It's a Fucking Beer!

So I believe I mentioned a fucking beer week that I was going to be the Cal Ripken of a few weeks back. Somehow I pussied out and only made it to Barley’s 5 nights that week. (That’s Monday-Saturday, with Friday night off so I could get out to Thomas Creek and enjoy a few of their choice libations in preparation for Saturday’s Top of the Hops festival.) So yeah, I guess I handled it like a champ, except that I got too sick (read: fever, chills, delusions of grandeur, peepants) to actually make it to the festival. But that didn’t keep me away from the luxurious casks available at Barley’s saturday night. It was a fucking week of beer and trees fucking each other and spewing tree jizz all over everything, and I’ve spent the last week laid up trying to recover from some sort of sinus infection / extended hangover. So I may be fabricating all of this and using stock images from the “internet.” Or maybe not. Cold medicine is the opium of our time. And sinus medicine the peyote.

Holy Fuck, I haven't drunk whiskey by the pint since college.

Well I’ll start by describing the Wednesday that was maybe two weeks ago. I have no idea what happened to the time between, but I’m pretty sure these beers fucked with the space-time continuum or I accidently got the Delorean up to 88 again. This fucker here comes to you courtesy of Foothills Brewing. It’s their Pappy Van Winkle’s barrel-aged India Brown Ale. Or maybe it was leftover whiskey that somebody ate the hops out of like so many fucking bowls of cereal. Either way I tasted like half a hop and 10 years worth of whiskey when I drank this brew. Don’t get me wrong, it was good, but the aroma and flavor was so strong that I kept forgetting there was beer hidden in the glass.

Up the Creek without a fucking paddle.

Fast-forward a night or so ahead (and a slight fever) and you can catch my flashback of Thomas Creek’s randalized Up the Creek. I’d had this beer at Brewvival but forgotten how earthy and hoppy it was. Not sure why the fuck I would forget a taste like this. I had planned on not having any beer due to the illness, but somehow managed to bag two of these birds. Hoppy, full-bodied, aromatic, fucking delicious; the fucking beer force is strong with this one.

Thirty-six more hours and I can’t really stand on my own and am not sure where I am. So I fucked around all day and dragged my ass out to Barley’s one last time to hang out with friends and photograph them drinking beers and have a really fucking great time without drinking. Like that’s fucking possible. Especially with a spread like this:

Like Sirens, they called my fucking name.

I dove headlong off the wagon of the day into a nice pint of Coast’s dry-hopped Hop Art. This sonofabitch had oak undertones and fucking hop overtones. Seriously, I’m pretty sure they turned the hops up to 11 on this one and somehow kept it 3X smoother than a baby’s ass. I was glad I substituted this alcoholic concoction for my meds saturday, as they cause me to be sleepy and irritable. Also, something about a black market liver transplant or something. I might owe some dudes some money now. I think all had a good time and I missed a week of life (drinking) and now have to catch up. There’s some Breckenridge 471 and a Black Perle in the fridge, calling my name and rooming with a few Terrapins and some Sierra Nevada. Look out week, here comes some fucking prolific drinking!