The Curmudgeon: Seasonal beer “I told you so” edition

The Curmudgeon:
The Curmudgeon hates to say he told you so. Well, maybe he doesn’t. But in February, the Curmudgeon pointed out that climate change (and its resultant seasonal shifting) does not actually exist…it’s a trick of the brain perpetuated by breweries releasing their seasonal beers way too early. It was also suggested that drowning polar bears may just need to up their cardio:

You really have gotten lazy. Look at yourself.

Back then, Spring and Summer beers were coming out in February, and the Curmudgeon presciently foretold the early arrival of pumpkin beers. He predicted August. Well, the Curmudgeon was wrong…they showed up in mid-July! Mean Machine reported seeing Southern Tier Pumking the week of July 10th, twitter is full of angry pumpkin beer sightings, and dangermenparenting reported seeing Blue Moon Harvest Pumpkin on July 28th.

Listen, nobody cares about the first person to report on whether the sun came up. That is, unless you’re CNN or Fox News and you are the first to mistakenly report that the sun didn’t come up.

Standby, I’m hearing it is a bit more complicated than previously thought. THE SUN MAY HAVE COME UP.

The truth is, with things that aren’t novel (just like news that people are going to find out eventually anyway) what people want is for you to get it right. Now, obviously there is serious first-to-the-market competition for shelf space. But sorry, Coors, being first isn’t going to make your Blue Moon Harvest Pumpkin Ale taste any better.

Further, The Curmudgeon isn’t stupid….well…the Curmudgeon isn’t too stupid to figure out that canned pumpkin gets thrown in some pumpkin beers. But why can’t we be fat and happy and just pretend you tossed in some fresh jack-o-lanterns. Oh, I almost forgot, because you expect us to believe you got fresh pumpkins in June or July.

So suck it, brewers racing to Fall. It’s still freaking hotter outside than a pair of sweatpants full of BBQ. I don’t want any pumpkin beer. So, may your Fall beers gather dust. And may the fleas of 100 camels infect your balls and your arms be too short to scratch.