Not only is it Friday, but it’s the Friday after Thanksgiving. As such, there are certain expectations to be fulfilled — specifically, the eating of leftovers and the continued consumption of alcohol. Starting with a hearty bowl of stuffing for breakfast, I’ve made sure to eat something at every opportunity, paying special attention to desserts. More than content with my gorging, I really wanted to find a good brew for the review.

Therefore, I made sure to not rush through the weekly process of beer-searching. I took my time at the store, actually reading labels and trying to figure just what type of beverage I’d want to drink. My first inclination was to find some sort of coffee/espresso based lager; however, the staff informed me that such a product was not stocked and I was therefore SOL. Resolved to find something tasty, I continued the quest.

I then remembered that today marks the first day of the Christmas Season: “A holiday-brew will do,” I bellowed in Seuss-mimicry, “but how to pick a drink that’s sick?” Again, I wanted to be levelheaded about this decision, not jumping at the first six-pack with clever packaging.

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Yet another Friday is upon us and therefore it is the duty of OL to present a beverage with which you can forget the work week. While I normally revel in my Friday night ritual of drankin’n’writin’, I don’t think I’d bring my A-Game tonight. Truth be told, I’ve felt like caca ever since I got home and although I’m going to guzzle some smile-potions, I don’t think I have the heart to give an earnest review.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself in front of a pack of third-graders, “who the fuck is going to handle the task of the Friday Brew Review?” Initially, I thought about outsourcing the job to one of my high school students, offering extra-credit for a minimum of five-hundred words. But something told me that administration may frown on that (apparently extra-credit is a Big No-No). I then considered asking for Caffeine Powered’s assistance, but since that guy shoulders most of the writing burden at OL, I didn’t want to add to his workload. I felt lost.

And then it hit me: Mrs. Krueger

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Am I hippie? Short answer: No.

To be fair, I probably have some tendencies with which the average hippie could agree. I’m a big fan of questioning the man (whoever the fuck that is). I consume almond butter & Nutella sandwiches on a regular basis. I fucking love Les Claypool.

But the fact of the matter is that I’m not a hippie, as I think they invest a lot of their time in bullshit. Unless you’re playing in one or watching one of the best, jam bands are boring after about ten minutes. Smoking pot can lead to great, nearly spiritual experiences but definitely shouldn’t be an everyday activity. And while there may be something behind the arguments that organic foods are tastier and more environmentally friendly, I think it’s worthwhile to recognize that most are distributed by uber-mega-big-buck companies hoping to strike a profit.

With such an attitude about the world of organic foodstuffs, I’m not really sure why I chose this week’s prospective brew. Perhaps part of my decision rests in the fact that I’m purposely avoiding the winter seasonal beers until Thanksgiving. But getting closer to the heart of the beverage-choice, I think I may have been looking for a challenge. Something that, had I not made a pact to drink a new beer every week, I would never buy. A brew at which I normally just scoff; not scoff and then actually purchase.

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Welcome to the weekend — let’s catch a buzz!

As I was driving home I remembered that a new liquor store had just opened in my suburb of origin. Maybe this isn’t a big deal to you but my hometown has been completely dry up until this point. Historically, residents always had to go one town over to snag a Friday-sixer, making for just enough of an inconvenience to warrant complaints.

But now those days are over, right? Well, sort of.

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I am a diseased man. It’s the truth, and I’ve learned to live with it. The fact of the matter is that I have been diagnosed with Raynaud’s Syndrome, a condition whose effects are somewhere in between AIDS and Motaba. As a consequence of this extremely super-serious medical condition, I have less-than-ideal circulation in my hands and feet.

In other words: I can’t feel my fucking hands in winter.

Don’t worry, I’m fine. To combat this terrible affliction, I (wear gloves and) look to sources of inspiration. For awhile I really admired Michael J. Fox, whose struggles with post-temporal-shifting have been highly publicized. Then I started looking up to Michael Jackson, a man who continued to do good in the world despite being bombarded by baseless accusations of child endangerment. But today, in the liquor store, I came across a new person to whom I can devote my allegiance.

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Walking into the liquor store today, I knew that I wanted a challenging beer. I mean, I didn’t want a brew that was going to knock me on my ass and leave me for dead, but I wanted something with a bit of a kick. I walked to the cooler and started perusing.

Light beers? Nah, not for me.

Seasonal brews? Eh…always fun, but I wasn’t in the mood to get burned again.

Sam Adams? Sammy – you got your turn last week!

And then my eyes connected with those of the beast, a being I only know as Troegenator.

I mean seriously, look at the picture above — the Troegenator is basically Zeus with fucking devil horns.

Let me repeat the previous sentiment. The label on the beer features ZEUS — the most powerful member of the Greek pantheon with devil horns. I was sold. I mean, seriously, it is the most powerful God of all time and he’s ready to rage. I’m down.

But then I actually read the label and found out that the Troegenator is a doublebock. In my purely unscientific understanding, doublebock is a form of old-school Bavarian lager known for a bready flavor, a spicy aroma, and an ability to induce pleasurable sensations of inebriation.

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Friday — this, of course, means time to drink beer.

Unfortunately, for the past two days I have felt terrible. I don’t usually get sick, so when I do I like to think that the ship has finally hit the gigantic fuckin’ iceberg. Maybe I’ve got Swine Flu. Or polio. Or something.

Probably not though. What I should do is relax, go to bed early and get ready to feel better in the morning. But, it’s Friday and that means I have to fulfill a promise I made to you to consume alcohol and report on it.

Regardless of what alcoholics tell you, drinking when you’re sick will not make you feel better. You may smile a bit a more, but after passing out you will wake up feeling worse than drunk and sick — this is synergy in action. So it was with some trepidation that I approached the taking of my weekly drink.

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Before I even start tearing into this week’s brew review, I have to pause a moment to issue a statement of gratitude. Without the assistance of my good buddy Riff-Daddy, this week’s entry would never have been possible. Riff-Daddy took it upon himself to drive all the way to Troy, New York just to pick up a six-pack for me. He totally wasn’t there anyways to visit his girlfriend. He told me that he was just sitting around in his underwear watching episodes of Charles in Charge and he thought, “Damn, I should drive four hours each-way to help out Pepsibones.”

So it is with the utmost sincerity that I thank you, Riff-Daddy. You’re a good guy. I love you.

Ok, transitioning away from traces of homoeroticism and into a beer review…This week sees me guzzling Oatmeal Stout from Brown’s Brewing Company. I first encountered this brand when Riff-Daddy and I, on our way to a concert, stopped into their signature taproom in Troy. Their drafts nearly blew my shoes off. Seriously, if I hadn’t made sure to securely fasten the Velcro straps I would’ve been in big, big trouble.

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I may be finally starting to lose my mind. For real. I’ve spent the early evening inside of a slightly metrosexual argyle sweater, listening to Led Zeppelin II and drinking beer. While I’m enjoying bathing in the autumn air pouring in from my open window, I’m starting to worry that I may start shouting out of it.

Luckily, I’ve made a promise to both Caffeine-Powered and myself to delivery a weekly beverage review, so any open condemnations of society will have to wait. It is time to talk about beer and nothing is more important than that!

This week, I repealed my declaration against seasonal brews. Still leaving the hay-themed pumpkin-flavored whatnots to others, I picked up a six pack of Gritty McDuff’s Halloween Ale. Yes — I am a sucker and the label with a decapitated head is what initially sold me. Fuck, we’re in the beginning of the goddamn OCTOBERFEAST and I can’t help but get excited by horror-themed promotions.

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Friday again — another week of possibility subtracted from my life, and thus another excuse to drink! Oh, how I love doing these Friday Brew Reviews.

Coming home from a high school football game, Mrs. Krueger and I took a detour at the liquor store. Trying my best to be a gentleman, I offered  that she  “pick out something to get yourself drunk off of.” Always one to party, she found a “raspberry beer — that sounds fun” and we were on our way.

I was halfway through the original brew I planned to feature when Mrs. Krueger finally opened up her choice for the evening. The fair lady took one sip, grimaced while choking it down, and asked to switch. Initially I laughed, but then remembered the promise I made to myself to be more chivalrous — you know, some straight-up King Arthur shit.

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