KillerBeerFest 5: Seizure the Day!

The only thing preventing Angelo's head from popping open and his brain spilling out into your beer are these staples.

The only thing preventing Angelo’s head from popping open and his brain spilling out into your beer are these bargain bin staples.

Here’s a transcript of my phone conversation with Angelo De Ieso II:


“Hi Angelo, this is Michael O–“

“Oh fuck you, bro. You gonna talk shit about me again on that crappy blog no one reads? Why don’t you go put on your shittiest Green Day album and play tic tac toe on your wrists with the sharpest, rustiest razor blade you can find! I hear from you again, I’ll burn you like teenage love, muthafucka. I’ll break you like bread, shit stain! I’ll eat your remains like it’s the vegan special of the day, bitch!”


“I hope a butter bomb blows up in your face, bro! Oh, and…. GO BOSTON!”



“Hi Mr. De Ieso, this is… Joe Lager from uh… The New Sch– er, I mean, Beer Advocate. I’d like to ask you some questions about your brain tumor?”

“Hey, bro. No worries, yeah. Let’s rap a little, my homey.”

“I was wondering, are there any upsides to your condition?”

“Oh sure, man. Tons! Like I just take all my baths with a load of laundry and some detergent. If I start seizing up mid-way through, when I come out of it, clean load of laundry, bro!”

“That’s… great?”

“Oh, and you know when they cracked my head open like a coconut, they had to staple it back together, but that’s cool, because nobody’s ever seen the top of my head anyway. I’ve got a different Boston team cap for every day of the week, so it ain’t no thang but a chicken wang!”


“Naw, but that’s tiny shit. I’m going to give you the straight dope, son. The real meal. And you can go post it on this blog I’ve never heard of. I used to have to do some serious shit to get the most “killah” beer for my KillerBeerWeek events, shit I am not proud of. But this year, I’ve got these crazy cats coming out of the woodwork, just pushing all these insane brews onto me because they heard about my debt and tumor and everything I’ve been through.”

“Speaking of which, I’ve heard that Ben Love of Gigantic Brewing–“

“Man, I got no time for Love, Doctor Jones!  Naw, but seriously. Do you know, that Ben and Van Havig are hooking me up with the chronic this year, all because of this wonderful, blessed brain tumor? I am getting a keg of Madness to tap at Bailey’s Taproom, which is a Belgian style Quad blended with a sour beer aged in bourbon barrels, for Tom Brady’s sake! Do you know what I used to have to do for a keg of Gigantic beer, any keg of Gigantic beer? Like the shit they scraped out of the bottom of the fermenter?”

“What’s that?”

“Both brewers in the mouth at the same time, kid. And they don’t call their brewery Gigantic for nothing. I’ve still got stretch marks in my cheeks!

“And that’s nothing compared to what Ganum made me do. Dude seems so laid back and chill, like the nicest guy in the world. You don’t know, man. You don’t KNOW! I can’t even talk about it. I’m too upset. Oh GAWD! I told myself I wouldn’t cry! I gotta go. I’m too emotional right now. I’m gonna get my staples wet.”

“I’m sorry to bring this all up ag–“




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