.
The b3 was smooth, and not too sweet. It had just a hint of the barrel and was much more beer than whiskey. I served it very cold in a frosted glass so that may have depressed the flavor a bit. Good taste at the first sip with no hint of bitterness or bite.
But that changed. There was a bit of a bite in the 2nd and 3rd sips. And then it changed again and became super smooth until the last drop. I drank it with chips, so the salt may have also influenced the flavor. But a really good appetizer. I would not recommend drinking more than one at a time because the alcohol seems very, very high.
5:30 p.m. 34 B1
Some whiskey notes. But more beer than whiskey. A warm taste in the mouth, but doesn’t follow down the throat.
Like Pussy Joe, hardly any head and not likely to get any. Ha, ha ha… Fucking Pussy Joe…
Smooth and warm feeling throughout.
But not whiskey and not really just beer. It was very good with the 2 burgers I just ate.
7 p.m 34 B2
The wife and me had lots of whine afer dinner… So tastes like red wine.
Chocolate and cherry. I guess. Some whiskey –warm after glo in throat and my tummy.
Smoothe. Mor whiskey dan beer. But not too mush beer or wiskey.
Stronger knose than taste.
Pussy Joe head. Ha, Ha ucking ussy joe…
8 – 10 p.m. Shit — look at the cap in the pic, I can’t fuckin’ read it
I don’t member this one.
2 — maybe 3 — bottles like dis…
I member taking one picture…
Just woke up on coach — drool ran into my left ear.
Don’t member mush… but it wass goo.
Categories: Tennis teams -- Pendejos