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70 thoughts on “Braveheart Beer announces POW/MIA beer coming”

  2. Not a lot of info on their book-of-the-face page. They offer two other brews, Intrepid Hero and Frogman, and they claim they support The Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund and Seal Family. How much support isn’t mentioned.

    Maybe their heart’s in the right place, but to me this smacks of a marketing ploy to use a military association to sell a product, and the military members on the product paid for that association in pain, blood and death.

    I’ll not be purchasing any.

    2. I keep getting appeal letters from wounded warriors for moola shmoola donations but they go into the shredder after I found out a couple of years ago that a portion of the funds they receive went to lavish getaways.

      2. Jeff LPH, you don’t know the half of it. I checked their IRS non-profit form and the salaries were astounding. Then someone bad mouthed them in a MOAA communication and MOAA got their panties in a wad and told all newsletter editors not to bad mouth Wounded Warrior. So I checked the MOAA IRS document and found the retired 2 or 3 star was paying himself over $500,000 a year plus bennies. That was when I ended my relationship with MOAA.

        1. Pretty much all charities are like that. I admire the charities that actually funnel most of their money to their cause.

          For instance, I’ve worked many disaster scenes and can attest to the hard work of the Salvation Army. They don’t spend half their donations soliciting more donations or paying exorbitant executive salaries. It shows in their work.

          A lot of these “charities” spend 70%+ (some spend more than 90%) of their donations on professional solicitors who call people for more donations. Disgusting.

          1. So they are pretty much just like all the gubmint programs which supposedly “help” people but the people they help are mostly those who create and maintain the program?

        3. I left MOAA a few years back as well.

          They were taking broad positions on issues without consulting the rank and file membership.

          MOAA supports across the board discharge upgrades for the “PTSD” and other issues.

          Fuck that.

    3. Stop stealing my thunder !

      Phuck em, I’d have more respect if they just make a good beer and quietly donated to whatever.

      Reeks of Starbucks attention sluts.

      “Pimping POWs” should be the name.

    4. I’m with Braveheart, we’re not a ploy. I’ve been running a mil/vet 501c3 for the last 10 years. I’m also a vet and our brewer is a vet. I get the skepticism but give us a chance. It took us a year just to get the beer into cans – lots of legal involved in beer. And we put our money were our mouth is by financing this by ourselves. Our non-profit organizations know were working hard at making this happen, we communicate with them regularly. Again, just give us the opportunity/time to make this happen. It’s the real deal.

  3. I like a good Pilsner. Reminds me of K-town.
    Had one from Nite Owl brewery with eggs this morning.

  4. The idea of beer cans bearing the POW/MIA Logo occupying places less than solemn,strewn about, and eventually consigned to trash receptacles is…. unappealing.

  7. Just what America needs, another “craft” beer. No, thanks. Probably tastes like “Billy Beer”, anyway.

  8. The notion of drunks hoisting these while regaling the bar with their phony war stories makes my bile rise. I say no, this is not the way to honor our POW and MIA brothers.

    Instead of this marketing ploy, how about a simple public letter of intent and follow through, to donate a portion of company proceeds to worthwhile POW/MIA and veteran causes.

  9. If you Yefs watched the video, you’d know that fellows running the business are veterans. I’m sorry that I didn’t mention that and left it up to you dickweeds to click the video.

    1. Did watch*, Jonn, hence my “…heart’s in the right place…” comment. I don’t care for their marketing style, that’s all. Don’t think I’m alone, either.

      *make it a point to view all attachments prior to commentating. don’t ask how I learned that.

      1. Yeah.

        I cannot speak to these individuals above, but I have seen my fair share of Vets making money off of other Vets and the public by in large.

        So much so that I have developed a bad reputation in certain circles for avoiding Vets functions ans such. I am just sick of the game and hearing how everyone won the war themselves.

        1. Amen. Somehow, being a member of a group of millions of people doesn’t make me feel particularly special. I do feel lucky and grateful that I survived the experience when many did not, and I will settle for that.

    2. This is a Kickstarter “please fund me” project pimping out POWs and veterans in general for profit.

      The fact that these two clowns are veterans, I reserve my skepticism because I have not seen a FOIA on either one of them, just makes it worse.

      Phuck both of them and each an every person that buys this shit. Just a bunch of dinks than cant do the right thing with a healthy dose of STFU while they do it.

    3. “you Yefs”

      I’m still just laughing that Yef has become part of the TAH lexicon.

      2. I can see it now, “We have a good thread going, I hope nobody Yefs it up!”.

            1. Some say that’s what happens with Keith Richards every time another Rock Musician dies!

        2. On the plains of hesitation lie the blackened bones of countless millions who at the dawn of victory lay down to rest, and in resting, Yeffed.

          1. Yefism.

            Yefism is not an idea expressed in an obtuse or nonsensical way. That’s what I thought it was, but then I looked it up. Turns out that Yefism is a little known, quasi-religious sect. Yefism’s adherents, called Yefists, recognize multiple ranked deities. Supreme among Yefists is one. His name is Buffer.

            1. Don’t forget the Sacred Floor Wax which has been rumored to cause visions when huffed.

    4. Several breweries started by Vets out there and all give something to charities for our men and women in and out of uniform.
      Railhouse here in NC is one.

    5. Several breweries started by Vets out there and all give something to charities for our men and women in and out of uniform.
      Railhouse here in NC is one.

      I have no idea why everyone is getting their panties in a wad over this. A business started by Vets who are pledging a percent of profits to Vet Orgs is fine with me. I guess everyone here would rather frequent non-vet owned businesses that spit on Vets or give nothing.

      1. jonp: my issue is that I find the product’s name in exceptionally bad taste. The product’s name uses the sufferings of others to market their wares in hopes of turning a profit. To a lesser degree, the same is true of some of their other product names.

        In fact, what they’re doing is quite similar to how the Brady crowd and Gifford’s “wonderful” husband operate re: gun control advocacy. They’re using the misery of others as a marketing tool. That bothers me.

        Their donation of a share of the profits to vet causes is laudable. Change the name of the products and I might try them.

        But with their current names – um, no.

        My opinion; YMMV.

      2. I have seen a few too.

        And they quickly morphed into a dick contest and name dropping of their board members. It became a “holier than thou” situation.

        I am not saying that is what is occurring here, but I wont hold my breath.

        Also, the other group that did this, their beer sucked. And I mean sucked bad. Not to mention it was WAY overpriced and each time you tossed a can, you read the name of a deceased KIA servicemen.

      3. No, jonp, “everybody here would” most definitely NOT “rather frequent non-vet owed businesses that spit on Vets or give nothing.” As a vet who has literally been spit upon, I do not knowingly frequent places that figuratively spit on vets. And I am quite careful to keep up with which do and which do not. Probably not perfect at it, but I do pay attention.

        Those rights we all stood up to protect apply also to us. I am free to buy or not buy any beer I want to. As do you.

        Now, get off my lawn! Or at least bring over another couple of chairs.

      4. Panties in a wad? No. The POW/MIA Beer strikes most of us as disrespectful. As for your guess that “everyone here would rather frequent non-vet owned businesses that spit on Vets or give nothing,” I’ll speak for myself. If a Veteran-owned business offers a good product or service, I’ll go with it. If it doesn’t, I’ll go elsewhere for the product or service. Similarly, if a business is known for disrespecting Veterans or law enforcement, I’ll find an alternative. This isn’t a tough call. Let me ask you one. If a Veteran-owned business does not give a percentage of its profits to Veteran causes of any type but a non-Veteran-owned business does, and you want the product or service both offer, which one do you choose?

    6. This “dickweed” did watch the video. They are veterans using their veterans status to make a buck. Screw them, and screw you.

  10. I don’t drink beer, so the only thing I see of interest is the aluminum can, which can be recycled for $1.00/lb at the local recycling shop.

  11. Gotta say that beer named “POW/MIA Beer” rubs me the wrong way too. I won’t be buying any.

  12. While I’m all for fellow Vets starting their own businesses, I have to say that theming one of their products with POWs and MIAs does strike me as very crass.

    1. I wonder if future plans there include KIA and WIA Beer. I think that the FUBAR Beer proposal was tabled.

      1. Dog Tag Brewing does a KIA-of a sorta. But, so far from what I’ve seen they are helping with awareness, honoring and fundraising for existing Gold Star initiatives. Example is a family I know that does a Scholarship in their son’s name. Another, they are currently working with another family that runs a outfitters camp for wounded vets to have an ongoing campaign to help support the camp and programs. If someone knows different about this brewery, please let me know.
        https://www.dogtagbrewing.org

        1. Denise. I certainly do not mean to disparage good done for GS or Veterans. I am confident no one else here does either. Instead, the objections arise solely from the naming of the brews, and that’s all. I don’t know whether there was some pre-naming marketing survey done but, if there was, I’d like to know what the Veterans’ responses were, if the comments here are representative of Veterans’ views of the names. Cheers.

          1. Air Cav,
            I didn’t think you were disparaging, and I completely understand your objection to the name of the product. My comment was more of a request for opinions or knowledge of Dog Tag Brewing. My experience has been good, what I know has been good, but others may know different.

            Like others have said, there is something…distasteful about it all, namely what do you do with a can once the contents have been consumed? Personally, I’d feel awfully weird about throwing a can with my sons name, or “POW MIA” on it in the recycle bin. But, that’s just me and to each his own.

        2. I know those dudes and they are good dudes.

          Problem is in the competition for funds and their sole reliance on elitism. Point being, at one of their fundraisers, I kept hearing SF, SEAL, Ranger,Recon, etc. Over and over and over. Now keep in mind, many people there were Spec Op types, but the name dropping and dick swinging got old.

          Actually, if I am not mistaken, that outfitter used to be for amputees and now it is for Spec Op dudes.

          1. Green Thumb
            The outfitter I’m referring to is still for amputees, wounded, PTSD and they also do female veteran events. They run completely on volunteers and donations, and aren’t at all elitist.

            If Jonn approves, here is a shameless plug. I love these people – Camp Hope, just outside Farmington Missouri

  13. Part of the problem here may be a generational thing. Mores have changed a lot since many of us were trained in what was polite and what was disrespectful.

    In this case, I am among those who find this use of the POW/MIA flag and sentiments to be distasteful. And it really doesn’t matter much to me that it is veterans who are using it, except that they should perhaps have know how offensive some of us would find it on a beer can. When you also consider the potential careless disregard for disposal of empty cans, it is particularly concerning for me.

    Oh, well. Their decision to make, but I don’t have to like it.

  15. I don’t like any for profit product charading around as charity whether veterans are doing it or not. It’s trashy and exploitative. This is no different.

  16. A shout-out to Service Brewing who dedicate a portion of profits every year to a different charity helping veterans:
    Service Brewing – Savannah Georgia
    http://servicebrewing.com/giving-back
    Started by a vet who employs vets and actively helping vets. I’m not affiliated, just meet the owner at a tasting, His “Groundpounder” is good stuff.

    1. *met* the owner.
      I humbly submit to the TAH Cataclysm of Insults the following: “Result of Cyclospora”

      * “Symptoms of cyclospora include diarrhea and frequent, sometimes explosive bowel movements, according to the CDC.”

      1. “Explosive”, eh? Probably causes the PTSD.

        I had “Tabascospora” once. One fine day I managed to acquire 3 or 4 cans of my favorite C ration meal, Ham and Lima Beans, and consumed them with great gusto. Seasoned, of course, with two bottles (no joke) of Tabasco sauce.

        Liftoff occurred about 3 AM. I was awakened from a sound sleep by rumblings as the countdown was at about 7. I somehow made it to the latrine by zero, just in time for ignition(and that’s exactly what it felt like). Liftoff was immediately after, as the explosive release of white-hot combustion products brought me, howling, to my feet. Literally.

        I knew then, that something had malfunctioned, and I adjusted my wobbly trajectory towards the Med. Shed. There, the Bn. surgeon informed me that he could give me nothing for the pain, as he could not give a definite diagnosis; it may have been appendicitis or something else which contraindicated pain medication. He didn’t even examine me. I perforce stumbled back to my platoon and awaited results.
        Sometimes I imagine that there is a doctor, somewhere, who amuses his friends with his war story about the dumbass grunt who woke him up to treat him for overconsumption of volatile substances.

        I also imagine that John Kerry would have gotten a Purple Heart for this.

        1. timeactual,

          That has to be funniest damned thing I have read in a LONG LONG time! Thanks for the Monday morning guffaw!

          I avoided ham and lima beans like the plague, I was one of those oddballs that liked the C-ration Ham and Eggs.

          I think Tabascospora needs to be included in the Physicians Desk Reference.

          Thanks again!

        2. Here’s another little ditty for you. Not my experience but a good read.

          The Steakhouse Incident
          Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me.

          A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan’s Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid’s night at Ryan’s, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

          We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you — in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

          I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It’s amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress…

          I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall.

          In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.

          I began “The Move.”

          For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain “The Move.” Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

          I was about half-way into “The Move” when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

          In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.

          At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake…you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of “30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi” or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

          Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you’re going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, like what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

          Now, back to the vomit…

          While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.

          In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants…on the inside…with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

          In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

          And there was no fucking toilet paper.

          What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

          About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I’m sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

          The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan’s making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

          Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

          When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

          The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan’s Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

          Steve Crisp
          crisp@ihos.com

          1. Chip…

            That’s…horrible!!!! LOL LOL

            Good thing I don’t work in the food safety side of public health, Id never be able to take the family out to eat!

          2. “What could I do but laugh”

            Well done.

            To misquote Nietsche, “What doesn’t kill you makes you laugh harder”.

      2. I will add it, edited that, the side effects of encountering some diseased posers is” Result of Cyclospora” * “Symptoms of cyclospora include diarrhea and frequent, sometimes explosive bowel movements, according to the CDC.”

  17. jonp. You may have missed my question to you that I asked in a comment above. So, I’ll repeat it….

    If a Veteran-owned business does not give a percentage of its profits to Veteran causes of any type but a non-Veteran-owned business does, and you want the product or service both offer, which one do you choose?

    1. Air Cav
      I just had this dilemma this past weekend. In general, I support a veteran-owned business, but, as we all know from the TAH annals, just because someone is a veteran does not mean they are an honorable person and deserving of support. On the other side of that coin, I know a lot of very good, honorable people who never served in the military but now serve those who did.

      I chose the non-veteran owned business for those exact reasons.

      1. I am with that first para 100%, Denise. As for the other, makes sense to me.

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