beer

BRETT BEER

 

There’s a crawfish festival held at NOLA Brewing Company in the Spring.  This is an awesome brewery in the crescent city.  It’s also a great event.  They have a large tasting room and outdoor drinking and dining. They also provide live music for this event.

 

I was hanging out with a friend and enjoying the scene.  The legendary George Porter Jr was providing musical treats.  We enjoyed a big basket of crawfish.  But we wanted to sit down at a table inside to relax a moment.  There was an empty table with a bomber of a NOLA beer called Sauvage. This is a Belgian pale ale style brewed with Brettanomyces yeast.  This is a unique yeast that imparts some very distinct and funky flavors to the beer.

 

We sit down with our own beers.  We figure we can always move if someone comes back to claim the table.  We just look at the Sauvage beer sitting there.  The beer was opened but it was barely touched.  We determined that we wouldn’t touch the beer in case the rightful owner returned.  It was strange to find a nearly full beer on an open table.

 

“Maybe, it was abandoned.” I offer.

 

“It could be.  Do you think we should drink it?”

 

“Maybe we should wait a little while.  I could see someone not liking it.  It’s a funky style.  It might be over the top for a lot of drinkers.”

 

We have our own beers to drink anyway but it starts to become obvious that the beer was abandoned.  It’s been nearly 40 minutes.  It starts to become clear that we have a duty to greater honor of beer to consume this neglected beverage.

 

We make the decision to drink it.  It would be tragic to let this artisanal beer go to waste.  I get a couple plastic cups from the watercooler.  I begin to pour the beer.  We tell ourselves that we’re not stealing the beer.  We are heroically making sure this beer gets the chance to become somebody’s urine.  It should be okay as long as nobody poisoned the beer.

 

“Maybe they dropped a Mickey in it.” I mockingly suggest.

 

“It should be okay,” my friend states, “as long as they didn’t piss in it or anything.”

 

“It’s a brett beer.”  I answer, “We wouldn’t know if they peed in it.”

 

We both laugh heartily at the comment. We’re also amused because only a hardcore beer geek would get that joke.  Most people would just be looking at you like “What?”

 

And like true beer geeks, we continued to drink the beer.  We couldn’t be sure if it was peed in but we were damn sure  going to guarantee that it would be peed out.

 

 

 

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Ode to Beer

Disclaimer. This was intended to be a joke. Please direct all comments to Facebook.. or Google, if that makes you feel more tech savy.
 
I am not feeling creative at the moment. I've drank five or six beers, and that tends to make me very apathetic, even lazy. There are many noble, original thoughts swirling around in this head of mine, but they are far too powerful and meaningful to be seen very clearly while sober. No, in order for one to coax them out, one must be at least slightly inebriated - that way the thoughts aren't frightened by the razor sharp point of a well maintained, prodigious mind. It is, or should be, common knowledge that things of such vast portent  be carefully cultivated - that is to say, they sprout best when watered with liquid courage. I hope my point is not lost.. Still, as I have already stated, I approach the singular problem of perfect expression with the aptitude of an only slightly successful alcoholic. Friends, do not mistake my brief forrays into sobriety a thing born of betrayal, or even neglect. Every good man strays once in a while, and nobody can stay drunk forever. A few of us have tried, and although our successes may have warranted a gossip or two, all that was really accomplished died away when the booze ran out. Whatever courage, whatever humor inhabits us while we drink, it is only as fleeting as the time it takes us to piss it away, and then we are left with the debt, be it a wicked pounding in the head, or a hangover. I believe every person chooses to see themselves through a tarnished reflection, be it genuine honest reflection, or the antagonistic, paranoid view of the unhinged. The reality we impose on our own lives is not a rigid, static thing, but one that is ever changing, one that adapts itself to suit the multitude of circumstances and scenarios we are forced into, desperately trying to impose some semblence of order and justice on a world that only grudgingly accepts our existence. To drink is not to escape, or the relief of pain, it is an attempt to live life in the moment, in the realization that the past never happened, and the future is not yet here....
Author's Notes/Comments: 

no idea.. i was working at walmart stocking shelves overnight & write this after I got off a shift & drank a lot of Red Stripe

View sequencedlife's Full Portfolio

The Shift

Mingling with the crowd,
Steps in time to the sounds of laughter,
Children, parents, pets and elderly,
And lights that seem to speak in tongues
Amidst the exhuberance in the air,
A midsummer night's dream,
It all escapes into my memory,
As each moment passes by,
I hear the church bell toll
As each hour passes on through,
And the smell of cotton candy,
Candied apples and soft pretzels,
The taste of clams,
While sipping a german brew,
The moon, motionless,
Above it all,
Mind wanders off to a far away place,
A strange bewildered,
Flight of enchantment draws me in,
And away from this hoopla
Into another place,
And the carousel is frozen,
The calliope coated in ice,
And the music stops,
The crowd is quiet,
The lights are dimming,
The babies are sleeping,
I ask for a lemon wedge.
And am served a carrot,
Intrigued, but not disappointed,
I walk to the bathroom,
It's dark and I fall,
I get lost in the lights,
And the ambulance siren,
And awaken to tubes down my throat,
As I choke on thoughts,
About popcorn I missed,
And a ferris wheel ride,
Swallowing goldfish,
And fireworks in the sky,
Tomorrow seems like today,
And the blood bag above
Makes me remember how well
Vincent Price portrayed Dracula,
Then falling into a deep slumber,
I hope the ice melts off the carousel...
...quickly.

 

 

© 2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is about something that could happen to any of us at any time.

The beers arising

Folder: 
Time for change

Put the tool belt down 
And set the Wood aside
Life's about to get wild tonight
Let's lift our glass up to the sky
Drink em down till we pass out
Whoa o o let's go ahead and get crazy now
Tip the glass till we fall down
Whoa o o it's that time of day again
Drinking till we spin round

Let's take a break from this work day
Let's drink a drink and lets make out
Go ahead and Tip your glasses in your mouth
A toast for you a toast for now
Whoa o o I like em light but full of stout
The more we drink the louder we shout
"let raise our glass like we know how and drink em loud and slam them down"
Whoa o o lets go ahead and get crazy
Whoa o o let's go ahead drink right now!!! 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Drink a drink like you know how :)))

Labatts blue

Folder: 
The End of nowhere

Liquid pleasure
Astonishing no measures
Bottle of fun
Anticipation becomes
Tranquilizing 
Teasing
Stunned

Blackouts
Lights out
Unforgiving morning
Everyone's done

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Drink on :)

View irockpoker's Full Portfolio
tags:

the only draft i wanna see is beer

bow down before me join the core
yes your majesty ill fight your war
i have no say no voice no opinion
they reinstated the draft now im americas minion
took away my name gave me a number
gave me a gun to put me six feet under

*fight our war thats what they said
the president doesnt care if were alive or dead
just another chess piece to keep him entertained
young boys go off to war and get maimed

relaxing at home you get a letter in the mail
you have to report to duty or your going to jail
this was unexpected now your a fucking mess
your mind is filled with panic, body filled with stress
you contact a recruiter thinking of an excuse
of how you can get out, of how youll be no use

*

brainwashed war machine seeing nothing but red
everyone around you looks like the living dead
so many horrors witnessed, you no longer weep
waking up from nightmares and sweating in your sleep
taking lots of drugs just to nimb the pain
having fucking flashbacks getting closer to insane
pride for your country, hatred for the war
your pride slips aways, your sanity is no more

*
buried dead in your tomb, flowers on the top
21 gun salute guess the shooting never stopped
flagged drapped across your souless empty grave
a horrible reality being this countries slave
now they gather round to read thier written speach
a damn good soilder may he rest in peace
you served you country well son now your dead and gone
now your nothing but fodder for a cemetary lawn 

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