Beer Me

There are few things I absolutely adore in this weird, wild world we live in. There’s music, really good food, really good side-boob and beer. Ice fucking cold, handmade, craft beer. I know what you’re thinking, hey UB, I thought craft beer was for hipsters who put oil and wax in their beards and wear fingerless gloves and write songs about hoot owls and drive VW buses. Then yes, young Jedi, you’d be correct - for I am all of those things and so much more. I don’t want to get off on a rant here but there’s nothing I like more than a beer that smells like Cheech & Chong’s first 3 movies. You can keep your watered down lagers and your piss poor pilsners; I’ll have a dank IPA any day of the week. Drinking a standard Bud or Miller or Coors should be reserved for the bookends of your drinking life. If you’re 14 or 84, I’m not going to cast too much judgment on your beer tasting pallet. But if you honestly prefer the taste of that shite over beer that’s actually been artfully crafted and slaved over and made to perfection then you sir, are an asshole. And before you call me out for being a Johnny Come Lately and how IPAs are just a fad, let me set you straight buster. I have been a fan of these types of beers going way back to like 2014. I’m pretty sure IPAs were invented around that time. Right? I once drank 21 Coors Lights in one sitting… and was fine to drive my spaceship home. You shouldn’t drink 21 of anything and still be functional. That scientifically proves that Coors Light is nothing but water. Case closed. Eat shit Bill Nye. So join me in cracking open the next phase in beverages as it comes in and I deem it Hipster Ben worthy. Or just give me my PBR and leave me the fuck alone. But I digress…