BrewDog Punk IPA: World's wankiest beer?

A friend bought a bottle of something called Punk IPA to my house on the weekend. The bottle was the most punk thing I've seen since Iggy Pop did that car insurance advert. There was anarchy in the air. I realised the Queen was not a human being, I felt like phlegming on the Union Jack and pouring some beans and cigarette stubs over it, then going to my grandad's and kicking his greenhouse in. How could you not after reading this incendiary blurb;

Robert Mugabe shitting wanky beer, yesterday

BrewDog: Beer for Punks BrewDog is about breaking rules, taking risks, upsetting trends and unsettling institutions but first and foremost, great tasting beer. This is not a lowest common denominator beer. This is an aggressive beer. We do not merely aspire to the proclaimed heady heights of conformity through neutrality and blandness. It is quite doubtful that you have the taste or sophistication to appreciate the depth, character and quality of this premium craft beer. You probably don't even care that this rebellious little beer contains no preservatives or additives and uses only the finest fresh natural ingredients. Just go back to drinking your mass marketed, bland, cheaply made watered down lager, and close the door behind you.

Now, WAIT A MINUTE! HEAR ME OUT! I'm not like the rest! I'm sophisticated and rebellious like you! I once kicked a bin over, just cos I felt like it! I'm so dangerous and anti-establishment, even my friends are scared of me! Whenever I'm around, they hide and pretend they haven't seen me and can't hear me knocking on the door! Your beer has given me the power to say FUCK YOU, MUMMY!! I WILL GET THAT EARRING, AND I DON'T CARE WHAT YOUR CONFORMIST LITTLE DRONE-LIKE MIND THINKS ABOUT IT!! Umm...can I take the money out of my post office account? AWWW, MUMMM!!!!

All I can say is it's lucky that they don't care what people think about their precious beer, cos two of my friends fucking hated it and couldn't even finish half of a 330ml bottle between them.

Chapter 1: Starts & Beginnings

Hi. My name's Bryn. It isn't really, but, you know. Fuck you.

Before we get to the rancid meat of this disgusting hetero burger, my emotional Winalot (which ironically involves me losing a lot), here's some jokes about eating human flesh to create an artificial atmosphere of friendliness and calm.

Why did the cannibal cross the road?
For to eat someone's face off.

What did the cannibal have for breakfast?
Scrambled ex on toes.

What did the cannibal have to eat at the Marillion concert?
Fish's fingers.

What's a cannibal's favourite fruit?
Plums.

Why did the cannibal go to Snowdonia?
Cos there's always a bunch of dead fucking idiots lying around the place.

What's a cannibal's favourite dish?
Cock o' van (driver)

Which shampoo is a cannibal's favourite dish?
Head & Shoulders

What's a cannibal's favourite Nick Cave song to eat?
Left Fried Hand

Why did a cannibal throw Simon Weston in the bin?
Cos he was burnt

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That's the thing about first impressions. I always make a pig's anus of them.

However, if you feel compelled to ever return, I will make it worth your while. I've got plenty of stuff to say about poo, wanking and crisps. You know it will enrich your life in ways undreamed of.

Your friend and hero,

Bryn Boranga