Apparently, the illustrious life of a beer blogger – you know, drinking fucking awesome hopped-up beers and drunkenly penning soulful lyrics about such libations – seems like a luxurious gig. Especially with Hopslam’s arrival on the scene. My buddy Matt sent in a guest review last night, and I can say it only has my mouth watering for the two Hopslams I’ve got stowed away in the fridge right now. So hear him out. This shit is good. Also, peep the fuck out of that rad orange shirt he’s sporting…it’s one-of-a-kind.
Pen name Matt de Fucker
When I cracked into the hopslam I expected a sharp bite, like a teenage girl using too much teeth. To my surprise it was rather mellow accompanied by the signature cleanness you find in most Bell’s beers. I could tell that this beer used only the finest ingredients and malts, no king cobra shit in this bottle. About half way through on an empty stomach I started thinking about happy thoughts; sex, anarchy and atheism.In Bell’s I trust. Without thinking twice, I open my throat to your delicious concoctions and you never disappoint me. I thank you for that unspoken bond we share. You really are the truest form of love. You never talk back (except for the occasional belch) and you always warm me from the inside out. And like a good bitch, you let me pass out when I’m done with you, no questions asked.
Get Fucking Hopslammed!
This fruity bastard is not like the fudge packer behind the register in your local convenience store. Hell, you can’t even find the shit in Earth Fare! Go out and get some Hopslam, you can thank me later. Actually, you’ll probably want to curb stomp my teeth after you find out it’s sold out everywhere. So to all of the dumb fucks who didn’t blow their life saving’s on a 6-pack ($17!!), get fucked! There’s always next year!
(Editor’s note: fuck this guy, too.)
