West Coast Hop-A-Bout 2010: We love your pellets, we’re grateful for your investment, we admire your passion, but….
You load sixteen tons an' what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt.
St Peter don't you call me cause I can't go.
I owe my soul to the company store.
-- Jimmy Dean, hop dealer unknown
The setting: eager new hop merchant on hop-a-bout up the West Coast stopping off at craft breweries to field test big fat fresh 100% uncut Oregon-grown hop pellets. After six days and over a dozen brewer rap sessions, a dialogue blueprint has taken shape.
The dialogue goes something like the below. Note, this is a work of Rogue IPA induced fiction and none of the rhetoric is meant to be attributed to any particularly disgruntled brewer; as a whole brewers tend to be a "don't let the bastards grind you down" lot, as the happy-wappy snapshots attest):
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