Wednesday, July 21, 2010

King Cobra


Seriously, told you I'd be back. It's just an issue of time, money, and my willingness to drink alone on a Wednesday night. And since I've got nothing else to do, King Cobra is a buck eighty a bottle, and  I don't have any videos rented, HERE WE GO.

First, an announcement: August 5-16th, I am going to be in the Boston area hanging with a couple loyal readers. And I fully intend to drink a jug (one of the big double-size bottles) of Wild Irish Rose with them. I may die, but if I don't-- look forward to it. It's gonna be a big hoopla post with videos and guest commentary and shit, but this should tide you over until then.

Second, a warning: McClelland's Scotch is not the best malt you get finish-wise or for complexity of flavor, but BOY HOWDY twenty-two bucks for a bottle of single malt is a damned impressive price. And Highlands Scotch is some of the tastiest, sweetest scotch there is. So I'm already just a smidge hammered.

Seriously, we're God's chosen people.

What can be said about King Cobra, really? It's Anheuser-Busch, it's somehow even less classy than Colt 45, and up until now my only experience with it has been seeing broken bottles by the side of the highway (seriously, walk down Merrimon sometime; there's like a new one every week). But I've never reviewed a nice big frosty 40oz before and for a dollar goddamn eighty I could not pass up the opportunity.

It looks like goddamn piss is what it looks like. Hangover-piss, when you're dehydrated and it comes up all thick and amber. Or as I call it, a weekday morning. King Cobra used to have a giant-ass cobra all hssing at you on the label like "I dare you to drink me, motherfucker!" and now there's just a tiny little snake above the name. So it's gone from looking like something a hard-ass would drink (see: Ron Perlman) to something that a trashy  high school girl name Pearl Ronmano would drink. 

You don't drink King Cobra. Or I will come over. And I will stop you.

Also, fuck the person who designed this bottle. The neck is too stubby to do the proper one-handed forty-swig. If I can't chug back a forty like I can in Saint's Row (It's a healing item!) then what the fuck is the point? Next you'll tell me that defibrilators don't cure bullets! I need to steady the bottle with one hand, which means I have to take that hand off the steering wheel if I'm driving. For shame, Amheuser-Busch.

Jesus Christ Ron Perlman is quite a man. Also really funny-looking without the Hellboy makeup. What? Oh shit, right. I don't even want to talk about what Colt 45 smells like. Do you remember when you were a kid and you smelled your dad's beer? Remember how it smelled like rotten grain to your little stupid nose back then? Well King Cobra is that smell-- it's what beer smells like to an 8-year-old, to a 21-year-old. This is what that delightful blend of hops and malt would normally smell like if you never ever developed a palate.

Seriously, I've been watching a lot of Always Sunny lately. Also if it weren't for the fact that I'm on a huge Nothing Painted Blue kick right now (their lead singer and John Darnielle recorded a country album together! It was pretty damn good! It was better than King Cobra!) I would be emptying this and then screaming along to some ODB.

Anyway, yeah, King Cobra is as gross as you thought beer would be when you were a kid.

Whaddayaknow, it tastes bad! Reeeeally. On this blog? Here I thought it would ferment eight years inside a sherry  cask!
I will say this for King Cobra: it knows why you're drinking it. If it actually had the elements that I like in beer (sharp hoppiness, a roasted undertone, thick malt, bitterness, and label design by Ralph Steadman) it would not get you drunk as fast. By being as watery and, well, Busch-like as possible, it goes down fast.

I've made a Tila Tequila joke. And I had like a couple weeks to prepare for this review. Christ, I just need to drink more to punish myself.

But seriously, this is ultra-watery stuff. It tastes like beer flavor. Like, there's a fancy-ass spice shop down the street from my house (hellooooo, Asheville!) that sells powdered beer-flavor, I guess for if you wanna do beer-battered fried fish and you don't want beer in you house (I do a lot of frying and this has never been an issue.) It's like if you just took that beer powder and mixed it with tapwater and vodka.

This is the point-zero of the basic malt/grains/hops combination. Seriously, unless you just scammed your way onto welfare and want to celebrate by sitting on your stoop listening to some Dirt McGirt, or if you want to give it to a child to convince them that beer is just a special medicine for mommies and daddies and also Big Baby Jesus,  I can't recommend it.

FINAL THOUGHTSIS IT A GOOD THING NO IT'S BAD. Hey! Dir-tay! Baby I gotcher money doncha wooorry!

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