Real as it Gets Redux

So, I don't like Larry Bell.

"What, Me Worry?"

That's about as real as it gets with me, and anyone who knows me, knows this as fact.  To be honest I think he's a deplorable, heinous sort of a person with garlic in his soul, a Grinch if you will.  But I know that at the end o'the day, he's not the one brewing up his beer.  Hey, I mean I drive a Ford but that doesn't mean I'd condone any of the anti-Semitic heritage of one Mr. H. Ford, he wasn't working the production line. 

"Hey Tom, its actually this big under those lightbulbs of yours"



 So, by the by, I rarely drink Larry's beer.  For several reasons, many of which stem from industry stories, second hand encounters in restrooms and one, albeit brief, encounter between LB and an Amiga o' mine.  But I digress, Larry's beer twas the first fine brew from the Great State I ever swilled in the years known as College.  Choices were slim during those 7 and 1/2 years, but a Best Brown got put into my claw and that led to a full on mutiny of my liver and tongue, to change course and seek out a better hangover.  So, as I sit upon ye bar stool whilst contemplating my next libation, I find myself, at the reco of Mike the bartender, throwing down a Christmas Ale. 

Damn...It's good, and as much as it pains the Hombre to admit, it has always been good.

Maybe its a Christmas miracle or the thought of shooting a hipster's glasses out with a Red Ryder BB gun, but every holiday season this beer drinks so good I go from a soft six to a stiff twelve.  Poured out of the bottle, you can't call it malty, you can't call it hoppy, its not amber, its not spiced, its basically just Chistmas.  This is a limited engagement and I tell ya, I wish they made more like this, The alcohol is low, about 5%-6% and you'd think that they would just dumb it down but they smoothed it out on the R&B tip.  That's caramel, Whoppers (the Candy, not the BK Cow patty) with sea salt and sunshiney-citrusy-piney-hopsy stuffs to keep the smile on my face and the warmth in my your pants. 

It makes me think, maybe I'm the Bah Humbugger, I should live and let live, give this old war horse beer purveyor from Galesburg, MI a whirl again.  Get the F! outta' here.  The Hombre does what he does and that's why he's the Hombre.  Next thing I'll do is get some skinny jeans, a striped tank top and shower once a month.  Dig it.

Please and Thank You: To all the poor jack wagons out there ringing a bell behind that little red bucket.  Thanks for caring and donating your time.  And Please stop guilting me every damn time I walk buy, unless you accept Debit Cards. 

Keep Hope Alive and the leftovers sealed