Bang it hard into side pocket
fly the white
invent a dispute about pool hall rules
based on a rational outcome
fortesqueue mother fucker
play the hand out

The tiny nation of Armenia is not one that springs to mind when thinking of beer. Surrounded by lands full of lunatics such as Iran, Turkey, Azerbaijan, and Israel; tiny Armenia has survived wars, earthquakes, and genocides. And it seems that it has does this long enough to have it's own ale.

 

So, what is the brew that a hard working Armenian drinks after a day at the office in Yerevan?

 

Kilikia Ale!

 

I was lucky enough to have some of this premier beer of the Caucasus’s in the XenoxNews.com office. Not being afraid to try a beer or three, I popped the top on it to report you how it shapes up in the world ale landscape.

 

And I have to say it is not a bad drop!

 

First up was the light Kilikia Ale.

The bottle fitted the palm well, the colour was delightful, and the taste reminded me of the sweat from a goat’s ball sack.

With a nice even finish I reckon you could enjoy this beer with clams, lamb cutlets, and some piri piri sauce.

 

While I was cracking open the second bottle I started to think of the others who have travelled the roads that lead from Ashotsk to Arevik. The mysterious Caucasus; it has always been an area of intrigue and espionage...

 

The next bottle was the more subtle Kilikia Dark Ale.

With a nose that could cause an epileptic fit and a thick brown turgid colour; the Kilikia Dark seemed, at first, to be a bit harder to enjoy.

 

And the fact it had the same viscosity of the syphilis infected arse of Armenia’s favourite son Winston Churchill, didn't add to it's appeal!

 

But I bit the bullet and swallowed it down. By the time I reached the end of the bottle I had found salvation, and I was wondering if this was what the Big Three drank in Tehran all those years ago…

 

So there you have it. Armenian Beer, tasted and tested by XenoxNews.com

 

Look for it in your local bottle-0 and enjoy!

An irregular series focusing on Ales and Beers from around the world...

 

Taedong Bitter. Not a name that immediately comes to mind when thinking of quenching your thirst. It’s a brew from behind the bamboo curtain. Taedong Bitter; the working man's drink of North Korea!

And here it was in my sweaty palm. Now, being of an open mind, and always ready to do my bit for XenoxNews.com, I was willing to crack it open. I wanted to try it so you, the longsuffering XenoxNews.com reader, wouldn’t have to drink it first without knowing if it was going to kill you or not.

 

Straight from the Workers Paradise to you... Taedong Bitter

Well, after the top was removed the bottle opened fresh and clean. The poured head was frothy and compliant. On first taste it excited the palate with the crackle and fizz of an AK-47 aimed squarely at some Yankee’s fat arse. The tingle as it when down the throat had me thinking of my time in Pyongyang; or more precisely, with that female traffic warden in Pyongyang.

 

I must admit I was rather impressed by my first taste of this godforsaken bitter; for though it had the aroma of a stale bun, its flavour buds were rather enhancing!

The flame of re-unification burns bright in this bottle of piss!

 

After my first glass I started to not only re-adjust my feelings about North Korean beer, but also about the North Korean people themselves. I was overcome by feelings towards them; their struggles against the evil and wily capitalist chaebols of  Seoul, the cruel and inhumane boycott by the US, and their overwhelming love for Dear leader Kim Jong-Il...

 

Why were the people of North Korea being punished for the sins of the West I thought…

 

After I opened my second bottle of this hardy brew I found myself being  amazed by the latest tomato harvest figures of the Pyongyang regime. Maybe that crackpot Kim Il-Jong had really founded a Xanadu for the worker; an egalitarian paradise for the common man and woman.

 

And besides the Moonies hated them so they mustn’t be all bad!

 

Sucking more Taedong down I imagined the day when with rifle in hand the people of the North would swarm the border and finally liberate the South from their American and Japanese oppressors...

 

No wonder Pyongyang needed the atomic bomb; they were being crushed on all sides!

 

More bottles followed. We were toasting long life for Dear Leader and his five wives! It was a congress of like minds; all eager to bring about the workers revolution, in all the world!

 

What a brew it was; like a magical elixir that had you embracing class struggle with a new fervour.

Did you know this was Che Guevara's favourite drink?

 

When I awoke I was face down in a Tottenham gutter. The revolution, it seemed, had begun.

And all because of Taedong Bitter.

 

So get down to your local bottle-o and do yourself a favour.

Taedong Bitter, the choice of working class champions!

 

It is cheap, available in your local supermarket, and used by thousands of people....

 

Corn flour; pure unadulterated pleasure. Sniff it, lick it, even fuck it, guaranteed to get you where you wanna be.

All for a dollar a pack.

 

Corn flour. How else did Aztec Kings get high? Quetzalcoatl that feathered fiend used to blow a bag full a day. Starry eyed and wired to insane; Mayan astronomers looked to the heavens and calculated the end times. All on the powder of the gods.

 

Corn flour. As proclaimed in these pages before, get some, fuck in a threesome, and god only knows where your brains will end up…

 

before and after the corn flour...

 

White Australians 've long pondered on why Abos ain't too smart and do crazy stuff. Well, boys and girls, researchers is real close to gettin this all figured out. They done discoverdd that one of the major health and social issues facing young Abos in Australia today is the snortin of volatile solvents. The substance of choice for teen abos in rural and remote regions of the country is what y'all call "petro"l (fer reguloar white folks, that thar's "gasoline"), primarily because it cheap and can be stole easy, and the rapidity of "Abo Crazy Brain" its inhalation produces. While the number of individuals using petrol as an inhalant constitute a tiny proportion of the overall Australian population, it's a heap larger fer the Abos.(Carroll,1977:17).

Researchers have pondered "why"? Cain't reckon on why no normal person of thar species Humana would fix ta killin off thar brain cells, specially when they ain't got as many as normal folks ta start with.

There have been some sporadic surveys and government enquiries, but little socially- there ain't been no good data commin from these here gooberment studies funded with yer tax dollars. And, you might think a spell then ask "why ain't they got thar answeres"?

Well, it's cuz ain't no one out thar want to tell you boys and girls thar truth....cept Ricardovitz. Yep, I been tellin folks truths fer as long as I can remember, and ain't no one want ta know thar real truth 'bout nothin. But, that dern't make no nevermind. I'm on a truth mission, and here it is. Abos ain't got much mentally goin on fer them; they can't do what Ero-Aussies can do; can't keep up mentally and whatnot. And, them commie union whores done taught them that good old hard hard work and physical toil is beneath them - taught them how to be all upity 'bout doin labor. So, Abos ain't got nothin to do but to chrome thar brains by huffin petrol and whatnot. Makes em feel good and they ain't got to do no hard work, that they's been taught is beneeth them, cuz the gooberment done pays yer tax dollars to them fer all kind of goodies - food, water, shelter, cloths, and whatnot.

This means that gooberment policy (for example, whether to criminalise drinkin gas fumes thru yer nose) and health education efforts (like regular folks gotta be taught not to drink gasoline thru yer nose?) have been hampered by scanty and ill-informed lying poloticians. Yer politicains ain't got no backbone - dern't want to call a gas-sniffin spade a dumb do-nothin junkie.


Y'all think otherwise............then lay it out so's we can have an intelligent discussion.

But now it is out of me.

Stolen like a Getty Image. The tiny little dreams I had.

Cease and desist they cry!

Sir, you can stick that $900 up your clacker.

My dreams are not yours for the buying; aren't there for the taking.

They have slipped out my ears, run away like the Jews.