EveryDayAmnesiac
Well-Known Member
Instead of a “best” or a “worst” beer thread, I thought highlighting “the emotion surrounding the beer” might be more interesting, and perhaps even enlightening, and as is my gloomy and pessimistic nature, I gravitated to the depressive side.
My apologies to anyone who finds my dismal threads tiresome.
So, I bought this specialty beer at my (seriously relatively) local brewery…the Nantahala Brewing Company’s Chocolate Covered Cherry Stout.
As a side note, I should mention that if you are ever in the mood to subject yourself to a little of the ol’ existential castigation and send yourself to the tedious Hell that is Podunk City over in Cousin Bumfuck County, be sure to check out this brewery. Yeah, you’re being burned alive in Dante’s Naked Combustion Party, the worst form of Hell for an excessive high-gravity beer drinker and self-loathing vapor enthusiast, but…. hey, at least the beer is unpretentiously excellent.
I should probably convey at this point that I purchased this considerably girly beer with the intention of drinking it with my now ex-girlfriend on Valentine’s Day of this foul fucking year of our Lord 2013. And, if one were to propose that those intentions included “sealing the deal” along with delivering delicious refreshment, I would not be inclined to put forward the notion that they were incorrect, so long as “sealing the deal” suggested I was going to ask her to move to the city with me to find a place for the two of us. Not being the type of guy who has ever wanted to live with anybody – for emotional and psychological and (humiliating) physical medical reasons, this was a pretty big deal for me.
Oh, and yes, “sealing the deal” also would have involved “the sex.” Or, as the French call it, “le sexe.”
(See what I did there?)
Since I am in fact “into the whole brevity thing,” despite how lengthy this post has at present become, I am prompted to fast-forward and edify the one person still reading this, probably a Mod (sorry for putting you through this, Mod), that I am now sitting here, alone, in the middle of GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING NOWHERE, with nothing better to do than use, oggle, research, worry, and post, about vaporizers. And she… is with someone else. Surely having a great time. And probably smoking. With someone I know very well and whom I thought was someone I could trust.
And the rest of my friends? Well, I guess they find it more enjoyable to hang out with her and him. Good times. Good…. fucking times.
So yeah, believe it or not, I am taking the break-up in a much more insalubrious and self-damaging and self-obsessed manner. Ain’t that just like a vaporist?
I should also mention at this time that I had been saving this beer in (despairing) hope of a possible celebratory reconciliation, but… it became clear that no such resolution was in the cards. Therefore, I, let’s just say sorrowfully, cracked open that fucking beer and drank that 7.0 % alcohol, 750 mL of chocolaty stouty goodness straight from the bottle in one (a pretty high number of) gulp (sips).
Hey, I’m 135 pounds; give me a break, for fuck’s sake! Mostly muscle, though. Really.
And then I sat. Cackling to myself while unaccompanied, out in the woods. Staring at the silhouetted mountains while (almost) too sad and hopeless to vaporize. The nearest town in the final throes of choking out its last, pathetic gasp. And wishing I could just disappear, just be comprehensively erased, so no one would have to pretend to miss me.
But… maybe it’s just that I’m at the age where I’m too old to ask why or care why anymore. Too old to thrive on angst and depression and adversaries. But too young to be giving up and just accepting it. Life sucks and then you die, buddy boy! Get used to it! Just… lost. A lost little mouse in a world of loud, obnoxious, morbidly obese elephants. Pure of heart, wanting to do good, wanting to make a difference, wanting to be of use, wanting to make the world a better place … but just… so fucking lost. So lost that no one would even know where to start looking. And so far gone that no one would even want to start looking. Lost and alone. Recklessly.
Shit, you know how it is.
So that is why, the Nantahala Brewing Company’s Chocolate Covered Cherry Stout, while one of the tastiest, is also…. “The most depressing beer I have ever drunk.”
Feel free to share your beer-related sob story. You will find I am (occasionally) an excellent listener.
-EDA
My apologies to anyone who finds my dismal threads tiresome.
So, I bought this specialty beer at my (seriously relatively) local brewery…the Nantahala Brewing Company’s Chocolate Covered Cherry Stout.
As a side note, I should mention that if you are ever in the mood to subject yourself to a little of the ol’ existential castigation and send yourself to the tedious Hell that is Podunk City over in Cousin Bumfuck County, be sure to check out this brewery. Yeah, you’re being burned alive in Dante’s Naked Combustion Party, the worst form of Hell for an excessive high-gravity beer drinker and self-loathing vapor enthusiast, but…. hey, at least the beer is unpretentiously excellent.
I should probably convey at this point that I purchased this considerably girly beer with the intention of drinking it with my now ex-girlfriend on Valentine’s Day of this foul fucking year of our Lord 2013. And, if one were to propose that those intentions included “sealing the deal” along with delivering delicious refreshment, I would not be inclined to put forward the notion that they were incorrect, so long as “sealing the deal” suggested I was going to ask her to move to the city with me to find a place for the two of us. Not being the type of guy who has ever wanted to live with anybody – for emotional and psychological and (humiliating) physical medical reasons, this was a pretty big deal for me.
Oh, and yes, “sealing the deal” also would have involved “the sex.” Or, as the French call it, “le sexe.”
(See what I did there?)
Since I am in fact “into the whole brevity thing,” despite how lengthy this post has at present become, I am prompted to fast-forward and edify the one person still reading this, probably a Mod (sorry for putting you through this, Mod), that I am now sitting here, alone, in the middle of GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING NOWHERE, with nothing better to do than use, oggle, research, worry, and post, about vaporizers. And she… is with someone else. Surely having a great time. And probably smoking. With someone I know very well and whom I thought was someone I could trust.
And the rest of my friends? Well, I guess they find it more enjoyable to hang out with her and him. Good times. Good…. fucking times.
So yeah, believe it or not, I am taking the break-up in a much more insalubrious and self-damaging and self-obsessed manner. Ain’t that just like a vaporist?
I should also mention at this time that I had been saving this beer in (despairing) hope of a possible celebratory reconciliation, but… it became clear that no such resolution was in the cards. Therefore, I, let’s just say sorrowfully, cracked open that fucking beer and drank that 7.0 % alcohol, 750 mL of chocolaty stouty goodness straight from the bottle in one (a pretty high number of) gulp (sips).
Hey, I’m 135 pounds; give me a break, for fuck’s sake! Mostly muscle, though. Really.
And then I sat. Cackling to myself while unaccompanied, out in the woods. Staring at the silhouetted mountains while (almost) too sad and hopeless to vaporize. The nearest town in the final throes of choking out its last, pathetic gasp. And wishing I could just disappear, just be comprehensively erased, so no one would have to pretend to miss me.
But… maybe it’s just that I’m at the age where I’m too old to ask why or care why anymore. Too old to thrive on angst and depression and adversaries. But too young to be giving up and just accepting it. Life sucks and then you die, buddy boy! Get used to it! Just… lost. A lost little mouse in a world of loud, obnoxious, morbidly obese elephants. Pure of heart, wanting to do good, wanting to make a difference, wanting to be of use, wanting to make the world a better place … but just… so fucking lost. So lost that no one would even know where to start looking. And so far gone that no one would even want to start looking. Lost and alone. Recklessly.
Shit, you know how it is.
So that is why, the Nantahala Brewing Company’s Chocolate Covered Cherry Stout, while one of the tastiest, is also…. “The most depressing beer I have ever drunk.”
Feel free to share your beer-related sob story. You will find I am (occasionally) an excellent listener.
-EDA
![:\](/i/s/hmm.gif "Hmm :\")
I don't recommend trying it.
