Dogfish Head
Drinking this beer is kind of like being roughed up in a pillow fight by a couple of cartoon hooligans. The first hooligan (let’s call him Malty) is strong but really very sweet; he doesn’t want to hurt you but…well…he’s just doing his job, you know? The second bruiser (Hopper is his name we’ll suppose) is a hard man. He’s a little bitter, sure, but you notice, as he pummels you mercilessly, that he smells vaguely of flowers. You appreciate this attention to detail.
The thugs have their brutal routine down to an art. They don’t take turns; they pound you with merciless synchronism. They are the yin and yang of mock violence. When they do finally let up, you can feel the affects of their down-filled pugilism in equal measure, and for a long time afterward.
Despite the violation, you feel terribly let down when it is over. You want nothing except more, and damned if you are going to be embarrassed to ask for another beating. You’re not a sick-o. Nuh-uh.
A
Drinking this beer is kind of like being roughed up in a pillow fight by a couple of cartoon hooligans. The first hooligan (let’s call him Malty) is strong but really very sweet; he doesn’t want to hurt you but…well…he’s just doing his job, you know? The second bruiser (Hopper is his name we’ll suppose) is a hard man. He’s a little bitter, sure, but you notice, as he pummels you mercilessly, that he smells vaguely of flowers. You appreciate this attention to detail.
The thugs have their brutal routine down to an art. They don’t take turns; they pound you with merciless synchronism. They are the yin and yang of mock violence. When they do finally let up, you can feel the affects of their down-filled pugilism in equal measure, and for a long time afterward.
Despite the violation, you feel terribly let down when it is over. You want nothing except more, and damned if you are going to be embarrassed to ask for another beating. You’re not a sick-o. Nuh-uh.
A
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