Okay it’s been an incredibly long time since the last post. I think it’s because I saw the movie Little Monsters and still haven’t felt safe to go in the outside world. Yes, Little Monsters, the 1989 kid’s movie starring Fred Savage and Howie Mandel. You know how when you re-watch a movie from your youth for nostalgic purposes but then discover that there’s a whole load of shit that went over your head? Little Monsters did this on a whole other level.
Little Monsters is your classic story of an unconventional friendship between two kindred spirits. But this movie is a super fucked up version. Your first indication things are entirely fucked up is that Brian, Fred Savage’s character, loves eating peanut butter and onion sandwiches. Your second indication that this movie is fucked up is that the monster Maurice, Howie Mandel’s character, is an unabashed sexual deviant. Numerous scenes show Maurice pleasuring himself in front of Brian. 

​From golden showers

To demonstrating technique

Maurice was a real perv. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s heavily implied that both Brian and Maurice were on coke the entire movie.

​This is Brian at school one day

This is Maurice during one of their nightly romps probably licking coke off his hand.

The whole movie is a creep-fest where you always feel one scene away from Maurice showing Brian his dick. Thankfully, the movie doesn’t totally go there. While Maurice is deserving of some blame for my mental state after watching this movie, it really gets pulled into picture when you see Snik and Boy, the two leaders of the monster world and their interactions with Eric, Brian’s brother in the movie. More on that later.

​Okay, so Brian discovers the monsters after his little brother, Eric, sees one and blames it for all the strange missing items around the house. Brian sets a trap for Maurice by just putting one fucking bag of Doritos on his bed and it totally fucking works.

​Brian quickly befriends Maurice and thus begins Maurice’s fetish-fest as he shows Brian all the ways he plays with his victims.

Soon after, Brian hangs out a bunch with Maurice doing weird shit together and comes to discover that he is turning into a monster, probably because at this point he has touched Maurice’s penis. We can’t know for sure though. Anyways, Brian doesn’t want to remain a monster and vows to never go down into the monster world (which is visited by going underneath anyone’s bed). Like so.

​Enter Snik and Boy. This is Snik. Snik is a creepy fuck of a monster who doesn’t have a neck and so he has to turn his body in order to look around him. His main move for people who bug him is to rip their heads off.

After you're done taking a shower to wash all whatever the fuck that was off of you, please let's continue. ​This is Boy.

He’s the leader and he’s a mega fuck. His drug induced make up is barely hiding his smirky child pornographer’s face. He only wears sailor outfits made for rich young boys that have never sailed before. He is surrounded by toys but on more than one occasion he heavily implies that children are the best toys. He is King Deviant in this little molesters paradise. He makes me fucking sick.
​
See, as the leaders of this world, they want a new recruit. So Snik steals Eric in the hopes that they can trap Brian when he comes to save him. Let me take a moment to say this – the major conflict of the movie involves the kidnapping of a young boy and holding him hostage inside a toy chest. Also, while Eric is kidnapped they have heavily sedated him. Here’s a creepy fucking montage of Boy to give you eternal nightmares.

Brian, Maurice, and their friends eventually save the day and get Eric out of harm’s way. Not before, however, they murder Snik and Boy (that’s fine, no problem there) by setting them on fucking fire (yes seriously).
​
This is a fucking disturbing movie and it was not a pleasant trip down memory lane. I give this movie zero stars and may god have mercy on the souls of everyone involved in the production of Little Monsters.

Where to even begin with this fucking show. Wasn’t it just fabulous at showing how our modern sense of self is tied to the people around us, no matter their station in life? Hell no. This show was a gruesome look into the mind of a sociopath. Mary Grantham-Crawley-Racecar Driver is not just an emotional serial killer, sometimes she blood lusts for the real thing. Conservatively, Mary is responsible for the death of three people, and possibly one dog.

Death #1: The Turkish Diplomat
​

It's 1913 and Mary is hungry. A fox hunt gave her the whiff of blood and now her blood lust knows no end. Poor Kemal. A lowly Turkish diplomat on his way to a conference to ensure statehood for Albania. I don't think Mary meant to kill this man, I just think she couldn't help it. Kemal was the one who entered Mary's bedroom in the middle of the night. Mary just didn't know how cold-blooded her vagina could be when it sucked the life out of Kemal.

Strangely, Kemal died ass up. What the fuck was going on here? There's no way to view this scene *ahem* Anna and Lady Crawley, and not think that something weird just happened. Is Mary gloating? She could have taken care of the body herself. It's 1913, I'm sure people died all the fucking time in someone's bedroom. Mary is just gloating at this point. See? Look what I've done. Notice me! What an attention seeking ass.

Just to be clear, this is definitely not the best way to transport a body. Also, at this point just drop the bed sheet and let him wang jangle down the hallway. No shame in that.

Death #2: Matthew Crawley

Poor, sweet Lavinia. The death of Matthew Crawley begins here. To kill such an august gentleman, you must first break him. Matthew came back from WWI a broken man. Lavinia, his fiance at the time, built him back up to full health. How fun, a challenge. Mary has been plotting away and digging an emotional pit for Matthew to fall into. When Lavinia hears of Matthew's love for another, she is broken. Mary takes this opportunity to rub flu germs all over Lavinia when she's sleeping and the next thing we know? Lavinia is dead. I can't prove that Mary rubbed the germs on Lavinia but it's assuredly true. Lavinia is dead. Matthew is broken again. Next stop on this kill train? Matthew.

So you've saved Downton by forcing your new husband to spend his inheritance to get your father out of a bad investment. You've given birth to the new heir of Downton. You no longer need Matthew's seed. Time to murder him.

Seriously, moments after Mary gives birth, Matthew is dead. Matthew was not an accomplished driver. In 1921, cars required a great deal of focus to safely operate. Mary knows this and calculates that there would be a great likelihood of death if Matthew drives alone back to Downton after seeing his new son. Death is inevitable. The blood on Mary's hands grows darker.

Death #3: Lord Grantham

Lord Grantham has a stomach problem. He says he's been stressed lately due to his mother and wife arguing about the local hospital. Under the surface, something more devious is occurring. Mary has always been Lord Grantham's favorite. He admits many times in the show he's got a blind spot toward her. Mary knows her father just wants her to be happy and that her constant resting bitch face is upsetting him. We know two things for sure: Mary is an accomplished biological weapons specialist and ulcers are caused by bacteria. All it takes is Mary to slip a little H. pylori in Robert's meal and amp up the bitch face. The result?

Mary, dear God, what have you done! You've ruined the dinner party, possibly the evening, and Cora's expensive outfit. You know how pissed Carson gets when blood is all over the tablecloth, have you no decency? Robert, completely unaware of what's going on finally gets it as his life flashes before his eyes. He's not dead. He doesn't die in this season. But this bacteria will kill him before the year is out.

Seen here, Robert is trying to look up at his daughter. He knows in his heart that she is the cause of this. Mary is pleased. She has satiated her blood fill for now.

So, she's killed a couple people. Who cares?! It's the roaring '20s, everyone is a little guilty of murder these days. Edith cares. Edith knows. Edith waits.

Mary's murderous soul has its polar counterpart in Edith but Mary makes it her mission to turn the world against her sister. She has convinced her father that Edith is going to die an old maid, she has convinced the servants that Edith does not exist, and she has convinced Edith's suitors that she's a welfare queen. Fuck you Mary! Edith is a saint! So what if she was duped by a burned-face guy, stole a baby from a local farmer, turned her fiance into a nazi, and learned how to drive a car. She's still a lady of Downton!

​Don't you dare give Edith an eye roll!

Dammit! Don't you dare influence your Mother to scoff at Edith.

For Christ's sake, Mary! Even the Dowager Countess literally can't even.

That's right. She literally can't even. She speaks the truth. Mary will become a ghost that haunts Downton forever. Her deadly vagina, piercing glare, sniveling face, and general demeanor are best summed up by her sister's appraisal. Take it away, Edith.

Also, Mary probably killed Sybil. And Isis. And the guy in Season 1 who died on the Titanic. And William. And probably William's father. Possibly Marigold as well. She fed the pigs poison. Definitely killed that racecar driver guy who was burned alive. And also probably gave Lord Gillingham an STD.

​#RIP

I've never had an experience after watching a movie of wanting to get on my blades, hack the planet, and make some questionable wardrobe choices as much as after watching this glorious slice of 1995. 

Rollerblades: I had no clue New York was this fucking radical in the mid-1990s. Serious time, is this supposed to be what New York was like in 1995 or is this some alternate dimension where rollerblading is a socially acceptable form of transportation? The films Hackers, Airborne, and the Disney channel original Brink have a lot of apologizing to do for showing this farce of a universe to bright-eyed and subsequently beat up children of the 90s. Every single scene has a rollerblader in it. Really though. Every. Single. Scene.

It's not just blading on the street and shredding up some concrete either. There are rollerblade clubs. ROLLERBLADE CLUBS!

Just think of all the times you've said "let's roll out!" to your friends when you're ready to leave? How awesome would it be to actually mean it in a group of like-minded fruit booters? Everyone bladin it up, nobody able to go into a bar that has stairs, nobody able to take off their blades because it's inconvenient as fuck to carry sneakers with you at all times.

After establishing New York City as the epicenter of the rollerblade revolution, the movie furthers the plot that blades are awesome by giving the bad guy a skateboard. If nothing else, Hackers takes a very clear side in the rollerblade vs. skateboard war. 

Computers: The movie is called Hackers so they show us what that means, right? Of course! Everyone knows that hacking computers requires just as much graphic design skill as it does computer knowledge. After watching this movie I opened up my parent's computer, fought the urge to not go into a bunch of AOL chat rooms, and then typed "HACK" in the windows search function. I did not see a cool graphic design interface where I could just type a bunch of random shit to enter a tv studio or discover an animated DaVinci man with a creepy modified voice. Why did I think I would find these things? Because I was an idiot kid and because Hackers shows a ridiculously stylized version of the real thing.

I couldn't care less that this isn't actually what hacking looks like, that's not my problem with this at all. No, my problem is that I want to fucking do this! That's what I wish computers did without me having to learn a bunch of shit. In no way could I ever criticize a movie that made hacking and rollerblading look cool. Making one dumb thing look cool is a challenge. Hackers did it with two dumb things!

Magical realism: Hackers is a movie about navigating your path toward self-invention, finding your group of friends that lets you be yourself, and not being afraid to showcase your subversive culture. When everyone else is drinking at the party, you go in the back room to check out the latest computer with your friends.

Go ahead and be a fucking weirdo. This movie fucking rules. Hack the Planet.

I had no idea what a duckpin was but I was intrigued by the can design and figured it had something to do with one of the greatest least athletic sports ever invented: bowling. Turns out, duckpin is a type of bowling popular on the east coast. The pins are smaller, fatter, and harder to knock down. The ball is the size of a large bocce ball (which coincidentally is another of the greatest least athletic sports) but the lane you throw it down is the same size of a standard bowling alley.

I've never tried duckpin bowling but its origin story is pretty fucking awesome. Apparently a bunch of drunk Baltimore Orioles started it in the early 1900s at a billiard and bowling hall they owned. The origin story is still in dispute because everyone was drunk at the time but some red-faced Oriole says he invented the game first and gave it its name. You'd kinda have to be drunk to claim to "invent" a new sport simply by making the equipment slightly smaller. That and adding a third rolling frame is the only fucking difference between duckpin and regular bowling. It's still popular in certain areas on the east coast because everyone is just perpetually drunk here and, aside from birthday parties, only the perpetually drunk seem to bowl on a regular basis. I don't really care who's whippersnapper of a grandpa did a line of coke and thought up this "new" game, I only care if it's fun or not. Since I've never duckpin bowled, I can only assume it's awesome because of its similarity to bowling and the rich, majestic cinematic history bowling occupies. 

The first movie I saw to feature bowling was Kingpin. It's a classic. Bill Murray, Woody Harrelson, and Randy Quaid occupying the same silver screen all while throwing turkeys was a dream come true. If you've seen the movie, you also know it gave us our first bowling finishing move: the Bill Murray strike.

Oh how I pine for the thrill of that strike, the sexy hip thrust you want to make, the body building pose just itching to make an appearance. If you've never done this after a strike, or even a spare, I hope those missed opportunities will haunt you forever.

The second movie I ever saw to feature this illustrious sport was the Big Lebowski, the Cohen brothers classic that still delivers today. The only thing that actually makes sense in a movie with a thousand overlapping plot threads is the desire to go bowling after a rough day. This is the movie that inspired a generation of high schoolers to go back to the bowling alley, go to town on some chili fries, and roll down some pins while listening to the greatest hits of the 1970s. Additionally, it gave us the finest pre-bowling ritual of all time. Enter the Jesus.

The Jesus also gave us cinema history's second bowling finishing move:

It took me a while to notice but Jesus Quintana is a fucking hipster. This fucker rides his fixie to the diner and takes instagram pictures with a DSLR camera.

That gif makes you angry because it doesn't finish. The urge to watch the whole scene on YouTube grows stronger with every unfinished leg grab. Grab your nearest purple one-piece and get your fucking ass to the bowling alley, bruh. 

There are plenty of articles out there comparing and contrasting these two cinema classics. However, the bottom line is that movies about bowling are hitting 1.000. What does this have to do with the beer? Beers about duckpin bowling are also hitting 1.000. 

Nose: Big Malt, Big Hops. Hops take on a tropical fruit aroma.
Body: You can definitely tell it's a double IPA but the 8.5 percent ABV is hidden well amongst the base malts.
Mouth: Smooth bitterness and maltiness throughout. The hops make the same tropical appearance at the end. This is a great beer.

The darkest of beers with a roasty flavor and light coconut taste. Wish I could enjoy this on the islands.

First off, I wish I were drinking this out of a broken coconut. I'm not sure how you would attach a handle to the coconut but the beer's label tells me it's possible so I'll take them at their word. Also, the crack in the fermentation tank spilling out beer makes me think of the elevator scene in The Shining. Except replace the blood with porter. And no creepy twin girls. And no tricycle kid. Alright, that analogy was a stretch. Maui Brewing Company claims their beers are brewed with Aloha. They can brew with whatever the fuck they want, as long as their other beers are this delicious. Yet, I can't help but wonder what that aloha really means. These days, pop culture has a recipe for characters that wear Hawaiian (or Aloha) shirts: If you're the Simpsons, the only two types of people that can wear Hawaiian shirts are fat dudes and party animals. That pretty much simplifies the formula down to bros in college. Well, what if you're not super fat, not in college, and not a party animal? Well, aside from being a fucking loser, you may be in luck!

The picture above is Elvis posing for the Blue Hawaii soundtrack. Although wikipedia tells me Hawaiian shirts had been popular since the 1930s in Hawaii and that their popularity extended to sailors returning to the mainland during the 1940s and 1950s, Elvis put that shit on the map. What zeitgeist didn't start with the King? Blue Hawaii was released in 1961. Just like that, Hawaiian shirts were the shit! An entire beach-themed movie genre was born out of this moment. Before Hawaiian shirts the Beach Boys were a bunch of preppy weiners who probably regularly used the term "bone zone". After they donned Hawaiian shirts, they were surf legends!

Coolness rating: 10

We next meet a Hawaiian shirt on lovable slacker Jeff Spicoli in the 1982 movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High. What's happened in the last 20 years? Spicoli, ahead of his time, recognizes the subversive nature of wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a tie to a school function in which the dress code is semi-formal. While not a cool thing to do, it is most definitely a statement on the stultifying times that the disco movement ushered in for history's most jaded generation. Rock on, Spicoli. Rock on.

Coolness rating: 5 for actual coolness, 8 for performance artiness

I'm trying to do a timeline thing here but I had no idea Scarface was actually made after Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Tony Montana, casually walking through the streets of Miami with his trusty red Hawaiian shirt and his gun, was on top of the world. While Spicoli evoked a subversive take on the classic cool of a Hawaiian shirt, Tony Montana made it dangerous. Also, red, with hints of white, is a good color for hiding blood and cocaine. Where else can you find that combo but in a Hawaiian shirt? So versatile. 

Coolness rating: 8. All the cocaine in the world can't bring down this fashion statement.

If Elvis brought a little cool to the Hawaiian shirt and Tony Montana brought a little danger to the shirt then Tom Selleck as Magnum P.I. was the perfect love child of that relationship. Just look at the danger in the above photo. LOOK! He's only using three, THREE, buttons on his shirt. I feel like his chest pubes are just aching for more exposure. He's also looking straight into the camera, in a classic Selleck power move pose. He's the physical embodiment of a Facebook "poke". And his coolness factor knows no end. This is the height of the Hawaiian shirt. Danger? Yes. Cheap thrills? Yes. Eerily reminiscent of your father, but in all the cool ways? Yes. Holy Shit.

Coolness rating: 10. It's Tom Fucking Selleck idiots.

Where was there to go but down? Chunk, while you may be Good Enough for Cyndi Lauper, you're still a curly-headed fuck to me. You've walked right into the Simpsons paradox, you son of a bitch. You've taken what could have been the cover of TLC's Crazy.Sexy.Cool album and become the embodiment of a lovable loser. As Troy yells at the wishing well scene, "YOU GOONIE!". Which, by the way, is a fucking weird insult. What the fuck is that word anyways? Also, when they were pulling up the bucket, were they thinking Andy was on the bucket? There's no fucking way. They were barely pulling that thing and seemed surprised when it was empty? Troy is the fucking worst.

Coolness rating: 2, sorry Chunk.

Goonies took us through 1985 and Raising Arizona is set two years later in 1987. Nicolas Cage, while playing a lovable loser, has a dangerous, if not aloof, side to him as well. It's coming back! Leave it to Nic Cage to make everything cool again. His chest hair and mustache game is on point as well. The zaniness of a Hawaiian shirt is coming into the picture with this movie. He's a little bit Spicoli, Scarface, and Chunk (mostly Spicoli and Chunk) all wrapped in one. The rebuilding of the brand is in full force! Progress is inevitable!

​Coolness rating: 7. He's Nic Cage. Fucking NICOLAS CAGE.

Oh great, this guy has to fucking ruin it. What an open butt. His face looks like his ass in this picture and his open, messy, stupid design of a shirt exudes a certain "kick me in the nuts" vibe. I get it, Ace Ventura is an over-the-top character. His over-the-topness here is in full force. So is his hair boner. But the Hawaiian shirt? Thanks a lot, Hollywood. You've taken something from cool to lazy to dangerous to cool and dangerous to spectacle to dumbass. AAAARRRGGGHHHH. One fell swoop and a parody of Magnum P.I. becomes the cultural norm for the next 20 years whenever you think of a Hawaiian shirt. If you pretend you just punched Ace Ventura in the throat, it makes the above picture tolerable.

​Coolness rating: 1

Can a beer taste roasty and sweet at the same time? Can a Hawaiian shirt still be dangerous and cool at the same time? The answers to both are a resounding: YES. The Coconut Porter is an example of doing two things very well. It's the Magnum P.I. of beers and it tastes delicious when I find it in my mustache two hours later.

Nose: Definitely get the coconut.
Body: Dark malts give this a heavy lift and creamy finish.
Mouth: Dry bitterness at the finish but it goes well with the roast and sweet of the coconut. This beer is delicious!

 I know what you're thinking: Oh great, another super hard to find beer, awesome, how original. Well, shut the fuck up. I wanted to try this and I liked it. So there. The first rule of SuperAggressiveReviews is that we do not apologize. You can't ask the Cobra Kai Dojo to apologize without expecting a round house kick to the scrot. Same as it ever was with SAR. On to the beer...

The label above says that this beer is an "intensely hopped and gushing undead pale ale". I don't know what the fuck that means. In terms of the hops, it's true there is a strong hop intensity. What is a gushing undead pale ale? I know what a gushing undead is:

However, this beer doesn't taste like a shitty character who can incomprehensibly talk in Return of the Living Dead. It tastes delicious. Where does this association with Zombies come from? Why would they want to name their beer after a zombie? Granted, when 3 Floyds Brewery created this beer in the late 90s/early 2000s this wasn't even the title of the beer. Cenotaph is the original name of Zombie Dust. A Cenotaph is a greek word that means "empty grave". It's a monument to people who have died elsewhere, a common occurrence in the ancient world when you cared more about the memory than the physicality of a person. How does this relate to beer? How does this relate to the folks who drink their beer?

In the Night of the Living Dead, George Romero turns the zombie paradigm on its head and creates ghouls that rise from the grave and feast on the living. There were a shit-ton of zombie movies before Night of the Living Dead but almost every single zombie created after it has borne elements of its influence. Ok, neat trick. Why do I care? Because popular culture has pervasively shown you that we contain elements of the living dead and our triumph is in defeating them:

"They're coming to get you, Barbara..."
Ben: "Now get the hell down the cellar. You can be the boss down there but I'm the boss up here!"

Think about that. That first quote is one of the first things said in the movie and turns a joke into a nightmare for the main character. That second line shows that even in the midst of total upheaval, the social mores of the day hold true.

In 1990, a George Romero approved remake was released. Barbare was reinvigorated as a strong character who undergoes a dramatic change throughout the movie. Her summation of the problem is the characterization of our pop-culture of the day:

Barbara (pointing to the living dead): "They're us. We're them and they're us."

This was even before everyone was fucking tied to their cellphone all day. Technology's greatest curse to modern society is the inherent memory loss it causes

"We're coming to get you, Barbara!"

The tides have turned, we may have been lifeless duds before the zombies took over but now we have life. Unless you're a total slacker, then you'll turn into a zombie. (Spoiler alert, fuck you).

Walking Dead is the ultimate survival tale. Instead of stopping just after the plague hits, the series tackles the issues of what it means to live in a world where rescue isn't coming and the dead are a constant reminder of your mortality. My favorite quote so far:

"We're not them. They're not us and we're not them"

That was from Season 5 when everyone was down about a certain character just dying (not spoiler alert, everyone dies all the fucking time in that show).

This walk through zombie lane isn't just a place for me to reminisce about fun zombie movies. It's to get at the heart of why an upcoming beer company would name their aggressively hopped west coast style pale ale Cenotaph. Is this beer a reminder of something that's not there? Or perhaps that Zombie Dust is a reminder of triumph over the shitty beer we've been used to drinking? 3 Floyds' philosophy is to capture the many amazing styles of beer that come from just four simple ingredients: water, malt, hops, yeast. To create a seemingly infinite amount of variety from four ingredients is an innovation from the beer of yesteryear. But, there are limits. This beer tastes great, but it's not incredibly epic. No matter how fucking hard it is to find this beer, it's not epic. This beer is the result of four ingredients pushed to their limits but still maintaining equilibrium. Is it a shout out to our own failure to live life to the fullest until we can't anymore? Is that way too deep for a fucking review about beer that's super hard to find? I don't know. Does the name Zombie Dust make me think of that crazy ass potpouri shit that makes dudes eat other dudes' faces? Yes. Are they us, and we them? Nope. All I know is that everybody tryin to get this beer like:

Nose: Citrus and slight sweetness.

Body: A little malty sweetness but it's very smooth.

Mouth: Dry bitterness but an overall citrus flavor that begs for another sip. This beer tastes like a pine tree grew a grapefruit. It's fucking delicious.

Fuck man. This beer was the first craft brew I ever had. I went to college in the OC, and when I wasn't punching surfer bros in the fucking face and shredding my gnar, I was in the UC Irvine Anteater Pub drinking a Pliny the Elder and scarfing down some sweet potato fries. This was my college experience:

Emo. 

Anyways, in breaks between listening to "The Academy Is" and sobbing to "Panic! At the Disco" I was a budding beer geek with a Classical appreciation of this liquid nectar.

In college I was a Classics Major. Do you know what that means? I deliberately chose a major that, by its definition, wouldn't be relevant to anything in the modern world. I was like a college aged Gwyneth Paltrow in Hook: Tied to the past, thoroughly modern in the present, and destined to be an old ass looking Maggie Smith. To be honest, the only reason I chose to buy a draft of Pliny was that I was writing a thesis on him and Columella and how they wrote about wine consumption in Ancient Rome. Actually the thesis title was "Social Implications of Wine Consumption in Ancient Rome". It was a fucking great thesis. It taught me that Romans used to never just drink wine, no, they had to go and mix it with hot water and honey, creating a Calistoga spa elixir of opulence inside your mouth. It probably tasted like butt, however, people loved it. 

Russian River brewery looked up the first word for hops, discovered that Plinius Secundus was the one who wrote it down, so they honored him with the name of their new beer. End of story? No. Russian River entered a double IPA competition in Hayward, which is kind of like entering an Oakland sideshow competition except Bub Rub and Lil' Sis aren't there, and won the whole thing. This was in 2000 when Double IPAs weren't the hipster creme freche that they are today. Since then, the Double IPA is a flagship. The IPA above 7 percent is ubiquitous. You have to have one if you're a brewer who wants to appeal to a broad market these days. Pliny the Elder is to thank for that (the beer not the Roman). Also, Pliny the Elder (the philosopher) is pronounced "Plin-knee the Elder", Pliny the Elder (the beer) is pronounced "Ply-knee the Elder". Yes, the beer pronunciation is 100 percent wrong in terms of the person but who gives a shit? British people pronounce shit wrong all the fucking time! Whatever. 

Anyways, Pliny the Elder (the beer) is a revolution. Yes, I'm going to stand in line at Russian River brewery. Yes, I'm going to rate this beer five stars on Untappd. Yes, I'm going to go to ridiculous lengths to do a beer trade for this beer. It's great, it's historic, it's epic. Are there beers out there that are just as good? Of course there fucking are. Jesus. But this is one to try. It's historic. You don't watch Blade Runner and think, yeah I get it. You watch Blade Runner and think, I can't believe how many Sci-Fi movies since then use the same metaphors/ideas/mis-en-scene/filming style, etc. Just drink it fucking fresh.

Nose: PNW Hops. Grapefruit and some tropical notes

Body: Extremely light and dry. A vehicle for hops.

Mouth: This is a fantastic beer. Dry but so deliciously hoppy. Hops are very present but don't drown out the malt. Medium-bodied, straw-colored, dangerously (8.0 abv) drinkable.

What is space dust? If Neil DeGrasse Tyson told me it was what comes out of black hole's butt hole I'd absolutely believe him. What's in a name? Did they actually put moon dust in this beer? Did they follow the guys who hunt meteors on the History Channel and purchase one of their hauls and then place it in the boil kettle? I don't know. Space is too weird, there's all sorts of weird shit out there. Ever heard of the extreme deep field? In 1996 scientists noticed a blank space near the moon that seemed to contain no traces of planetary or star light. Over ten years they compiled the images, overlayed them, and zoomed ever closer in the space. After ten years they compiled this:

This is the shit. That square up there is the most distant galaxy we've ever viewed. Within that box? Other galaxies with billions of planets, billions of stars, billions of possibilities. Space dust? What the fuck even is that? Gaseous swirls of galactic densities orbiting other terrestrial bogs in an ever expanding oval of curiosity? Shit. Shit. You aimed a telescope at a spot you didn't think contained anything and it contained everything. Space Dust, well, it could just be a clever way to get me to buy a double IPA. Which worked. Fuck. I'd like to believe Buzz Aldrin was tied to an elliptical and the brewers at Elysian collected his sweat as a yeast energizer. That's why the taste is so great. It's probs not true though. Whatever.

This label looks like the moon took a hit of the wrong stuff. So there's that:

Nose: Dry hopped with Citra and Amarillo. You get some great citrus and grapefruit smells. It pulls through and finishes with a nice herbal smell.

Body: Light for an IPA with this much booze. Dry as well. Keeps the bitterness lingering.

Mouth: Gots the good stuff. Bitterness balanced with an earthy flavoring hop, rounded out with that smell. Party on.

Nugget Nectar from Troegs Brewery is a face puncher. It's an Imperial Amber, which I don't think I've ever had before. Style purists would say it's because Imperial Amber doesn't exist. Style purists suck asshole. BJCP lays it out. A lot of smart people come together and collaboratively review and update their styles list every few years. These people know what they're doing but I know they don't want to have the BJCP styles guide to be the encyclopedia of beer knowledge. Beer can push boundaries or it can be a perfection of style. I don't know if Nugget Nectar is a perfection of style but it tastes fucking delicious. You've got big stone fruit in the beginning with a smooth, not complex, malt flavor as a backbone. The bitterness is nice and rounded out. It complements the citrus flavor of the beer in a good way. So what is an Imperial Amber? Who the fuck cares, it's a high-alcohol-amber-colored-hoppy-ale. It's a good beer. If it tasted like shit, I'd rail against people pushing beer into a popular category to get more sales. Since it's not that way, I won't give it the Liam Neeson treatment. I look forward to this beer coming out every Winter. It's a bright spot in my otherwise dark sprint towards Spring. Who the fuck cares whether some stupid ass groundhog will see its shadow? This beer will come out next year and I'll buy it faster than you can say Hopslam.

Nose: Stonefruit and tropical citrus.
Body: Good malt backbone to highlight the hops. A bit thin and dry.
Mouth: Has a lasting bitterness with a dry finish. For such a boozy beer, it hides it well. 
Party on.