Original Poster and admitted home-brewing dilettante here. I am duly chastened both for my procedural ignorance and my inattention to the conversation initiated by my question. I would like to say that my failure to respond promptly to all the helpful posts—and the more unhelpful but very witty ones in which you more experienced brewmasters ribbed me with your hilarity—was due to the same demands on my time that also caused my inattention to the five gallon bucket that prompted my post.
Regrettably, however, this is not the case. Instead, I too eagerly followed the many suggestions that I sample the bucket’s contents to determine whether the taste merited keeping the product or disposing of it. First, as I know that some of you are on pins and needles to hear the results of said tasting, I can report that it tasted…OK. Not great, but not asslike, either, and I immediately fired up my internet browser to post a message here and end the torturous suspense to which I unforgivably subjected you all.
Unfortunately, before I could complete this task, I was called away to rescue a neighbor’s child who had fallen into a well after which I had to rush to make it in time for my regular shift teaching literacy at the prison. Feeling incredibly guilty about my inattention both to the bucket and—much more importantly—to those of you on this forum who gave not only welcome advice, but also your heartfelt care and concern, I collapsed into sleep with plans to update you and complete the bottling early the next morning in the predawn hours before my shift at the soup kitchen.
And so, while I would like to blame my own simple negligence for my delayed response to this forum, I am sorry to report that, instead, I awoke in the morning with devastating stomach cramps and other severe gastrointestinal distress. I tried desperately to produce a brief message to let you all know about the taste test results, but I only managed to hit a couple of keys before I lost consciousness.
The next hours are a blur, but I regained consciousness in the hospital where, I grieve to report, the prognosis is not good. Though I lack the strength to type, one of the nurses has graciously agreed to transcribe this last post for me. I cannot pronounce—much less spell—the type of bacterial infection that the doctors say I have, but suffice it to say that it is highly resistant to all the curative measures that have been attempted on my behalf, and I have been advised to put my affairs into order as swiftly as I can while the medical staff heroically attempt to ease my pain. I am trying to make them think that these efforts are working.
I thank you all most warmly for the practical advice, amusing jests, and philosophical enlightenment that you have so generously offered via this forum. I know that my widow and children will take comfort in returning to these posts in the difficult days and weeks to come.
My last request is for those of you who encouraged me to drink from the three-year-old bucket of death to please post complete contact information to this thread so that my family’s attorneys and the state can pursue the civil action and criminal charges that are soon to ensue. I have tried to talk them out of it, but they are adamant, and I lack the strength to argue with them any more.
Somehow, through the pain, it still strikes me as funny: I had always heard that it was a light, but instead, all I see is a deep and growing darkness that feels as if it will…..
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