Speak never, friends and loyal readers (both of you), that I’ve not drank within an establishment dubbed by a designation of hat, lest they be put asunder. The fallacious malalignment could not be further from its proper port of purpose.
I command these words to paper with hand atremble. Found am I, perched ad precarium aboard a barstool in a veritable Elysian Field of fine quaff. For certainly, no concoction of the wrangled Terra could formulate such fine a philter as that which I now quaff: The Dry Agent.
I awake, supine, I surmise, seeing only a field of stars. It's cold as bones, twice as wan, snow banking all aside me like tucked bedsheets. The last thing I remember is sinking in a bright, green sea bore in a fishbowl. Now, the inebriate warmth of those tropic waters wash away by wintery waves.
Cue Vader's Imperial March and storm to downtown Grand Rapids for the inevitable return of Founders Imperial Stout. This 10.5% ABV silky smooth stout is brewed in 10 varieties of malted barley and remains complex and rich.
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