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“Please sir, may I have my tongue back now?”
At least that’s what I tried to say.
What came out was more like: “Beethur, bayayave by bungbacow?”
Yet it didn’t matter. The HopDevil just laughed and latched more tightly to my taste buds.
It all started when I pulled a Victory bottle from my shelf. The beer looked like a good choice for the second installment of IPA Monday.
“What a charming little picture!” I thought, my naiveté fixed and my innocence intact for the last time.
Just some quick updates — first, I’m pleased to announce the BeerADay.net discussion forum. You’ll find the link in the header of the main page.
Anyone who has registered a BeerADay.net account is automatically allowed to post and reply to the forum. Your user pics are also automatically pulled through.
I’d like to encourage you to post some of your own beer reviews to the Forum — I’ll be looking there for ideas when I’m ready to restock my beer supply.
I’m shivering and rambling on like a Blithering Idiot.
About an hour ago, I shook off the snow and came back into the house after another epic battle against nature.
(Seriously New England, you’re killing me this winter.)
I’ve had a cup of coffee, and I’ve bundled up in layers, but I just can’t shake this feeling of being cold. I can hardly speak sense. My mind is gone.
Is this the end? Has winter finally driven me mad?
A quick look through The Fridge reveals a couple of barley wine brews that I’m sure will warm me up. And Weyerbacher’s Blithering Idiot looks just about right. It has an 11.1% ABV, and it’s been stored at 60 degrees — I’m not even going to chill it. I’m just too cold as it is.
Coffee in the morning. You don’t mess with that. 
Life needs its constants. Coffee in the morning is one of mine. And this morning, Saturday morning, I decided to branch out a bit.
But full disclaimer – my morning coffee came first. That’s the thing about constants. They live up to the name.
It was the chubby little kid on the Founders Brewing Company label for Breakfast Stout that convinced me I would need to drink this beer for breakfast. He’s holding his oatmeal bowl at an angle, to better scrape up the last vestige of hot cereal. Once you get past the creepy gaze, you realize he’s hypnotized with goodness.
(2 votes, average: 4.50 out of 5)Don’t tell my wife, but I do believe I’m falling in love with a redhead.
My new love claims to be Scottish, but she was born in Cloverdale, California (at a place called “Bear Republic“), and she suffers from questionable lineage. When pressed, she labels herself as a “bastardized Scottish style red” that “breaks all style molds”.
But I know her as a full-bodied heart breaker, with a sweet smell and gorgeous, dark complexion. And you’d do well not to let her looks fool you — she’s stronger than you might guess.
It’s an intoxicating relationship. I spent all day thinking about her, and despite my better judgment, I just couldn’t let things stay bottled up any longer.
Maybe you can help me decide what to do? Go visit her online profile and tell me what you think. She’s described as a “fiery red” who is frequently courted by “mountain bikers, and adventurous types worldwide”.
