Rogue Double Dead Guy (s walking)

Two deal guys walk into a bar. The bartender goes: "What will it be, boys?". The first dead guy goes: "Ya got anything that will make me look better?" The second dead guy pipes in" Yeah. Me too??" The bartender takes a minute and looks the first dead guy up and down, looks the 2nd dead guy up and down and finally says: "Gee, I'm sorry guys, I don't have anything that can fix your problems, did you drink a lot when you were alive?, but I do have something that will make your forget about your problems for a while: Rogue Double Dead Guy Ale."

Recently, I saw a bottle of Rogue Double Dead Guy Ale over at mybeerbuzz and immediately I was drawn to it's snarky, fulgent red bottle, and I knew, I just knew, I had to get that baby into my grubby three hands and give it a try. Give it a rip and see what'cher made of.

I am you might call, a desperately unenthusiastic fan of west-coast beers, and I've tried quite a few of the Rogue offerings to date, but never the Double Dead Guy, so what better time than now, in celebration of our first release of boog-free code. (Boss: What did you do today? Slave-ant: I drank a Double and fixed boogs but not on the synthesizer variety, ok?) So, today I went out at lunch, to that icon to alcohol, the Spirits Unlimited Package Store (what a cool euphanism, no?), and picked up two bombers: one for me, and one for J.

First, why Double? Well, double because two are always better than one. And because two dead men walking deserve double of everything. Double shots of espresso. Double dips of vanilla ice cream. Double the girls == double the fun.

Dead Guys? Well, because there are two dead guys on the bottle. I'm one of them, the last of a dead breed of developers who trace their lineage back to the days when Dinosaurs walked the Earth, the world was spun with fiber, copper, and wire invented, designed, managed, researched, developed, and owned by a single monopolistic goliathan company with over 1 million employees. (Some scoff and say we were overrated. Most don't even realize what we do. sigh) The other? The second prisoner in this story, Pygmalion, trying to escape the surly bonds of the off-shoot bastard step-child pygmythion company, with his nut. Two dead-guys walking. Lucky to be walking, but still dead. (But we don't know it yet.)

The beer? A sweet blossoming honey flavored and colored delight, dripping with a hint of alcoholic nose, booziness hinted, booziness felt, in the toes. A tossle-tan head that easily overflows the shaker on a soft-pour. A hoppy kick in the head, enough to wake the dead.