What the kids are drinking

I was under the false impression that if a beer had to beat it's customers over the head with the fact that it is alcoholic, than it MUST be delicious. I'm not under that impression anymore. Calling this an "alco-pop" is an insult to soda, alcohol, and under-aged drinkers.

The name is Joose. At first I thought it was an alternate spelling of "Jose". But no, its "Juice". Like "Jungle Juice", That toxic hodge-podge of alcohol and fruit drink that you often find at a college party. Well, maybe you don't find it... but I always seem to. The people at United Brands Company, Inc. decided it would be a good idea to mass produce that experience. It comes in a variety of flavors, the most prominently advertised being grape, but I didn't go there. I went with Cherry Lime instead.

Its actually got an excellent pour, its the color and carbonation of raspberry ginger-ale, but the similarities between Joose and the things that I love end there.

My first flavor response was, "this kind if tastes like a lime rickey!" which was immediately squashed by the burning taste of grain alcohol. My immediately response was to dump the bottle down the drain. And then I realized I didn't fully taste it, and I had to pour a second one. Thanks to my burps, I now know what nail polish removal tastes like.

The throat-ruining burn is not without reason: the alcohol by volume is an impressive 8.5%. The idea that children are drawn to this malt beverage is both good, and bad. Its good, because this is going to turn a LOT of smart kids away from drinking, but bad because a lot really stupid kids will die.

Joose has been awarded a rare spot in our refrigerator. The undrinkable beverage place, where undrinkable beers go to lay in waiting, until someone becomes curious enough, or drunk enough, to try it.

Beer rating: F.

Ed Hardy Beer - The tramp stamp of alcoholic beverages

People can stop using the word "premium" now. It officially has no meaning. Its like a silent letter in the American vernacular. 

Just when I thought the ill-advised popularity of Ed Hardy was over, I find this at my local grocery store. Its a beer based on a clothing brand, based on the success of a tattoo artist; what could possibly go wrong?! For starters, Ed Hardy Premium Beer scored one point lower on BeerAdvisor than the beer that shall not be named, so I was literally preparing myself for the worst.

The Ed Hardy website states that this beer is a "drink for celebrities", it then proceeds to name drop a few B-listers from the mid-nineties who apparently 'follow' the beverage. Well, if Britney Spears drinks it, that must mean something. Right?

It seems as if Ed Hardy put exactly the same amount of thought into its beer label as they did their "premium" clothing line. The box is just a tiger face that made both Mike and I think of that cologne "Sex Panther" from the movie Anchor Man. Because that's exactly what I want to think about when I buy a beer. Perfume. The box offers no other information, other than the requirement of informing me it is beer, and telling me that there are 12 of them in there. I'm still not 100% sure where this beer comes from, there was a website saying it is brewed by the same people who make Tecate, but that's not true. Although it does come from Mexico, it is distributed through a New York company. That's the best I could come up with.

Anyway, on to the pour. The beer is highly carbonated, but turns flat quickly. It has a sweet smell, but much to my surprise, and sadly my delight, very little flavor. It coats the mouth, but not in the sticky sweet way a lot of cheap American Adjunct Lagers do. Mike was a lot more critical of the beer than I was, mostly because what he tasted as a strong rotten vegetable flavor, I only tasted as a mild rotten vegetable flavor. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't good, and I will never drink it again, but it wasn't the worst. 

I give it a low D rating, just a hair above a D-. Not even if you were watching Jersey Shore would this be an appropriate beverage choice.

Shit my mom says.

I fail at Mother's Day. I mean, tomorrow I'm going to send her some flowers with a cheesy note and try really hard to remember to call her. And that's suppose to show that I appreciate the life she wasted trying to make sure I didn't choke to death on my necklace in my sleep. The best Mother's Day present in the world isn't going to make up for what a pain in the ass it was to work around my school schedule for twelve years. If Catholic guilt had a Holiday, it would look exactly like Mother's Day.

And Mother's Day isn't even good for mothers! Do you know how much effort has to be put in to faking excitement over a picture frame covered in glittery macaroni? You're just giving her another chore. Now she has to clean up glitter, which everyone knows is impossible.

My mom told me recently that she worries she didn't do a good enough job raising my brother and I (a confession I am sure is totally fine with me sharing on the internet). Now, most people use Mother's Day as an occasion to thank their mothers for helping them become what they are today. I want to go one step further and blame her. I have an irrational belief that I am the prettiest girl in the world, and I honestly believe those other girls are just jealous, and its all her fault.

Also, My mother has instilled in me a healthy fear of bears. When I was younger, she used to find the weirdest times to tell me facts about bears. She would tuck me in at night and say, "Bears can outrun people!" or "Did you know you could shoot a Grizzly bear with a shotgun, and it wont die? You're going going to make it mad! Sleep tight!"

My mother also aided my being weird and awkward by pretending like it was "ok" to be different. She used to make my brother and I sing "rocky raccoon" to her when we'd go on car trips. And the radio wasn't broken. Because of that, I think I have an excellent singing voice. That's right! She told me I have a nice singing voice. You're welcome, world!

Muppet faces. A new Christmas tradition. 

So, I guess my point is, I like the job my mom did raising me.