RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.

Monday, October 26

Kennebunkport Pumpkin Ale

AFFORDABILITY: Trader Joe’s is a white people favorite because you can eat organic on a budget. In fact, when I went by there the other day, I decided it would be a good idea to create a brand of foods called EconOrganics, because white people want to be as healthy as possible for as affordable as possible, even if they’re eating unhealthy pre-processed factory produced foods that are organic only in the sense they were made by a company that could afford to pay the governmental taxes to get through the proper red tapes for the legal label of “organic”. Anyways, I love spending my food stamp money at Trader Joe’s, but only for certain things, like Ak-Mak crackers, frozen berries and papaya chunks, Italian or Greek olive oil, grade B maple syrup, crystallized ginger pieces, and a six-pack or two of Trader Joe’s fake ass beers, completely made up out of nowhere to pretend like it’s some old ass brewery that’s been around forever but somehow, in 2009, only Trader Joe’s has it. The Kennebunkport Pumpkin Ale is just that, and in this season of the pumpkin ales being paraded out of varying qualities but usually high prices, slapping three of these into a make your own six-pack with them clocking in at less than a buck a bottle ain’t bad. (Also props to Trader Joe’s, even though their beer selection is a fraud and small on top of that, for doing a make your own 6-pack pricing philosophy of charging you 1/6th a sixer per the beers you choose rather than like $8.99 a make-your-own, where the store gets over like a motherfucker most of the time.) 5 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: I only bought two of them in my make-your-own deal, but they went down easy as diluted apple juice in a quart mason jar with four ice cubes sitting on the counter for five minutes to cool it down like New Edition when I was ten-years-old. Next time I am in the fake health food store where they ring the bell all the goddamned time as a gimmick and it smells like soybean death tissue yet the white people aren’t quite so scowl-faced as at Whole Foods, probably because they are younger and broker and many lack the aspirations to the change the world that baby boomers have been cursed with, I shall buy more of this alleged beer, should I make it there again before the Halloween beer cycle is replaced by the Christmas beer cycle. What the fuck man? It’s the first week of October and I went into a Home Depot to pay my credit card bill and steal two Norton paint stripping attachments for my grinder, being my credit card payment barely got it below the limit, and there was Christmas shit out and about already. I know times are hard and the economy is bad, but fuck this making Christmas season three months of the year bullshit. That’s a quarter of the year. At least when it was a Jesus holiday, they only asked for a couple weeks in essence, but one day specifically. Capitalist people be squeezing that shit harder than the Christians squeezed it from the pagans. Disgusting. I might go Muslim, so long as I can be drinking and drugging Muslim like Five Percenters, thanks to my fellow Virginian Clarence 13X. In fact, I think I’m gonna speak in supreme mathematics all day tomorrow, breaking shit down syllabically into Dr. Yacub’s trickery. You know, Dr. Yacub was actually a Chinaman, not a white guy. For real. It’s in the Bhagavad-Gita. 5 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: It is a festive, happy label, with a pumpkin patch in the background, and some weird public stock wooden bar with a vine grown over it and what I'm guessing is a barrel of beer hanging from that by some chain. And very subtle behind the colored things I aforementioned is a slight grey and white background of a tilled field where you know them bright, colorful pumpkins came from. It makes my heart warm like I built a fire in there with dried lucust saplings as the fuel. 5 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: It is a confusing thing because they are most likely a front company for cheap fake alternative beers for the cheap fake alternative crowd that shops inside a Trader Joe’s, but on the high label part it says Kennebunkport Brewing Company, but then on the side it says “brewed by Pugsley Brewing LLC, Portland, Maine” so it is hard to know where their hat rests. And it lurks in the back of my brain that the Bush family compound was outside of Kennebunkport as well. I worked one summer up in Maine, but it was rural back road ghetto ass Maine, where we raked big buckets of blueberries for like $4 a bin if we were lucky, and none of us were local so we cashed our meager paychecks at the liquor store after the bank in Cherryfield chased us out, which was convenient because when you only make $43 for half a week’s worth of work, it’s nice to blow more than half of it on two cases of beer, put half a tank of gas in your boy’s Hyundai, and buy a bag of rice and ten cans of beans and hope that holds until next meager ass paycheck. But I am a trusting individual, like when the guy I rode up with to Maine got pulled over for riding the tail of another car in Dover-Foxcroft, Maine, and he looked at me and said, “Raven, I don’t even have my license.” He got put in jail, and I took his car and hung out the night, riding to Bangor to call three people collect to find someone to Western Union me some bail money to get his ass out, and then some local rednecks threw a 40 ounce bottle at me in the Dover-Foxcroft two block downtown, and I slept on the side of the road in the other dude’s car, half awake, with a knife under my arm, open, expecting to have local funny-talking rednecks show up and try to Easy Rider my ass. Next morning, I bail the other dude out and he had a nice night’s sleep, a shower, and watched TV, plus got a bacon and eggs breakfast, and we drove home, and we never got along ever since. He never even paid me back the bail money, and ripped me off on a bag of weed once. So if you know a fake ass Zen Buddhist motherfucker from Suffolk, Virginia, named Noah who used to drive a red Hyundai, yo, don’t trust that dude. But the point is I give fake ass Maine beer the same benefit of doubt I gave fake ass hippie kid Noah, and Kennebunkport Pumpkin Ale never owed me $120 for the rest of our lives. 4 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: Not only did I have no problem with this beer, I actually would actively pursue it again. Mostly lately, my ultimate goal is to be wearing one of my two pairs of overalls with no other clothes on, especially socks or shoes, because socks are so stifling, so tight on the ankles and crushing your toes with claustrophobic Hitlerisms. And it gets even better if I can kick it in said overalls with the side buttons undone, not because I’m trying to be all, “Look at my penis!” but more like just laid back and chilling. I wasn’t raised with religion, but I did go to church with my grandma like two or three times, which was enough to be ashamed of my naked body, so I’m not trying to get all exhibitionistical on yall. But kicking it in my overalls and nothing else makes me feel like a beer bottle should be in my hand. With Buffalo Bill’s Pumpkin Ale getting all high-falutiney and expensive, if you can even find it, it makes me want to just get a whole shit ton of this Kennebunkport Pumpkin Ale, which is not as good as the Buffalo Bill, but it’s better than all the other overpriced pumpkin ales combined, because it remembers the simple fact that you are supposed to be like pumpkin pie, not like thick hops with a taste of nutmeg. I hope when my food stamp card refreshes on tha 1st of tha Month that they still be having this brand of fake for-real beer at the Trader Joe’s in evil Short Pump, Virginia, because I will use my for-real money to buy some of it, and I will snack on Ak-Mak crackers on my ride home. 6 out of 5.

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