And now a few words from L. Roy Crow

So how did you boys get started? After we started brewing Shanked Beer, folks would ask that. So, how did it all begin?

Let me tell ya, it’s quite a story.  It all began on  a dark and stormy night as G.T and I sat in the prison yard in the middle of the Rocky Mountains . As a lightening flash lit the Colorado night and thunder rumbled in the distant mountain range, G.T. looked at me and said,”I like beer.”  I looked him right in the eye and said ,” I like beer, too.”

Kinda gives you chills don’t it.  

Good thing we both liked beer because I figure only way to make a good beer was to like beer. Think about it, if’n you didn’t like stewed broccoli and somebody gave you some stewed broccoli, you wouldn’t like it.  It could be the best stewed broccoli in the world, no matter.  It sucks. End of story.  

But don’t be frettin’, our beer is good. Damn good. Hell, I remember the first day I tasted it.  It was our first batch and the brew master told us to come runnin’ on account Shanked was ready for tastin’.   Well, folks I got down to the brewery lickety-split, sprinted up the steps,  threw open the door and grabbed a can off the counter and slammed her back. The brewmaster just stared at me all wide eyed. 

“That beer tastes like shit!” I said.

He said,” That ain’t beer.  That’s the cleaning solution for the vats.  Beer’s over here.”

He handed me a mug and I sniffed it, just to make sure ya know, and then I sipped. Then I sipped again. Then I drank a big swaller.  I smiled, the brewmaster smiled, everyone smiled.  Yep, it’s the kinda beer that’ll make you smile. Shanked is so good it even made my Uncle Eldon smile.  He don’t never smile much, but after having a can of Shanked he smiled bigger than the time he found his old Farrah Fawcett poster that he thought Aunt Emma had given to the Skin Tag Auction at the Methodist Church in Norton’s Corners.  I can still see him sitting on his porch rockin’ away, poster in one hand and a Shanked in the other.  One happy old coot.

Well, gotta run.  Ma Crow needs me to come down and help her find her teeth before Garland finds ‘em and starts wearing ‘em again. Last time he took ‘em he went downtown and sat in front of the Plainfield Feed Store smiling’ at all the passersby.  Damn Basset Hound.