No, what I have is a romantic abnormality, one so unbelievable that it must be hidden from the public at all cost.

I got Miss Catfish — a lithe, slippery creature with a sneering grin and a pair of enormous shades a la Nicole Richie. I love the label, though I’ll admit I was hoping for something a bit more Daryl Hannah.

Typical of my experience with Schell’s brews, I found this a functional beverage, neither offensive nor remarkable. But then I’m not much of a lager drinker, excluding session (read binge) drinking, and in such cases, I reach for the cheap stuff. Nevertheless, I’m a sucker for marketing gimmicks (I even drank OK Soda once), and tip my hat to Augie Schell for rousing my latent ichthyophilia.

Please follow dosage instructions.

 The back of the staggering, Strongbow-esque, Surly Furious can asks this query, “A tempest on the tongue, or a moment of pure hop bliss?” Where doth this scribe come from? After reading this and taking a few swigs of the beer I felt my review was written for me.

That is, at first tongue splash, understatedly I am unequivocally unimpressed. But after imbibing and cocking my head to contemplate, I reconsidered. A subtle yet striking flavor. I definitely couldn’t drink the whole four-pack, which they are sold in, better yet finish off two. Though, it’s too solid and strong a brew to be downed with such frivolity and not recommended.

All in all, it’s a beer that catches its drinkers off-guard, after they’ve already made their own presumptions. It is after a good half-can that like a true tempest with all its furiousness comes out of the green skies and makes you realize just how strong a force of nature it really is.