Rock Wall “Dog Bite High Gravity Lager”
IBU: Who knows? Who cares?
The poorly composed photo-shop job of a can of this beer over a photo of the Hindenburg disaster is the best offering I am willing to submit as a visual aid for this atrocity. It is not my intention to trivialize the victims of the Hindenburg incident, but hyperbole and histrionics are a part of my nature. So, if this comparison offends you… get over it.
The film “Battlefield Earth” is a must-see, simply because it is so awful and offensive as failed art that it must be absorbed for an actualized perspective. I am a firm believer of the concept of yin and yang, and I have a morbid curiosity to experience the farthest gone, most heinous abortion of an effort in production in order to truly appreciate the best. It may be painful, but it is so damned fun that I cannot shy away from such opportunities. It is probably a masochistic element within my soul that drove me to drink this, and we all have one, or else “Sour Patch Kids” and “Atomic Fireball” candies would not sell. I have seen Battlefield Earth, and I have drunk an entire can of Dog Bite High Gravity Lager and I absolutely recommend them both, because they are both so colossally awful relative to their respective industries they must be recognized by an aspiring aficionado. Think of them as a rite of passage. If they were each a little bit better, I would not recommend them at all.
Dog Bite pours golden orange, clear, and has an impressive head, actually. It looks harmless from across the room, but when your nose gets near it, a wave of terror consumes your skin and you realize how insidious it is. It smells like an Asian manicure parlor without the cheap perfume. It tastes like corn kernels melted down into paint-thinner. It has a boozy flavor as though someone accidentally spilled rubbing alcohol in it. Somewhere within this evil elixir is the flavor of grain, yeast, and boiled urine (not that I am a connoisseur of drinking boiled urine but I believe I am good at interpolating). If you’ve ever smelled the gutter of Bourbon Street in New Orleans on an August Sunday morning, convert that odor to a flavor on your tongue and you will know of what I speak. The after-flavor is really an after-shock that will have you counting down the minutes until it goes away, unless you want to cleanse your palate with something a little more desirable, such as a salty pretzel with brown mustard, the poignant taste of a grapefruit, or even a fresh turd from the cat litter box.
The price tag on a 6 pack of this revolting goat vomit also makes it worth the investment. It is roughly $9.00 in an inner-city gas station (and is slightly less drinkable than what squirts out of the gas pumps), which makes each can about $1.50. Amazing! But wait! There’s more! A can is 24 ounces. So you are really getting a half a case of 12 ounce cans for approximately $0.75/can.
“But Mr. Deltoid, why would I stock my fridge with 6 cans of this stuff? If it’s so awful there’s no way I’ll ever drink more than one, right?” Right. But this is good to share with your friends for entertainment purposes, or use as the MacGuffin in a bet or dare. If you have a co-worker that you despise, give him/her a can of this as a passive-aggressive act of hatred. You can even give it to a homeless man and watch him vomit as he attempts to ingest it. Or you can put them all in a pillowcase and beat an intruder to death with them instead of using a firearm. Think outside the box, damn it.