Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead is a film that seriously challenges the audience’s conception of what the term “offensive” truly means. Watching it is like participating in some kind of weird, exploitation movie questionnaire administered by Lloyd Kaufman going door-to-door: “Do you find naked bodies offensive? How about bodily functions? Racial humor? What about language? Anything in the sexual arcana?”

If you can conceive of any “yes” answers to those questions, then a Troma film like Poultrygeist could become an uncomfortable watch. But on some level, the impact is blunted to harmlessness because the viewer can tell the filmmakers don’t actually intend to be transgressive for any other reason than to challenge the status quo and provoke their more dim-witted viewers. A director like Lloyd Kaufman doesn’t believe in the political statements of a film like Poultrygeist; he simply uses them as a means to an end. And that end is an often-hysterical comedy/horror musical about zombie chickens.

So, what kind of craft beer do you pair with Poultrygeist? It should be something with the same level of tasteless, straight-forward branding. Maybe throw in a little unique packaging? And a chicken tie-in certainly couldn’t hurt. Would you believe I found all three? Against the Grain’s Kentucky Ryed Chiquen is an imperial amber ale brewed with rye malt and lightly aged in rye whiskey barrels. It also happens to come in a 750 ml bottle whose top third is completely covered in chicken feathers. Why? I have no goddamn idea, which is fitting, because viewers are likely to be saying the same thing on a regular basis while viewing Poultrygeist.

At its heart, the film is a “love story,” or at least as close as Troma ever comes to making one. Our protagonist is a high school graduate named “Arbie” who loses his girlfriend Wendy to the allure of a politically active lesbian activist as soon as she leaves for college. Her metamorphosis is revealed at a local protest on the site of a new fast food chicken restaurant, the American Chicken Bunker, which has naturally been built on the site of a former Indian burial ground. Disillusioned and attempting to take advantage of Wendy’s obvious attraction toward rebels, Arbie joins the restaurant crew on opening day, even as the cursed land begins to bring the chicken carcasses to life.

What follows is a shameless mix of bawdy scatological humor, extreme gore and the occasional musical number. Like most Troma films, it features inventive practical special effects rather than cheap CGI, and this is to its credit. Audiences of 2014 have forgotten how much more satisfying, how much grosser gore effects are when done practically than with bargain basement CGI. Here, when an unlucky fry cook falls into the chicken grinder, you’re in for more than just a splash of computer-generated blood. Instead, in the grand tradition of a gorehouse classic like Dead Alive, the pulp of blood and bone coats every surface of the kitchen. As in Django Unchained, it seems that our blood is under extraordinarily high pressure, which causes it to erupt like a fountain the second the skin is breached.

The beer, meanwhile, manages to be almost as unusual as the film. The aroma promises a candy-like sweetness and light notes of sour apple. On the palate, though, the barrel presence is surprisingly subtle. This is a factor of the length of aging, which was only five weeks in a rye whiskey barrel. Most barrel-aged brews are kept in the barrel for much longer, which gives this one an unusual touch of barrel character without it becoming a defining factor. The flavor is lightly grainy with plenty of caramel malt and a bit of rye spice, and a light fruitiness that is a bit like macerated strawberry. All in all, it retains more of its “amber/rye ale” characteristics than it does “barrel-aged/sour beer” character, with just a hint of tart.

The film, on the other hand, would never be satisfied with “just a hint” of anything, because everything is turned up to 11. Troma films in general tend to be self-aware, and Poultrygeist is among the most self-aware “bad movies” I’ve ever seen. The dialog satirizes its genre and its own stupidity at every turn, from the very beginning, when Arbie and Wendy have sex in a graveyard: “Nobody’s been out here since those horny teens were found decapitated in ’84.” Her reaction: Mild unease. The characters are blissfully stupid archetypes, immediately recognizable and digestible.

Once again though, it’s all completely purposeful, the product of a creative team that knows its genre and its core audience so well that they’re able to create a film that works on two levels simultaneously. On its most basic level, it’s just a 103-minute delivery device for boobs, blood and jokes. But at the same time it’s also a stinging indictment of its own audience by filmmakers who are slumming it and clearly enjoying every minute of it.

Indeed, every aspect of the film is just way better than it needs to be in terms of objective judging. The effects are better than you would expect. The actors are more talented, both as comedians and vocalists. The songs are better written and performed than in some completely sincere musicals. Just take the big ballad, “Slow Fast Food Love” as an example. If the lyrics weren’t so lewd, I’d have trouble believing it came from a Troma movie.

In many ways, the satire almost reminds me of the better episodes of South Park, which has always been an equal-opportunity offender. It’s obvious from the setting that there are going to be a lot of pointed jokes at the expense of the fast food industry, such as the Colonel Sanders parody, General Lee Roy. At the same time, though, the film goes after everyone else equally. There’s a great joke where the mob of protesters demand the downfall of corporate oligarchy and then immediately chug Starbucks en masse. Kaufman doesn’t really choose sides—what he stands for is free expression of all thought, no matter how inane.

All in all, I think Poultrygeist represents a first for Of Dreck & Drink—the first time I’ve legitimately gotten more enjoyment out of the film than the beverage I paired with it. That’s not a knock on Against the Grain’s Kentucky Ryed Chiquen as much as an admission of Poultrygeist’s simple pleasures. You may need an extremely open mind and a non-queasy disposition to enjoy a film where a man projectile defecates all over a fast food bathroom, but I make no apologies for my own enjoyment.

I leave you with the final moments of Poultrygeist, another Lloyd Kaufman classic.

Ready for some killer chickens? Check out the gory Poultrygeist trailer.

Think you’d rather stick with some chicken-themed beer? Check out Kentucky Ryed Chiquen here.

Jim Vorel is a Central Illinois-based entertainment reporter and regular contributor to Paste. You can follow him on Twitter.