detour

Of all the luxuries to which we grow too quickly accustomed, Tolerance is the most subversive. The most artistic part of my life occurred back when I lived in a shithole of a small, shitty shittown, where speaking in complete sentences was enough to cause the Blockbuster video clerk to call me a faggot right to my face. M-mabye times were different back then. I remember male high school teachers would routinely use the F-word (the bad one, the homophobic one) in reference to effeminate male students. That and whenever the news would make mention of a crime committed by a black person, my homeroom teacher would mumble discernable slurs beneath his breath, as if adding some jowled growliness to his n-words made him less a bigot and more a simple farm-type man reacting with immediate, forgivable disgust.

But this isn’t about my hometown. It’s about me. And tolerance. I soon as I moved to a decent-sized city people began to look me in the eye and treat me like a human and, golly, I got used to that right quick. My weirdness became more unappealing and organic, no longer a consciously crafted rebellion against the utter awfulness of having to breathe the same air as people who take political advice from Kid Rock. That caused me to grow into the repellant pile of skin and crapulence you find before you. A lack of misery made me miserable.

It should only make sense, then, that an excellent brewery be located in the one of the very worst, most horrible places on earth. Personally I’d rather live in middle of the Saharha than in Utah. I mean, at least in the desert you could probably score some good hash. What does Utah have? Once or twice a year they allow unmarried women to leave their pens, like Margaret Atwood’s twisted vision of the running of the bulls, and if you can score a good perching place you might glimpse some covered sideboob. That’s it. That and tearful missionary are the nicest things the state has to offer. (Also mountains, if you’re Dan Cortez and that shit appeals to you).

They’ve censored the internet there so the only site you can you access is Bing, and all Bing searches are directed automatically towards either the LDS webpage or papajohns.com.

Accordingly, it’s only within the past 4 years have the people in Utah were even allowed to hear of beer. The Mormon censors made a mistake in redubbing an episode of Married… With Children (the dubbed version is completely different; it’s titled Married… and Loving It! and it’s basically a combination of 7th Heaven and Amos and Andy). They normally would sneak in the word “root” before Al Bundy made any mention of beer, but they were so busy erasing away the pro-gay subtexts from Bud Bundy’s facial hair that they let a mention slip by.

Intrigued, Salt Lake’s alternative folk sent a flock of carrier pigeons westward, each containing a message asking for information regarding this “beers” beverage. Budweiser responded by air-dropping several cases of Natty Ice disguised as Green River, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Now we have this… this beer that I gather is not only not available in its state of origin, because even speaking of a double IPA within Utah state lines is grounds for a stoning. And that’s a damn shame, because it’s damn good.

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