Just buy the whole bottle. I'm serious. Don't bother with the sissy plastic cup for $6.50. You will need to chug at least half of this bottle straight away just to deal with what you will see at the Texas Renaissance Festival. This place is insane, and cold wine made with honey is your only remedy. Sure, it's a lot sweeter than that Pinot Grigio your girlfriend makes you drink when you're dinner at with her friends, but this is what Chaucer drank. And as hard as you try, you'll never be as famous a writer as Chaucer, ha! Mead is best served cold, so once you buy the bottle you should finish it within 15 minutes, I'm thinking.Pairing advice: Best served with a bag of Kettle Corn.
RATING: 88%
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11 comments:
Do you think Chaucer drank it cold?
I don't know, but he could've used the brain freeze.
Chaucer wore funny shoes, that's for sure:
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/df/Chaucer_1602.jpg
I think Chaucer probably put the kettle corn in the mead, but I could be wrong.
holy fuck whos andrew brinininstool he sounds like a viking
Better than a Viking, Tom. He's a Texan. Although he might claim New Mexico or something too.
Yeah, dual-citizenship...though Texas is its own country.
Full disclosure: Mr. Brininstool is my parole office. He assigned me to this blog to keep me out of trouble. Thanks for reading, Mr. B.
Laurie, it has really been great to see you rehabilitated and back to being a productive citizen. It really puts my faith back into the justice system.
Also, Mr. B. has a tattoo of Christ of Nazareth slaying a dragon on his right forearm. This is, of course, pre-req. for any parole officer (addendum: nevermind and heretofore disregard any rumors about the dragon being quote-un-quote hook-nosed, i.e., making Mr. B's Christ/Dragon tattoo in any way seemingly anti-semitic [i.e. anti-Jewish and anti-Arabaic] [[as is the case with much of western-Euro's sign/signification images [[[see, our understanding of the Witch]]]] because this is pure hearsay on the part of those who find his [i.e., Mr. B's] parole tactics wholly unjust and tantamount to their later failure in life).*
*Footnote: Mr. B has read, in the past three weeks, entirely too much David Foster Wallace (heretofore referred to as D.F.W. [the irony, of course, being that Mr. B's general habitatial locale is similarly described as the 'DFW Metroplex'']) and should, for the purposes of not seeming like a complete douche-bag** ask considerable pardon from any persons reading this 'comment' on the grounds of:
1) Exhaustion
a) From grading freshman comp. papers
b) From apply for shit he will not ever, ever, win
c) general ennui
d) a stale reading list
2) Lack of creative intellect in responding to the observation that Brinininstool (sic) "sounds like a viking"
3) The beautiful and yet wistful image-narrative of said viking as a parole officer.
**Footnote: Because we all know that only douche-bags read dead writers after they are dead and never, during their (i.e. dead writers) lives give them any credit for anything and, in fact, often can be found in shoddy and vaguely-germ-infested grad lounges arguing that such writers (i.e., for instance, D.F.W) are at the root cause of everything post-Barthelme-ian-wrong with writing.
Go USA!
Farts and beer.
The Onion: Girl Stops Reading David Foster Wallace Breakup Letter at p. 20
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