Monday Night recap: “Hip-Hopopotamus” edition


Due to lack of a real name for last night’s brew, a lighter-bodied American IPA made with a bundle of our freshly harvested Cascade hops, I am going to refer to it by its code name, Hip-Hopopotamus. Just know that the Hip-Hopopotamus’s lyrics are bottomless. Here’s one of our hop additions:


In completely unrelated news, Monday Night hereby declares the next brew night Puppy Night. Hopefully Stella (the puppy in the photo below) will be coming back to frolic and eat poop. Or whatever puppies do…


We had a smidge of our Belgian-style wit on tap, but pickings were pretty lean. We’re still behind with our beer production because of the beer that got ruined when our fermentation chamber broke in September. I still allege that Joel broke it on purpose because his feelings were hurt.


And last night marked the first backyard fire of the season for Monday Night. A sure sign that winter approaches. Fortunately not even Father Winter is a match for Joel’s expert fire-building skills. I didn’t realize they taught fire-building in Girl Scouts.

Zing! But seriously Joel, where are those Thin Mints I ordered?

5 thoughts on “Monday Night recap: “Hip-Hopopotamus” edition

  1. I’m still trying to figure out why you guys dumped that beer. Was it infected? Have you not heard of drinking your mistakes? Maybe you would have come up with a new style!

    Also: how many home brews do I need to send to get one of those beer glasses? I seriously had all my good beer glasses broken by my brother in law, and am currently drinking out of a plastic cup when I brew. I beg of you.

  2. Kevin, it wasn’t infected. The choice to dump was made without my approval. I blame “pretty boy” Jeff, who had some theological issues with our precious scotch ale fermenting at 80 degrees. They weren’t on track with their OG anyway.

    Regarding the glasses, the ones you see are lowly 10 oz tasting glasses. We haven’t ordered our big guys yet. Rest assured, we will.

  3. I’m the mother flippin’ Rhymenocerous
    My beats are fly and the birds are on my back
    And I’m horny
    I’m horny
    If you choose to proceed you will indeed concede
    Cos I hit you with my flow
    The Wild Rhino Stampede.
    I’m not just wild, I’m trained,
    I was raised by a rapper and rhino that dated
    And subsequently procreated
    That’s how it goes
    Here’s the Hiphopopotamus
    The hip hop hippo

    They call me the Hiphopopotamus
    My lyrics are bottomless

    They call me the Hiphopopotamus
    Flows that glow like phosphorous
    Poppin’ off the top of this esophagus
    Rockin’ this metropolis
    I’m not a large water-dwelling mammal
    Where did you get that preposterous hypothesis?
    Did Steve tell you that, perchance?

    My rhymes and records they don’t get played
    Because my records and rhymes they don’t get made
    And if you rap like me you don’t get paid
    And if you roll like me you don’t get laid.

    My rhymes are so potent that in this small segment
    I made all of the ladies in the area pregnant
    Yes, sometimes my lyrics are sexist
    But you lovely bitches and hoes should know I’m trying to correct this.

    Other rappers dis me
    Say my rhymes are sissy.
    Why? Why? Why?
    Why exactly?
    What? Why?
    Be more constructive with your feedback, please. Why?

    Why, because I rap about reality?
    Like me and my grandma drinking a cup of tea?
    There ain’t no party like my nanna’s tea party.
    Hey! Ho!

    I’m the motherflippin’
    I’m the motherflippin’
    I’m the motherflippin’
    Who’s the motherflippin?
    I’m the motherflippin’
    I’m the motherflippin’
    I’m the motherflippin’

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