"Endless Night" Beer. THAT'S RIGHT, BITCHES.

My dreams have come true! My life has meaning! The world is mine!

Just last weekend, we played in Anaheim, CA at the always amazing Juke Joint. It's the kind of place where everybody has zero qualms about being lost in inebriation and the toilets are covered in shit. Shit isn't in the toilet, it's on the toilet. Whether it be a case of classic projectile poo or the Hover Technique gone astoundingly afoul, I do not know. The base facts behind the operation is that the place is electric. It's charm runs through it's booze soaked walls and dimly lit bar, the solid selection of spirits, the decent soundsystem allowing for a proper juke in the joint.

It's the kind of place that'll take pride in it's underpriced crap-beer, offering the poor man a chance to escape for a few hours by zapping a slew of braincells. It's wonderful, decent and fun. Also, I almost got felt up by a shemale outside the venue. Really, you should stop by. Classy joint.

Anyway, we played there. It was awesome. Before the show, though, we were given a box of our own brew, complete with backstory and general present-giving happiness. People like to give, I like to receive. It's a win-win situation. I'm unsure, but I'm thinking it was a bribe to help them get into our eternally-postponed video shoot, but I like to think it was out of the goodness of their hearts and into the goodness of my liver. Yeah, they're so getting into our next music video. Filming begins June...of 2017!

This was given to us by a few friends who've been to numerous shows, shown tons of support, etc., so giving us a 24 pack of bathtub-beer was way unexpected. The unbelievable scenario of owning your own brand of beer is just as good as starring in a blockbuster film or beating up a really big, buff guy. In front of a group of hot girls.

We thank you, Bathtub Beer Barons.

Calabrese's "Endless Night" beer, a smoked honey porter straight from the south and into your mouth. Technically, we're currently from the southwest, but "southwest" doesn't rhyme with "mouth." You understand my query and frustration. BECAUSE THIS NEEDS TO BE PERFECT.

I'm so insanely into this. Although I didn't have a hand in making it (in the future, if anyone were to care, I wouldn't mind adding my own special "touch") I'm still overwhelmed. My own beer? It's as if my dream to melt my mind into goo has finally come to fruition, because clearly, owning a beer gives you the right to just get fucked up whenever and however you want, and your mind will turn to goo. This is, like, my own Cabo Wabo. But I'm not as sucky as Sammy Hagar.

It looks so good!

To keep my OCD under control, I would have loved to photograph this with all twenty-four bottles, but Davey nabbed one for our "Shelf of Everything Everyone's Ever Given Us," or at least that's what I really, really hope he did. A single, pink cocktail will get him dancing on tabletops and asking girls if they go to college. A glass of coke just lightly spritzed with alcohol will have him giggling and wobbling uncontrollably. If he drinks that bottle of beer, if he even thinks of drinking that bottle of beer...MAY GOD HELP YOU.

But yeah, this is something I SO hope I'm gonna like. Because this is gonna get really messy and complicated if it blows.

There's no label, which is fine, because if there was, my head would explode. I'm admitting it's current, incomplete form, but beggars can't be choosers. When you have your own beer, even if it doesn't come with a shiny, pretty label, you kinda need to shut the fuck up.

If I had my say, and there was a label made, I'd like to see us in kung fu action. High kicks left, low blows to the right. Maybe chopping up boards of wood and concrete slabs with our hands and heads. If that's not possible, then something way more simple and crisp will do the trick -- Calabrese riding vampire-motorcycles with samurai swords and chainsaws. Duh.

This was ready to be posted days ago, but I was forewarned to wait a few days to let sit, so the carbonation would set in. Could be truth, could be a fancy way of saying, "wait until the poison is at it's peak." Even then, after waiting and wanting for a week, everytime I wanted to top it off with a taste test, I had other things to do, like drive a car, or talk to someone. Bobby dumb when drinks. Bobby type no more and drink for test. Bobby taste. Then Bobby write. Watch:

Delicious! I'd be hardpressed to say it sucked, since my name is attached to it, but honest to goodness...it's tasty. Definitely has a "smoked honey porter" flavor to it, as promised, even though I'm unsure as to what "porter" tastes like. I always assumed it was salty. Like a sailor.

Overall, super stoked. Even if it did end up being the worst thing I ever tasted, I'd always have documented proof that somebody loved us enough to cook us up some beer. Are you jealous? I really hope I made you jealous.

It's kinda my "thing."