Although Nietzsche himself declared God to be dead, your humble author feels no slight fear in view of the slander that is to follow against that great philosopher. Indeed, if this writer remains unresponsive in either the comment section below or on the Twitter machine, please send help, for surely, then, hath Nietzsche himself seen fit to incite fierce vengeance upon this writer from the Great Beyond -- this writer who darest slander that fair creation, Zarathustra.
When Gismot was thirty-one years old, he left his home and the humidity of his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his beers and his solitude, but not in an unfortunate I-drink-alone-to-forget kind of a way, and for a year and a half did not weary of it. But at last his heart changed, because he was having a hard time just sitting around with these really intense books he’d been reading for “fun,” -- and rising one morning with the grayish dawn (but really a few hours after that), he went before the refrigerator, and spake thus unto it:
:Thou great appliance! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for whom thou refrigeratedest?
For ten months hast thou climbed hither (stood there) unto (in) my kitchen: thou wouldst have wearied of thy chilliness and of the rotating stock of delicious beers within your clutches, had it not been for me, mine girlfriend, and my corgi.
But we awaited thee every evening, took from thee thine periodically overflowing beers and blessed thee for it."
Gismot went down the avenue alone, no one meeting him. When he entered the brewery, however, there suddenly stood before him a couple of random people, who had left their holy cots to seek beers. And thus spake they to Gismot:
“Excuse me, are you in line?”
Gismot answered: “Yes I am.”
“Why,” said the random people, “did I go into the gift shop and the bathroom? Was it not because I loved the beers here far too well?”
When Gismot arrived at the nearest table which adjoineth the bar, he found several people assembled at the other end; for it was a Saturday, and it had been announced that the brewery would sell beers. And Gismot spake thus unto the people:
“I would like to sit at this end of the table, if that’s okay with you.”
Alright, alright. Thanks for indulging my wackiness. As it turns out, a crowded, boisterous brewery (O’Dell) is a delightful place to sit down and read Thus Spake Zarathustra -- accompanied, as it were, by a Runoff Red IPA, followed thusly by a Totes McOats.
Runoff Red IPA, O’Dell Brewing Co.
Runoff Red IPA is a solid representative of its class with a few notable twists in appearance and taste. I couldn’t get my camera to focus to provide evidence of this, but it has a pleasant auburn color. That, along with its piney nose and taste, make this a nice complementary piece to a chilly mid-winter’s day, and a rather intense (and poetic) work of German philosophy.