THE GREAT CRAFT BEER SWINDLE (Language Warning)

From the top I’d like to stress two things: One; this is NOT the blog post of mine to be reading if you don’t like foul language (I’m not kidding, so thanks for stopping by), and two; I‘m not an employee of Foster’s Brewing, I have no affiliation with Foster’s Brewing and I’m not paid by Foster’s Brewing (although, if some coin found its way into my hands…meh). There’s been enough niceness and charming “I remember when’s” in my recent blog posts. The gloves are off today and I’m not taking prisoners.

People are fucking with my ability to get my drink on. It’s becoming harder and harder for the old school gent like myself to enjoy a nice, cold traditional beer like a Carlton Draught on tap in pubs in the inner ‘burbs of Melbourne.

I haven’t been able to order a Carlton Draught in five of the six pubs that I’ve been to in the last couple of weeks. Instead, they’ve been wall-to-wall with horrible tasting artsy fucking shite ‘craft beers’ (also known as ‘microbrewing’) made by a former lawyer or accountant in their loft in Fitzroy (probably) named Hamish, or Dan who has a fucking beard, rides a skateboard and wears script-less dark rimmed glasses and tee shirts bearing an ironic slogan about analogue music.

hipster drinkerAnd while I’m at it Oscar, or Hugo, or Jake, or Callum or whatever the fuck your name is, when I ask for “a pot of Carlton”, don’t look at me like I just asked if I could root your missus. Spare me the smug “we don’t serve Carlton Draught here”. You’re the cunt pulling beers, ok? Just because I wear Nike footwear, it doesn’t make me Michael Jordan. I could do your job, ANYONE could do your job, which is basically: take glass, place under tap at an angle, pull handle, take money. Repeat. You’re charging me over the odds for shit I could make at home myself, ok? Give the attitude a spell, you little cock stain.

Why the anti-craft beer rant stance, Bakes? Isn’t the craft beer fad (yes, fad) the same as the coffee intelligentsia who promote grinds featuring beans from different regions in order to showcase different flavours? No. Why? Because last time I looked, you couldn’t make your own coffee beans at Bunnings or Kmart.

You see while we’re all getting a hard on for ‘craft beer’ (if the difficulty in getting a Carlton from the tap is any indication), there are some of us who remember making it ourselves as well. It’s called HOME BREW and it’s been around since before you were a mere tadpole in your old man’s ballsack.

tasche drinkerBack in the day, we’d go to K-Mart, Target or Mitre-10 (before it was, like ironic to shop there, right) and buy Home Brew kits. We’d then spend the next six months getting the brew right and then the next eight months getting ridiculously shitfaced in our sheds and backyards on our own beer at any given opportunity. And we didn’t charge $7.50 a go either. Two years later, the tubs and brewing kits would be sitting in the garage gathering dust because… well… it was just easier and took less time to go down to the rub-a-dub pub and drink.

Fair play to all the Hamishes and Dans and Jakes and Callums out there who’ve managed to fleece drinkers develop markets for craft beers beyond punters grabbing a six-pack at the local Dan Murphy’s. That is some sensational entrepreneurialism right there. But when it comes to weasel words, replacing home brew with ‘craft beer’ must surely be up there with ‘market correction’ and ‘traffic disruptions’.

You’re not fooling anyone. When it comes to $8 a pot for craft beers on tap, you can go and lick my syphilitic piles. Take your home-brew making, analogue loving, designer-label head and jam it right up your fucking arse.

I’ll have a pot of Carlton thanks.

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