Genetically Engineered ‘Jock Hops’ Endorsed by Non-Crybaby F. U. Landowski
Malibu, CA

December 10, 2008

New Age Hops Hold the Holy Grail
MKA Announces New Hybridized “Jock Hops,” a new age organic hop with old world bitterness scientifically engineered to make you go harder, longer, deeper and higher, and then loop back around and go for moreLandowski takes a deep whiff. “I need a sour beverage that curdles fast. The more acid, the quicker the good shit gets into my bloodstream.”

Hey freaks want to go faster, get higher and ward off prostate cancer, high cholesterol, insomnia, insanity and jock rot? 

One word: Hops. The Noble Flower. The lovely bitteringagent found in beer. Studies show that the active ingredient in hops (humulus lupulus), known as xanthohumol (XN, or Xanadu), is a powerful anti-cancer, anti-inflammatory, anti-bacterial, and anti-anxiety flavonoid. Xanadu is far more powerful than its counterparts in hoity toity red wine, wimpy green tea or crybaby onions.

For years, herbalists have been prescribing crystalline hop powder, a natural depressant, to neurotic brain-racers. The Noble Flower belongs to the family of flowering herbs known as “Cannabacea,” a family of hemp-ish like weeds which includes cannabis, which we all know and love as that durable fiber that’s good for making rope and cleaning out the digestive tract. 

We know from the wunderkids behind FRS that if a drink contains natural stuff that has been shown to rid test tubes and rodents of bad ugly stuff then it follows it must also make you time trial faster. As long as you hawk the potion as a “vitamin supplement,” not a drug, then you’re relieved of having to comply with all those pesky FDA regs which are supposed to protect the consumer from pills, powders and gels that either don’t work or will turn your tongue black.

Xanadu certainly wont hurt you so it follows that by letting you live it must also enhance performance. Why then have serious cyclists not rushed to hopped up beer like free samples of cytomax or Power Gel?

Another word: calories. Now it’s well known that every cyclist, torn between having to sport the ferocity of a heavyweight with the wasteline of a featherweight, pretends to be a confident beer drinker. We talk about kicking back with a brew but in fact few hard core pedalers actually imbibe. We’re either afraid of the extra calories, or afraid of having fun, you know, going crazy on that Satan-inspired cannaboid-laced hellbroth. When we do grab a long neck in a social setting, we do less drinking, and more nursing -- so as to give off the appearance that we are brazen, blue-collar, body temple-be-damned power-swiggers, when in fact most of us are shamefully prissy, guilt-racked sniff ‘n sippers.

The problem, we all know, is the darker the brew, the more calories it packs. For the past 75 years in the US, the industrial macro-brewers have prejudiced us against the dark, tasty, complex, aromatic, and bitter brews. Instead, they have seasoned us to want watered-down, low food value, low-taste, unhoppy codswollop. The industrial beer is not only bad, it doesn’t have nearly enough of the stuff that’s good for you - meaning, it lacks much Xanadu.

You’d have to guzzle about 150 gallons of Bud Lite to give you the dose of the Xanadu extract (and its metabolites) you’d need to kill off fledgling cancer cells, bad cholesterol or those festering saddle sore microbes. Many craft brews, on the other hand, are loaded with a wide variety of hops, which can be mixed and matched to enhance flavor, aroma, and bitterness.

The question is can experts design a hopped-up beer that promotes health, induces euphoria and enhances the performance of endurance athletes? The answer, finally, is yes.

MKA, in conjunction with Master Brewer Jackie Treehorn, is pleased to announce the development of a new genetically engineered hop- “Jock Hops” -- which packs 100 times the Xanadu punch of industrial beer oriented hops. Jock Hops are big, fat, green cones bulging with pungent, mustard colored Xanadu crystals. It’s a wonder we were able to harvest them at all. We lost half the crop on account these cone shaped grenades are so full of oil and xanadu gunpowder they spontaneously combusted, not easy to do in sun-deprived Hubbard, Oregon. 

We expect Jock Hops to put FRS in the weeds. The amped up Xanadu in Jock Hops is far more potent than quercetin, the other flavonoid touted by Lance as the miracle nutrient in FRS energy drink.

Brown Swipe
MKA’s admittedly undrinkable “Captain Nimrod’s Bitter Ale.” For a free case, contact Jackie Treehorn (order two cases and MKA will send you $12, plus shipping.).
Aspiring bald-headed Mutants of course will object that to harness the working dosage the consumer will need to drink beer he can’t see through. True, Jock Hops is designed for dark, rich and thick ales, the calorie content of which will rival that of a thanksgiving day dinner. But, new unpublished peer reviewed anecdotal evidence MKA just imagined shows that jock hopped brew spiked with caffeine will also increase your exercise tolerance and will to suffer. Plus you will be cheerfully addicted. The more you drink, the more you’ll want to train, and the leaner you’ll be. We promise.

It’s well known that the blessing of a superior athlete can convert a mediocre product into a must-have top seller. That in mind, MKA sought out the support of FU Landowski, the recently liberated bike racer and erstwhile tosspot. They met in the living room of MKA’s 1960’s modernist style blufftop estate, which overlooks a beach volleyball court, a favorite spot of local Hollywood nudists, nymphs and hemp worshippers.

FUL: Nice pad you got here, man.

MKA: Won a lot of primes, Dude. A life’s work. Can I offer you a beverage?

FUL: Yes. I’ll take an organic pale ale. English yeast. A blend of crystal, Munich, and chocolate malt, with a handsome amount of Cascade hops for flavor, Sterling for bitterness, and Liberty for aroma. How’s the swill business, MKA?

MKA: I wouldn’t know, FU. I see you know your beer. Good, as I too deal in premium, boutique, hand-crafted ales. High IBU, earthy, floral, sweet-caramel -

FUL: Yeah, well which one was Captain Nimrod’s Bitter Ale?

MKA: Regrettably, you’re right. That was a mistake. Standards had fallen in the alcoholic beverage industry. The industrials dominated and we saw an opportunity. We rushed in with a sunset amber ale with a lacy head and a nose of roasted almonds but a surplus of ethanol wound up pickling the brain like pig’s feet. We’ve since then dialed down the alcohol.

FUL: I took a swig of that crap and next thing I knew I was talking to Ralph on the Big White Phone. I wouldn’t use it to run my Gran Torino – maybe use it to strip off the, uh, rust coloration.

MKA: People forget that a delightfully balanced Belgian ale-soaked brain is the biggest errogenous zone -

FUL: On you, maybe. Nice scarf, by the way, MKA. Argyle, got the whole Oasis rocktard thing working...

I Believe in Nothing!
Landowski making friends down at the Magic Bench in Balboa Island with Fred Park legends GMO and TS Fuggov.
MKA: You know, FU, the old Trappist Monks, poor celibate unfortunates that they were, regarded beer as a stairway to heaven, as well as a substitute for sex. Technology has allowed us to hybridize new hop varieties that react synergistically with Vitamin A, caffeine and ethanol to enhance the erotic pleasure while lowering lactic acid.

[Hands him a copper-kettle hued ale rimmed by a robust head in a tulip shaped glass]

FUL: Uh-uh. Well, these days I pleasure myself with a 120 mile ride in the rain and a brown banana. That and a Velo News centerfold of your Argyle hipsters shooting each other in the ass with paintball guns. That, and, uh, an oriental message. Or Swedish.

MKA: Of course you do. Well, I can see that you’re anxious for me to get to the point. Landowski, I want you to sponsor my new beer. I know in the past you’ve touted the medicinal virtues of a well-timed brew and a shot of whiskey.

FUL: I believe in a strong beverage that both fortifies and lays waste.

MKA: I don’t care about the past, FU. Ratios. Masking agents. The thyroid. The baseball cap turned backwards. That’s your business. All I’m saying is, I want mine.

FUL: Well, there are many facets to all that - the French fuktards, the deyhdration, the star chamber, the chief prosecutor - a real reactionary -- the soiled samples, the rash - yeah I gotta rash - the whole thing was a travesty, man. Many facets. Many interested parties. If I can sell your beer, what’s in it for the old Landowski?

MKA: A new line of hopped-to-kill beverages. Try these on for size. “Landowski’s Bitter Pill Pale Yellow Ale.” “Landowski’s False Positive ESB.” “Landowski’s Neck Puncher IPA.”

FUL: How about ‘Landowski’s Angry M’F’er Stout?’ An explosive, kiln-fired, bile-flavored, hop-encrusted bitter stout that makes you want to smash your fists through a brick wall? You know - ‘drink this, bow up and draw a line in the sand ‘ - across this line YOU DO NOT...

MKA: You’re being very un-Dude.

FUL: Look, just because I’m bereaved doesn’t make me a sap. What’s in it for me? How much money? I need a new Torino. And a new kit.

MKA: Of course, there’s that to discuss. Refill?

FUL: Does every second, like, count, man? Will a $12k dreamer, like, race for free?

MKA: How about a 5% celebrity endorsement fee, off the top?

FUL: I like the way you do business, MKA. I’ll endorse your beer. When the time is right, I’ll even drink it.

MKA: Wait a minute, FU. We need you to get skinny and suck down our beer like water, in public. This beer is different. We are targeting our toughest demographic. If anorexic cyclists like our beer, we’ll own the wider market.

FUL: Let me explain something about FU. Cyclists are schizoid. They like to talk tough - no retreat, no surrender -- but refuse to drink and pedal as if a beer or two will turn their tummy temple into a liquid grain storage facility. I buy that. They’re afraid of a few calories. I’m not. FU is about sacrifice. This is an endurance sport, and I can endure more. Look, I’ll hold off on a quality beverage. Not because I’m concerned about calories. Or because a buzz may somehow distract my focus, or because drinking a brew in front of the asshat reporters may micturate on my image. These are not my concern. I’ll hold back simply because it hurts like hell, like depriving a bear of the... Vatican, I mean woods .. and you can’t survive in this business without finding your self-destruct button and then dialing back a few clicks and just holding it there longer than the a-hole hoofing it next to you.

MKA: Gnarly, sir. And perfect. You sound like one of those Opus Dei sadists with the barbed wire celise around the thigh.

Freed from Folsom
"I bet there's rich folks eating in a fancy dining car/They're probably drinkin' coffee and smoking big cigars..."
FUL: Opus Dei are pretenders. I shoveled excrement from our septic tank in the snow. You don’t want to know what I can take. I don’t love the pain, I love the reward.

MKA: How about a compromise. Treehorn also tells me they can brew a non-alcoholic beverage that won’t stupefy or make you forget yourself but still tastes like fresh bread from the oven.

FUL: ‘Non-alcoholic’?

MKA: Yes. Like foam bullets. Or decaffeinated espresso. Fat-free do nuts. Christianity without Eternal Damnation.

FUL: So you can drink it and still be filled with rage and doubt and self-loathing?

MKA: Yes. Like an energy drink. Perfect for unrepentant whiners, self- righteous flagellators and holier-than ---

FUL: Look, Mr. Agro. The past few years, my career has slowed down a bit. Spent a lot of time, you know, driving around. Toodling. The occasional Stage 17 flashback. But I’m back in the saddle now and I’m going for broke. This is League Play. There are rules. FU will sacrifice a few weeks here and then there without a libation, but when I’ve put in the miles, in the rain, and I’ve earned it, I need to take a little walk. Cosmically. I don’t want to get a little baked, or have a half-way out of body exper--, I want all the way off the boat, properly tethered, of course, with one of those supertanker high-tensile ropes… Even FU needs a break from himself. We all do, sir. Just don’t call it “beer.”

MKA: How about “queer beer?”

FU: Perfect. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to suck around your nice quiet little beach community and bother a few of your neighbors.

MKA: Have it your way, Dude.



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