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Review by Lum on 11/04/09  
Score Appearance Smell Taste Mouthfeel Overall Impression Year
90 3 11 18 4 9 0
The perfect beer for Halloween.
Thanks again Frank!
2009 Edition on the headstone.

Pours a soul-chilling blackish brown, bringing images of evil dripping from the dying eyes of one of hells minions. An earthy brown cap - the color of rain-drenched soil tracked in the back door and across the floor from a freshly opened grave - adorns the top... and recedes as quickly as the undead to their shadows in the approaching morning light. Deep tones of amber gleam their way through the thinner points, like the eerie coal-like eyes peering in your window now. - I know, spooky. A quick swirl brings a minor zombie like reaction, the thinnish collar grasping at the walls of the glass much like the walking dead slowly jerk along, leaving swirl marks in the soil, documentation of footsteps along their insatiable journey for living flesh...

The aroma is netherworldly. Tones of pumpkin spice - nutmeg, perhaps some cinnamon call out like a sphincter-reducing howl in the dark. Oaky tannins cast their bitter spells, leaving vanilla to waft through the nostrils like the stench from still warm intestines... heavenly. Wrapping this all together in wings of leathery sinew is the cocoa sweetness... and how sweet it is - like blood on the lips.

On the tongue it is now, slowly swirling and forcing the mind into a foggy trance, the notes of deep, dark chocolates pound the senses like a sledge to the side of the head... senses reeling now... the foul taste of your wooden casket in your mouth... "so this is death - come sweet death" ...Only to be snapped back to the world of the living by the meaty taste of pumpkin lying in your throat like the cold blade of a night-stalkers knife. And oh, the spices, they scream your name like a long since been-gone voice, calling from the grave - you know better than to answer *heart in your throat* ...but you must - it is vanilla and nutmeg - how can you not?. Arrrgh...the pain. You once again place the goblet to your lips, glancing into the hypnotic pool of black... cellar-temp liquid rushing down your throat now, soothing the on-coming pain of rigormortis...

Medium-full in body. Smooth, creamy and sticky mouthfeel, like a cooling pool of blood on the floor, slowly spreading itself like a well seasoned hooker attempting to fight off a dusty, creaky-assed mummy with a fistful of hundreds... oh yes, "carbonation is spot-on" she lustfully sighs at you. Light boozy warmth... the burning feeling only the hangmans noose can bring to your throat - once your neck has been stretched.

For a slow death, this is most enjoyable - something I wish I could experience again and again... but alas, it is my curse to only have but one bottle.
I fall to my knees... wailing now, pulling fistfuls of hair from my scalp - the gnashing of teeth, oh the gnashing... my throat closing, eyesight fading, heart straining to pump the thick, cooling flow that used to be my life... this form of death is unbearable - my own personal hell. "Bring the executioner with his axe" I scream, laying my head on the block, pleading for a merciful death...
Wait - there is half a bottle left.
Hell will have to wait another 15 minutes.
A Must Try - if you dare.
*Insert evil laughter*
Happy Halloween!

Served In: Snifter