When I hear "Pale Ale," I think about Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, or Maplewood Charlatan Pale Ale, or how my skin looks from November to April when the tan has worn off during the cold Chicago fall, winter, and spring. Palesies, as they are referred to at nap time, are traditionally the center of the craft beer universe because it can encompass nearly everything while meaning absolutely nothing if you wanna be a dick about it. One category that doesn't get enough sexual attention in the pale ale judging schemes are the burps produced by these ales of pale. If a pale ale doesn't encourage me to burp additional flavor sensations, then is it really an ale worthy of being pale? Hopsmash is a philosophy, y'all. Don't think we ain't think with our thought thinkers, my guy.