Beer Review Poetry – Great Divide Lasso IPA


Great Divide Lasso IPA

A guy named Lew digs session beer,

So that you can drink it for hours with a bit less fear!

When it comes to IPA, this Booze Dancer likes them bold,

With a firm hop bite that won’t leave you cold.

Founders and Stone have gone the Session IPA route.

I have tried their attempts thinking they might be a hoot!

They’re solid brewers with a gold standard line up,

So if they bring something new to the table, you know that I’ll show up!

All Day IPA was thirst quenching and quite a delight,

But Stone’s Go To lacked their signature arrogant bite.

In comes Great Divide with this Lasso IPA.

A session worthy beer is what they did say.

At 5% ABV, you might have quite a few,

And you might even gain the respect of the aforementioned Lew.

While I love how this beer looks with its clear pale orange color,

The aromas are subdued and make me yearn for some other (beer that is).

There’s a wee bit of pine, and a smattering of citrus,

But for whatever reason, I’m not excited to drink this.

Perhaps it’s my mood which is all kinds of fickle,

Or perhaps it’s just my taste buds that aren’t yet tickled.

When I take that first sip, I am somewhat relieved.

This beer isn’t bad, I am no longer peeved!

There’s a smattering of sweet malt and a subtle hop bite,

I’m enjoying this Lasso, it’s quite a delight!

Now this beer isn’t earth shattering, and it won’t blow your mind,

But I still think you should try it, it might just be your kind!

‘Twas the Booze After Christmas…


This is what Santa REALLY wants you to leave for him on Christmas Eve!

Since today is Christmas Eve, I thought that I would repost a bit of booze infused poetry by The Wookie. Cheers!

______________________________________________________

A Holiday Booze Poem by the Wookie
(inspired by Crazy Eye)

‘Twas the day after Christmas, when all through the ‘hood
No one was drinking; we all wished that we could;
The Whiskys were poured by the firepit with care,
In hopes that LimpD soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of backyard ice skating danced in their heads;
And me in my parka, and G-lo in his cap,
Had just sent two texts to give LimpD some crap,
When out in the backyard there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the back gate I flew like a fox,
Tripped over the swings and fell in the sandbox.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But my the single malt whisky I had wished for all year,
He had a bum leg but was still lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Limp Dick.
More rapid than eagles his Whiskys they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Ardmore! Now, Dalwhinnie! Now, Bruichladdich and Macallen!
On, Balvenie! On Glenlivet! On, Glenkinchie and Port Ellen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now drink away! Drink away! Drink away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to our lips the single malts flew,
Chased by salty snacks, and some Belgium beer too.
And then, for a moment, our senses were jarred
As were heard more Booze Dancers creep through the backyard
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Through the gate came Crazy Eye and the ROK with a bound.
They were dressed in warm gear, each from foot to head,
And we knew that this meant their wives must be in bed:
A bundle of booze each had strapped to his back,
And they looked like peddlers just opening their packs.
Crazy’s eye – how it twinkled! His dimples how merry!
The ROK’s cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
The booze that they brought was adorned with a bow,
And the vodka we kept cold right in the snow;
The fire was warm, preventing the chattering of teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled our heads like a wreath;
LimpD rested his booze on his little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, far removed from slim,
And I laughed when I saw him, and said “Get to the gym!”;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had insults to dread;
He spoke some harsh words, and made fun of my work,
Filled up his glass; then called me a “Jerk”,
And raising one finger in front of my nose,
And flipping the bird, from his lounge chair he rose;
He sprang to his feet, to his dog gave a whistle,
And away they both flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he stumbled from sight,
Happy Boozing to all, and to all a good-night.”

Ode to the Whisky Dog…


It has been one year since the Booze Dancers were faced with the grim news that our beloved mascot, the Whisky Dog, was suffering from late stage cancer and had to be put down. A nearly twelve year old, cocker/retriever mix, she had led a long and noble life and had been a near constant companion on many a night around the fire pit. So, on this her one year anniversary, we take a moment to recognize that while life has moved on, she is still missed. In keeping with that spirit, I give you, once again, the Ode to the Whisky Dog

Ode to the Whisky Dog

Ignoring the weather or time of night
Once I had ignited the beacon light
Her tail a wagging she did run
To the patio in search of fun

From one Booze Dancer to another
To be hand-fed or just a bother
In search of Fritos, Doritos, or chips
Her appetite unquenched as we sipped

A fine companion, on a Glen Cairn night
Her fur slightly singed in the firelight
(Let’s not discuss or ever admit
Exactly how her fur got lit)

But to the beacon she’ll run no more
To St. Peter’s fire pit she will tour
To see what’s become of the angel’s share
A halo wrapped around her golden hair

So we will raise the Parting Glass
And hope as time begins to pass
That her constant presence no longer felt
Within our hearts will ever dwell

‘Twas the Booze After Christmas (Repost)


G-LO getting toasted by an open fire

Last year on Christmas day I received a hilarious text message from Crazy-Eye. The text was a single malt whisky twist on the Clement Clark Moore classic “A Visit from St. Nicholas” Poem (a.k.a. ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas). The message inspired me to write the Booze Dancer version of the classic poem which recounts a typical night with the guys around the fire with a few tasty beverages.

For this Christmas I considered doing a new version of the poem but when I sat down to do the rewrite I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The post was packed with all the classic Booze Dancing elements: Continue reading

Ode to the Whisky Dog…


This past week, the Booze Dancers were faced with the grim news that our beloved mascot, the Whisky Dog, was suffering from late stage cancer and had to be put down. A nearly twelve year old, cocker/retriever mix, she had led a long and noble life and had been a near constant companion on many a night around the fire pit. So it was Continue reading

Booze Banter – Top 10 Uses for Orphaned Beer


Free beer is always good …. Right? WRONG!!  Not when that free beer is a marginally drinkable or undrinkable brew that was “orphaned” by a “friend” and is now taking up valuable space in your beer fridge.  So what do you do?  This post retells the “Orphaned Beer Story” and proposes 10 uses to exorcise the funky brew daemons from your brew storage area.

(Note:  This post was inspired by Paula a.k.a ” SimpleP” over at Cheers Beers.  Check out her blog for some great brew reviews and booze banter) Continue reading

‘Twas the Booze After Christmas


A Holiday Booze Poem by the Wookie
(inspired by Crazy Eye)

‘Twas the day after Christmas, when all through the ‘hood
No one was drinking; we all wished that we could;
The Whiskys were poured by the firepit with care,
In hopes that LimpD soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of backyard ice skating danced in their heads;
And me in my parka, and G-lo in his cap,
Had just sent two texts to give LimpD some crap,
When out in the backyard there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the back gate I flew like a fox,
Tripped over the swings and fell in the sandbox.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But my the single malt whisky I had wished for all year,
He had a bum leg but was still lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Limp Dick.
More rapid than eagles his Whiskys they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Ardmore! Now, Dalwhinnie! Now, Bruichladdich and Macallen!
On, Balvenie! On Glenlivet! On, Glenkinchie and Port Ellen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now drink away! Drink away! Drink away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to our lips the single malts flew,
Chased by salty snacks, and some Belgium beer too.
And then, for a moment, our senses were jarred
As were heard more Booze Dancers creep through the backyard
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Through the gate came Crazy Eye and the ROK with a bound.
They were dressed in warm gear, each from foot to head,
And we knew that this meant their wives must be in bed:
A bundle of booze each had strapped to his back,
And they looked like peddlers just opening their packs.
Crazy’s eye – how it twinkled! His dimples how merry!
The ROK’s cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
The booze that they brought was adorned with a bow,
And the vodka we kept cold right in the snow;
The fire was warm, preventing the chattering of teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled our heads like a wreath;
LimpD rested his booze on his little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, far removed from slim,
And I laughed when I saw him, and said “Get to the gym!”;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had insults to dread;
He spoke some harsh words, and made fun of my work,
Filled up his glass; then called me a “Jerk”,
And raising one finger in front of my nose,
And flipping the bird, from his lounge chair he rose;
He sprang to his feet, to his dog gave a whistle,
And away they both flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he stumbled from sight,
Happy Boozing to all, and to all a good-night.”