Murphy's Stout

AFFORDABILITY: Look, I do not remember particularly what the cost was, and goddamnit I hate these stupid parameters I make that no one holds me to but if I switched off it somebody would be like, “What is this shit man?” as soon as I did it, like how your lottery numbers always hit the day you don’t play them. But I do know a few certain facts... One is the Murphy’s Stout is one of those fancy limey dude canned beers with the apple widget floating around inside that performs some sort of garbage science that Americans have never figured out or just don’t need with our waterbeers. The other is I never buy those four-packs of oddly-shaped beers with the rattling innards unless they are on sale, because breaking down to $2.50 per can and you’re not a normal tall can but a limey tall can, that does not compute. But if it goes on sale, it tricks me into thinking I have sprung upon a bargain, so I go with it, even though nothing we ever buy, even on sale, is a true bargain, because they still profit off selling rotten tomatoes and throw away more shit than I could hope to ever buy on a daily basis. But I do it. You know why. I was gonna write “Baaaa-cause” but that would be fucking retarded. So I’ll just leave it hanging with me admitting that and still seeming like a dumbass over the possibility shared. 2 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: I remember enjoying the Murphy’s Stout and it filled my head with wonkiness, much like my penis fills with blood during springtime drives around humans that lack their own penises, so far as I can tell. I know Murphy is a real dude, who I think lives in Alabama, or maybe Colorado, but bro, if you ever want to kick it in VA, bring some of your beers and we can roll to the river at Hatton Ferry and get our chill on, let the dogs run around and chase sticks and otters and crap like that, and scope out all the high school and college kids in groups doing the river tube rental thing from the place that shows up with buses full of people like every 20 minutes, who all climb into the water in a giant explosion of sound and laughter and beer can opening, and then float the fuck away, leaving us with our silence and a couple of their beers, which they are always only too glad to offer me when I ask for one, probably to keep the bearded, badly tattooed, in all likelihood hillbilly rapist guy with the big black dogs from ruining their life with elaborate victimizations. It’s fun. Holla at me, Murphy. 4 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: Murphy's has a beer can that is odd style because not commonly known, yet nothing about it stands out for me, especially compared to wacky limey cans like Boddingtons or Guinness. But whatever. It is a can, so you can crush it, which makes any logo look great. I have, for about a year and a half, been collecting whatever beer or soda cans that get flattened along my road, hoping to eventually bind them together using solder or tacks or alchemics or brain magic or something to make giant sheets of wall hangings. You can't do that with beer bottles. 3 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: Don't know no Murphys anymore, though I have in the past. One was a straight up gonna be educated redheaded wise ass. I saw a picture of him on the Facebooks, but you can never tell if those things are the real deal or robot attempts to hijack your soul into wayward trajectories. I am not much for Irish pride type shit, ever since "Jump Around" became that extreme folksy song about walking in other people's shoes, so I don't really give a fuck about who makes Murphy's. I would hope it's bonafide in the flesh Murphy people, but most likely it's some sort of inanimate entity represented publicly by a sharp logo that performs psychological trickeries without you even knowing. 2 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: I have no complaints over this here Murphy's Stout. Most limeyland beers I think I will hate but I don't mind, though I still halfway hate most of them, depending on how pretentious the real life people I've drank them around or with have been about the limey factor. Because of this, Boddington's Pub Ale is probably my least disliked of all the limeyland beers, but I'm not even sure if I have any real life drankin' with folks Murphy's Stout times to draw extreme prejudices from. I vaguely remember perhaps some nights of drinking it in Richmond back in the day, perhaps at that fucking hole in the wall Irish place right around the corner from the Science Museum, but I vaguely remember a lot of things at this point in my life, and a lot of times they either never happened, or somebody told me about it, or I saw it in a movie. Like I don't think I really ever jumped my car over a creek to escape a cop chasing me, cutting across Old Man Hatfield's ryegrass fields, but it's in my brain as a memory. Broke both tie rods, and it was a bitch getting my car to pass inspection two months later. 4 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 3 STARS!