Camo Black Extra Review

Camo Black Extra Review

Serving Sizes:

24 oz. can = Tall Boy! (only size I could find)


Camo Black Extra….
I cannot express myself when I utter these words aloud. Many nights I have pondered how to explain this beautiful drunken mess of superb Malt excellence of a premium beverage… it’s Irony.

First thing to mention, is that it tastes like fermented urine, no matter how cold or hot this beverage is. It is unpleasent and makes you smell like a true hobo with alcoholic status. Second to note, it is 12.2% ABV and tastes and smells like apple juice mixed with homeless essence.

One day, while sitting alone naked in my over priced apartment, looking around for my third can of Camo, I brushed aside the roaches on the bedstand to endulge in another bite of my three day old Double Decker Taco Supreme. I decided at this moment, while trying to work up the saliva to process this aweful food, that my life needs a change. Looking down on my bedbug ridden, piss stained sheets, I cleaned what was left of the Double Decker off of my unshaven chin. I stood up, put on my holy socks, (not the jesus kind), slipped on my ugg boots while drunkenly falling over, proceeded to stretch on my whites, and walked my drunk ass down to the strip club. Before I even realized I left behind my pants and my wallet, I stumbled down to the Little Darlings Gentlemens club, which by the way is right across the street from my place, and decided to tell the overbese busty beauty at the door that I was ready to get my mahogany polished. She smiled and looked at me…
“Did you forget your wallet hun?”
I reach down and grabbed for my wallet and realized I left everything in my apartment, even my keys, and replied,
“Listen girl, where I come from you don’t need wallets.”
I did not know what else to say at this time, yet this girl, staring at me in my skippies, and me, still holding my Camo Black, she hugged me, slapped my ass, and let me into the club. She waved to the security gaurd to let me in, told him I was local, and I proceeded to makeshift into the night club like a panther in headlights.
I had no money and really no purpose, I couldn’t get it up if I wanted to, I could not buy any drinks since I left my wallet, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to buy a lap dance with my looks. So I walk up to the stage, plopped myself on the only stool available, and proceeded to stare at these broke hunnies, trying to make a buck, whom I would love to sponser, yet I only had my whittie tighties. I do not remember much after that. I lot of one eye pirate staring, pounding the rest of my tall can, sitting on a strippers lap, (I think he was a stripper), and the last thing I remember I was pouring nacho cheese all over my own tits before getting thrown out into the night. I look down and my knees are bloody, my chin is scraped,and yet again, pissed myself. The same lady at the door told me that I acted like a true San Francisco hero. I smiled, told her I loved her, and that I would see her tomorrow night. I suprisingly didn’t get arrested, I didn’t get punched, and I walked back across the street to my apartment which was empty…. except for my last couple swills of my second Camo Black. The Roaches kept me company and the bedbugs kept me warm. I couldn’t wait for my next return to the Little Darlings Gentlemens’ Club, and my next Camo Black Extra, Premium Malt Beverage.

A couple of links below to some suckers trying to drink the hobo apple cider…

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