Friday Booze Review: Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA

Picture this. You go to the sto' around nine, desperate for a beer or six. The HEB beer aisle is cluttered with the usual lot and you just can't seem to find anything you'd like to try.

Then it catches your eye.

You've done your best to hide from it all these weeks, but now you're cornered. It's seen you. Your fate is sealed. You must plunge into the belly of the beast and face this challenge. With only the slightest hesitation you pick up what would appear to be a light load, but which you know to be so much more: the four pack DFH 90 Minute IPA.


9% ABV, $8.99 a four-pack

You get home. You take a deep breath. You take a nervouse shit. Desperate to get as much of the home-court advantage as possible, you throw on Back to the Future and crank it. This is your turf. Fuck you, beer... let's do this.

You pop the first bottle and pour. It looks so... beautiful. It's a golden amber color with a soft little white head. No carbonation, it sits perfectly still, staring at you with what you imagine are big, doe eyes. Knowing it's just a false front to trick you, you snatch it up and give 'er a whiff. Oh. Oh la la. Flowers? Citrus? You are in love. You would give anything for this beer. You would sacrifice heart and home for its sake.

STOP. She has you under your spell! Ohhhh, she's a crafty one. Sure she looks and smells like a million bucks, but lest you forget, you haven't even been formally introduced yet. We must wait for just the right time to... wait! This is it! Quickly now, the Huey Lewis skateboard sequence is starting, this is your chance!

BAM.

Holy fuck me in the goat ass, you think, after the first mouthful. Bitch packs a fuckin'...

BAM.

You taste the burn as the alcohol content renders your throat into a new asshole. Is there such a thing as oral rape? If so, surely this is it. You do your best to buck up and take it like a prison vet, but you eventually submit to the pounding you are taking. The dull, throbbing thud of a donkey dick repeatedly slapping your face is the only thing you are aware of as you desperately search for your happy place.

Slowly, deliberately, and painfully, several realizations come to dawn on you. 1)Your balls were not quite so hairy as you had once believed. 2)Marty's classic "Let's see if you bastards can do 90" has become a personal bitch-slap. 3)You miss your mother. 4)You might be gay.

Four beers later, while cowering in the fetal position in your back bedroom and hallucinating, you hear a pair of voices. If only you had heard them a couple hours earlier, you could've avoided this rape and all would be well in the world. Alas, you are left cold and alone, doomed to hear Clubber Lang's prophesy through the remainder of your waking hours....

"What's your prediction for the fight?"
"My prediction?"
"Yes, your prediction."
".... PAIN ...."

Appearance: 7/10
Taste: 10/10
Enjoyability: 10/10
Overall: 10/10