At least one of these three ingredients in my title does not mix well with the other two.

I know what you’re thinking: “Stupid point, how could ‘goat brains’ mix well with anything?!?” That is probably the correct answer in most situations.

Just not in this particular situation.

The good people at Philadelphia’s Dock Street Brewing Co. set me up. Unintentionally, I’m sure, but set me up nonetheless. I just stumbled on a Business Insider tweet reporting that Dock Street has concocted “smoked goat brains” beer in tribute to a zombie show on cable TV. I haven’t read it, but Business Insider says the brewer’s accompanying press release touts the brains “to infuse a subtle, smoky flavor into the beer while the cranberries provide tartness and a pale redness reminiscent of blood.”

OK, so that’s sort of interesting, you might say. Beer made of goat brains. Provocative. Different. Probably won’t displace the spot on my fridge shelf reserved for Racer 5. Thanks anyway, though. In short, so what? Why am I reading about you reading about this?

This for me is another in a long line of cautionary tales that I have proven myself constitutionally incapable of absorbing. No, not putting stuff in food that probably shouldn’t be in there, and not eating things that probably shouldn’t be eaten. This is not another crickets story.

Nope. This is more of a “look before you share a Twitter link” type-deal. A modernized “look before you leap,” digital parable.

If you are like me, and have accumulated a, shall we say, “broad array of substantive content” streaming into your Twitter feed, please mind the gap, beware the pitfalls. Don’t be a dumbass.

The articles about dogs’ instinctual pooping in alignment with the earth’s magnetic fields, a group of jellyfish affectionately known as “the smack,” vitriolic rants about one college basketball team or the other, and now the goat brains beer? Those are barely palatable to me, mainly because I hit “Follow” somewhere along the line and have only myself to blame.

Those articles do not need to be sprayed out willy nilly, just because you (and by “you” I mean “I”) think they are interesting and must be shared with someone immediately.

Ease up with the “immediacy” part, would you? (And by “you” I mean “I”). Sharing at a full sprint can be dangerous.

Case in point: Within about 15 seconds after reading (OK, scanning) the Business Insider goat brains beer article, I forwarded it along to the founders of a different beer company. Fairly recent friends of mine whom I respect and apparently feel a burning need to impress. My thumbs danced across my iPhone keyboard, eager to share this bit of inspiration. I even added a personal note — “Saw this just now, made me think of you” — lest they think I share Twitter articles with just anybody.

What I intended to communicate was that there is a beer company-specific crowdfunding platform, or community, and that that might be interesting to my beer company friends. We had been exploring crowdfunding together over the past few months.

What I had intended to communicate is that this beer-focused crowdfunding platform’s Twitter handle is @crowdbrewed. CrowdBrewed, you see, just happened to tweet the goat brains beer article. In my haste, said goat brains beer article was the only content that found its way into my beer-making friends’ inbox courtesy of yours truly. Nothing about crowdfunding at all. Hard to send a more seemingly-bizarre email if you tried.

Fortunately I caught my error, though of course only after sending the “Hey guys you need to make beer out of goat brains!” initial email. That is the only way to describe the substance of my first email. What a dumbass (and by “dumbass” I mean “me”).

I hope that my follow up email explaining my folly restored whatever thin thread of credibility I still have with the brewers.

Or at least caused them to re-think filling out the Police Department paperwork required to apply for a restraining order. It was an honest mistake, Your Honor.

Thanks for reading.

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