By Jove!  What monster unleashed this pitiful brew upon the unsuspecting public?  I cannot imagine who thought this would qualify as a drinkable beer, much less as a pale ale, which is supposed to be among the most drinkable of American craft beer styles.  I managed to restrain my skepticism using a combination of ancient techniques learned from Himalayan monks and an unhealthy lust for beer, and poured this devilish brew into a glass.

It certainly doesn't look bad.  It appears as most pale ales do, with an innocuous clear amber hue and a modest head.  I still approached it cautiously, vampire-repelling crucifix at the ready, but my caution was not enough!  I was assailed by its aroma, a potent, harsh thing that was entirely too much like snorting the wrong end of a grapefruit.  The hop odor blasted an unholy unpleasantness into my nostrils. My moustaches uncurled, my eyebrows melted, and my nose decided to take a holiday someplace more pleasant, like Tacoma.  Yes indeed, as my co-taster put it, it ended with the questionable scent of a dirty hippie.

I fought my way through the offensive effluvia and the beer eventually found its way to my tongue, where thankfully the bland flavors did no further damage to my body or soul, though my sensibilities were mighty bruised.  Compared to the nose, the taste of this beer is meek and bland, with hints of hops and malt and a peculiar lack of potency and character.  Overall, this is not really a good beer, and not something I'd recommend tasting.  I would, however, recommend sending a six-pack to your enemies with a very friendly, happy note.  It would confuse the hell out of them.