Some people like to assume I’m just another fruit beer: fragile, sensitive and sickeningly sweet. That’s fine. Haters gonna hate. Sure, I’m sweet and a perfect date for a summer day, but does anybody ever talk about my smarts? Yeah, I wear a pretty pink label. But inside my sexy bottle is a wallop of wit, a bumpercrop of brainpower and one heck of a malt backbone. So, go ahead, assume you know my type. Underestimate me. Think of me as just another fruit beer. Just know you’re missing out.
One more thing—my raspberries? Oh, they’re real, boys.