Written by Roy Turse
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Tags: Beer

Monday, 30 November 2009

image for Tactical Nuclear Penguin - Reviewed by The Magnificent Eight A different beer, but one we have tried in the past, albeit in moderate amounts

Your intrepid reporter Roy Turse here, reporting from a party on the fringes of St. Albans in the UK's Home Counties. I'm here to report on a phenomenon hitting this part of the world like a comet - if a comet was to hit the world in St. Albans and was made of beer!

Tactical Nuclear Penguin is the unlikely name for a new super-strong beer from the controversial Scottish brewery BrewDog. It is sold in £30 bottles and is believed to be the strongest beer in the world.

The bottles are dark, with the weird name printed in stark white, slightly lopsided lettering. It should, the label suggests, "be enjoyed in small servings and with an air of aristocratic nonchalance".

A couple of weeks ago my mate Danny Chisolm read about it on some tattoos and piercings website and we decided to put it to the test. Barry "Braindead" Barnes and his neighbour Artex McAllister managed to get hold of the TNP, as us headcases call it, from an internet outlet which guaranteed the first deliveries of the 'brown nectar'. It cost an extra £20 for shipping, but we would have the first TNP in the UK - maybe the world!

Once we knew the beer was on its way, we arranged tonight's party. A group of us hardened drinkers, known locally as the Magnificent Eight, are just about to sit down to try out the new potent tipple. I'll let you know how it goes.

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Well it's now 10:20, and far from the drunken debauchery that I was expecting, the whole thing has been very civilized. We didn't hold back mind - we drank the whole lot in two hours.

A couple of years ago this brewery was berated for creating a beer that was over 18% alcohol by volume. This beer is 32% - about 80% stonger. Which is getting very close to the alcohol content of supermarket value spirits, and probably stronger than the Vodka in your local nightclub.

As usual with this type of evening we're all locked in until morning. And even then we are getting dropped off home by minicab just in case there are any long lasting effects of the TNP.

'Aristocratic nonchalance' required us to wear formal dress, of course, although Danny turned up in a corduroy jacket, cravat and a floppy haircut, but it all added to the sophisticated nature of the evening.

Of the eight of us, Barry is probably the worse for wear. I'm sure he slurred the word 'antiquities' a minute ago, and he's already taken off his tie. If this goes on he'll be useless if we attempt the Telegraph crossword later.

So far though, there have been no serious problems. Whatever happens from here on, I think we have all agreed that next time we'll have to push the boat out and get two bottles between the eight of us.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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