My grandparents have been in town this weekend for Easter, and I love the unique artifacts of information they have amassed in their combined 140+ years on earth. We were talking about all of the breweries that are currently in Missouri and my grandfather piped up with all of different beers that used to be brewed out of St. Louis. "You had Stag, and Falstaff, and Greasydick -" "Umm... what?" I countered. "Yeah, the Greasydick Brothers," my grandmother chimed in.
I lost it. What a name... Turns out, they spell it Griesedieck, but the pronunciation is supposedly correct. They are sitting on a gold-mine for a novelty beer. Think about the shirts. "I had a Greasydick in ..." It's so tasteless it would work.
But what's really sad is that it's someone's name. Imagine poor Joe Griesedieck at a bar. "Hi... -- insert small talk -- So what's your name? Mine? It's Joe. Joe Griesedieck" followed by a shower of liquid from a glass, can, bottle of whatever she's drinking being thrown at him. Poor guy.
Of course, it's so tasteless that it might work for him.