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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After the first two weeks of Brew Reviews, I’ve learned my lesson. As much as I want to celebrate my favorite season with alcohol, it appears as though the pumpkin-beers may not be my bag. Filling my brain with fermented pumpkin seemed like such a great idea on paper, but then again, so did making a fourth Die Hard. And we all know how that turned out.

So when I made the weekly visit to my local beer-retailer, I decided to turn my back on the seasonal beverages. Yes, it hurt my soul to walk past Sam Adams Octoberfest but I was on a mission. To the cooler I went, determined to get an alcoholic beverage that would actually taste good.

With some searching, I discovered a four-pack of Gonzo Imperial Porter from the peeps at Flying Dog. I picked it up for inspection and was blown away by the fact that it touted a Hunter S. Thompson quote — “Good people drink good beer.” Holy shit. As a fan of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and the Thompson-inspired Spider Jerusalem, I was sold.

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Another Friday, another work-week in the bag, and now it’s time to get halfway into it myself. After doing my normal gig and then giving a drum lesson, I headed for my local beer-dealer.

Wanting to avenge the injustice that was last week’s beer, I made sure to be much more considerate about my choice. Rather than just grabbing the first six-pack to catch my attention, I actually took a minute to look around. “No goon-fuck Pump-o-Jacktern is gonna fool me this time,” I told myself.

And I was right. Kind of.

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It’s Friday. Finally. TGI-fuckin’-F or whatever. If only it were 1989 again and I could rock the TGIF lineup, I may not have need to write this. But alas, times have changed and I can no longer rely on ABC’s transdimensional-series cameos to help kill the memories of the week.

Instead, I need a cold brew. And since I’m drinking anyways, I figure that I might as well take the opportunity to review the beverage for the six diehard, dedicated readers of OL.

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