AFFORDABILITY: We had just homebrewed up some new beer, and were going to be bottling it, so big homebrew-agreeable bottles were on my mind. But when you are at the white people grocery store where they sell the fancy beers, that type of purchase can make your chest and lungs work funny style, $5 a bottle, sometimes more if it's that crazy Belgian shit with the cork and wire twisted around to keep it from popping bottles even without the Birdman's involvement. But the Paulaner Salvator was sitting there, very modestly, like a silent monk kicking the grand funk, at like $2.50 per bottle. That ain't too bad for some high alcohol content style beer in a bottle shaped like it's gonna pull an AAARRGGGGH out of your soul, especially if additionally unlocked by some old Hawkwind. 4 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: The Paulaner Salvator with its accelerated destruction mode, even with only two 22 ounce or so bottles, gave my brain the freedom of irresponsible thought processes that it so desires. I felt the monkiness (and that doesn't mean I went to Catholic churches as a dumbass kid). 5 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: Looks to be a monk and a gentleman of much finery both smiling mischeviously over a frothing silver pitcher of beer, yet the label patterns it to look like a woodgrain. It looks like they might be going to have sex with each other eventually, although at the same time, at one point I guess only monks made awesome beer, so it might just be some rich dude coming to get himself a pitcher of the good shit from the dudes who wear brown robes with rope belts. Monks always have the nice rope belts with the knots and thick golden rope that look like fancy lady drapes. The monk guy on the label looks a little like the crusty principal asshole from Head of the Class, but he also has an old man's mohawk, with hair on both sides and a Mr. T top. I have never in my life seen anybody bald in such a way. There is also, in both the main label and the little top of the bottle wrap, a round shield with a younger looking monk all bronzed Grecian style sporting the pointy long beard of a Mountain Dew drinking dirtbike trickster, and I have to assume that's the younger image of the same old dude about to have sex with the fancy gentleman in the main label. It's good to reminisce on our more purified youthful days. 4 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: Paulaner Salvator is owned by monks, good honest monks who do the Lord's work, not molest kids or hate gays or people who kill unborn babies or worship magic Muhammads that fly off into space without a safety helmet on like a spiritual Scud missile. I am sitting in the dark tonight writing by lamplight after spending two beers worth of time standing on my magic stump by the pig pen, soaking up the stars and night time and trying not to get freaked out by the strange energy surrounding me the past couple days, so I can’t look at the bottle to see what company actually is behind it all. Sometimes you just have to believe. Not everything can be proven or backed by science (a religion itself... trust me, I’m on the inside of it now and see it everyday). Fuckin’ magnets, how do they work? I bet out of the seven million people lolling through their internet-wasted days about those Miracles, most of them don’t know how magnets work. They don’t care to know. It just is. The monks need to start making hallucinogenics too, methinks. 7 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: The Paulaner Salvator Double Bock was a most pleasant experience, and it helped me stifle the terible nightmares of my pigs eating me, which have become more graphic and intense. Lately, I've had to piss really bad, but I am in high school, except high school is all fucked up and dilapidated like we need Joe Clark to come swing a bat at the kids as well as the county budgeteers. So all the bathrooms are like these big open bathrooms that are nasty as fuck and stained by diseased shit and the only thing separating the stalls are flaps of tin siding kind of stuffed into position. And I don't have any shoes on. And I'm trying to find a good one to piss in, looking and looking, bumping into the kid from 10th grade health class who went to prison for robbing a gas station and once pulled an Uzi on a weed smoking partner of mine, who I just saw inside the Facebooks, the Uzi prison guy not the weed smoker, though he's on there too. Apparently the one is no longer in prison and the other no longer smokes weed. But anyways, I am looking for a semi-clean and discreet stall and finally I find a normal one and open the door and my pigs come diving out, biting at my face, and I wake up. So the Double Bock was tight for shutting that down for a night. 4 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 4 & 4/5 STARS!
