
Bottle of Samuel Adams Triple Bock Beer Chunks (please consult your therapist before consuming this beverage as it has been known to cause psychological damage to those who drink it. Plus it just doesn’t taste very good at all!)
Staying in the same vein as my last post, The Meaning of the Word Pals, the following poem was written to memorialize the drinking of a 14-year old Triple Bock with my wife and four other pals (one of whom was lucky enough to be pregnant and therefore couldn’t participate in consuming this brew). The Triple Bock is a beer produced by the Samuel Adams Brewing Company and is brewed in the ale style defined as “Absolutely Disgusting”. Additionally, the Triple Bock clocks in at a whopping 18% alcohol. This may seem like an extreme amount of alcohol for a beer but when you consider the fact that most people will never get past the first sip of this brew it’s really no higher than a Bud Light. So, without further ado, I present to you…
T’was the Night of the Triple Bock*
T’was the night of the Triple Bock and all through the bar
Great beer was flowing that was brewed from both near and far
Menus were perused with anticipation and delight
For the food and drink that would fill our bellies that night
The patrons were all talking, laughing and sipping
While dancing through their heads were thoughts of fried foods and sauces for dipping
And at our table we gave the waitress our order
Then began conversing about this, that and the other
When the waitress brought out our beers we each picked ours up
And said cheers as we clinked each other’s cups
With a beer in hand our merriment grew
But in the back of our minds there was something we knew we must do
The neon and street lamps turned night into day
Preventing us all from trying to run away
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a little blue-bottle containing 14 year-old beer
As we stared at the mere 8.45 oz bottle with the black foiled top
We knew in a moment that it was a Sam Adams Triple Bock
More rapid than eagles the sweat poured down our faces
At the thought of drinking this dreadful libation
“Drink Nathan!”, “Drink T!”, Drink M–gan!”
V said with glee as he poured it
“Chug Travis!” “Let none go to waste!”
(Travis’s wife was given a break because of her delicate state)
As thick as motor-oil that beer did pour
Instantly staining the glass as V poured in more
Then a sight was beheld that is sickening to this day
Beer chunks floating about in a most appalling way
Then, in a twinkling, we remembered a boast
“I can drink two Triple Bocks back-to-back while you all could just drink one at the most”
In unison we turned our eyes to she who made this claim
And by the look in her eyes we knew she remembered the same
By M’s face we could tell her confidence had been shaken
By the look of the Bock’s chunky gyrations
As she took up the glass her hand did tremble
While she tried to determine what the smell did resemble
A hint of soy sauce, a dash of molasses
A bit of whisky and perhaps something that comes from our a**es
She brought the brackish liquid to her lips and took her first drink
Would this be the first drink of an historical two we all began to think?
Alas, it was not to be and her face said it all
Her lips began to tremble and her complexion was a pall
At that moment we all knew what to do
We had to help M dispose of this brew
In a forced look of confidence Nathan took his first sip
And immediately felt his stomach start doing a flip
Next V took up the mug of slop
And we were sure that we would be cleaning up his dinner with a mop
T took her turn to be polite
And had to force her sip down using the mightiest of mights
Then Travis did something no human should ever do
He took a big drink after stuffing his cheek with dried beef like a wad of chew
With the glass empty we sprang from the table
Wishing what we did had just been a fable
Then, in unison, we all did exclaim:
“Good God I think I’m dying and the Triple Bock is to Blame!”
*Please do no try this at home. Really.
This reminds me we have an obligation. An obligation to find something that rivals the Triple Bock. Certainly that couldn’t have been a one time mistake. Others will make it. And we will find them.
God willing, son. God willing.