originally published August 9, 2013
This is a fantastic beer. No, I mean it. This is the kind of beer you write home about, so you can tell the people living there to set fire to the place, collect the insurance money, and spend it all on this particular brand of beer. This beer is so good… well, to be honest with you I’m at a loss to describe it. 586,000 words under my project’s belt and I’ve finally uncovered the nectar that could stop my typing fingers in their plastic tracks.
I’m not going to specify which beer this is, but come on – it’s probably something by Big Rock. They brew pure liquid euphoria in that place.
I feel the need to employ some figure of speech, some linguistic trope that might properly convey precisely how luminously mellifluous this brew feels upon my virginal tongue. Perhaps if I took the lazy approach and leaned on our language’s myriad of figures of speech.
Simile: This beer is as majestic as the Statue of Liberty wearing a crown of bald eagles while a giant replica of the Constitution billows behind her as a cape.
Hyperbole: A sip of this beer by our world’s leaders would no doubt bring about an era of peace and stability the likes of which we have never seen.
Inversion: Soooooo good this beer is.
Aphorism: How can anyone claim to know true flavor when true flavor has not heretofore existed outside this singular bottle?
Double Negative: There is no way I am not finishing every golden drop in this bottle.
Anthropomorphism: This beer pats me reassuringly on the head and tickles my belly. From the inside.
Synecdoche: This is the most fantastic bubble I’ve ever had the privilege to imbibe.
Neologism: If I keep tossing these beers back, I’m liable to have a wardrobe malfunction in my own living room.
Euphemism: Another beer? Don’t mind if I do. But first I’m going to have to water the daisies, if you catch my drift.
Metalepsis: A bird in the hand is worth absolutely nothing if you have one of these beers waiting for you in the bush. Seriously, even if it’s a condor. Nothing.
Non Sequitur: This is the most refreshing beverage that has ever hit my throat. I once ate a pancake that looked like Leonard Nimoy.
Paradiastole: Sure, if I drink enough of these beers I’ll probably end up throwing canned ham at passers-by and I might pass out beside the toilet. But that’s what makes it all so much fun!
Circumlocution: I’m not saying you should be drinking this particular fermentation of hops, malt, yeast and water, but I’m sure as hell enjoying it.
Personification: My glass is perspiring at the thought of not getting the opportunity to be filled with more of this beer.
Parasprodokian: As far as good beers go, this particular brand won’t because I’m keeping all of it right here in sight.
Onomatopoeia: Don’t mind the braaping belches when I drink; I think when the beer splooshes against the back of my throat I lose gaseous control a little. Hic! Sorry.
Allusion: One sip of this mellifluous beverage after having swilled that six-pack of Coors Lite earlier this week and I’m Andy Dufresne, arms wide in the rain after having crawled through the river of shit beneath Shawshank Prison.
Archaism: This beer is so surprisingly fantastic, methinks I doth wet my pantaloons!
Snowclone: This flavorful ale boldly goes where no brew has gone before.
Pathetic Fallacy: There’s no question, those Hallertau hops were pleading with the Brewmaster to please, please smush them into the most delicious libation ever to find its way into a bottle.
Sesquipedalianism: I feel so strongly about this beer, I’m going to use sesquipedalianism to describe it. That’s the unnecessary use of long and obscure words. See what I did there? In your face, grammar!
Oxymoron: Has anyone ever tasted a better beer than this? Hmm. As expected, nothing but a deafening silence.
Metaphor: This beer is the first warm summer day after a long, seven-month winter. Of course in Edmonton, that day was only four days removed from the last warm sunny day this year, but I digress.
Invective: You’d rather drink that other brand? You are a pusillanimous and oafish ignoramus. What’s wrong with you?
Paralipsis: I don’t even want to get into how completely my thirst is quenched right now because of this beer.
Cliché: This stuff is the bee’s knees!
Epanorthosis: Wow. Coming up with literary ways to describe this beer is taking me thousands… well actually dozens of minutes.
Malapropism: I’ve got to slow down with this stuff – only a few beers in and I think I’m getting a little nipsey.
Antonomasia: I can’t decide if I want to watch The Iron Lady or that movie about The Mahatma while I drink my next beer, or if I should just chill and listen to some Fab Four or something by the King of Pop.
Epitrope: Sure, I’d happily concede that your favorite brand of beer is better than this one – no problem! You’ll just have to whip up a quick little time machine, then travel back a few years and bomb this brewery to ensure my brand never gets invented. Then you’ll have my vote.
Metonymy: Not even the Crown would dispute the fine frothy flavor in this bottle. I’m petitioning Washington to make this our official national beverage.
Pun: If you think your country’s sharp, hoppy Pilsner Urquell is better than this brew, you’d better Czech again.
Pleonasm: Even my pet bulldog knows, this ale beer is best served freezing cold for maximum enjoyment, gratification and delectation.
Irony: The throbbing in my head is evidence of how easy this article was to write. Good thing I have more beer.
Allegory: There once was a man who fell in love with a beautiful woman. He went on one fantastical date with her, and it turned into one of those magical nights – you know, when two people stay up until dawn, just talking and connecting with the universe and each other. He didn’t call her the next day. In fact, he spent the ensuing week reflecting on that magical night and retracing every supple contour of her lovely face in his mind. When he finally drove to see her at work, he learned that she had been killed in a freak bobsled explosion. He knew he would never again know such bliss, such pure and unblemished love. And that’s why I have to get to the liquor store before they sell out of this beer. So long.
1000 Albums, 1000 Dates 