What would you do for a beer? Help a buddy move? Send your eight-year-old to the corner convenience store? Buy admission to an industrial park in Munster, Indiana? For those willing to do the last — and there are thousands — there’s Dark Lord Day, a festival celebrating the release of Munster-based brewery Three Floyds’s acclaimed Dark Lord Russian imperial stout. Now in its third year, Dark Lord Day began as a way to dispense the wildly in-demand brew: Would-be drinkers purchased “golden” tickets that permitted them a number of bottles. Those lucky few attended the festival to claim their prize; fellow beer snobs joined them to envy, trade and talk shop. (Wherever a hardcore subculture of connoisseurs intersects with a lot of high-alcohol beer, camaraderie is bound to follow.) Music acts, beer tents and barbecue were inevitably added, and the festival soon became as much a destination for enthusiasts as an opportunity to try the stout. This year, the festival will take place April 30, but details are still pretty clamshell-tight. (Even ticket-holders won’t know how many bottles they’re allotted until a few days prior, when the brewery is able to assess its yield.) By all accounts, the stout is among the best beers out there. Rich, syrupy and boasting a boggling 15-percent A.B.V., this isn’t a beer attendees chug between bands and pork ribs. It’s one they savor out of a snifter, even if they’re standing in line for a Port-a-John. It’s so thick and alcoholic, in fact, that in the past, Three Floyds has used the second runnings of the stuff to manufacture another beer — a porter they called Slave Princess. And even secondhand, Slave Princess clocked in at 4.5 percent. The day isn’t without critics. Last year, massive ticket sales crashed the site, and scalping ran rampant — sometimes up to $300 for what was initially a $20 ticket. And Munster’s no Woodstock: It’s an industrial park in the middle of Indiana steel country, with few hotels and no camping. (The A.V. Club even bemoaned the crowd: “Is beer really worth a day amongst a sea of drunks, listening to alcoholic road stories about the barley wine some dude found at an organic free-trade nanobrewery outside of Missoula? Is anything?”) To fix some of those issues, this year tickets are required for admission. (The same ticket that gets you the beer also gets you into the festival.) The idea is to limit the amount of crowd-crunching, Munster-PD-irritating drunken debauchery, ostensibly making everyone more comfortable. (Three Floyds sold out of its 6,000 admission tickets in March; last year they estimated that over 10,000 showed up to party.) It’s hard to say whether the stout is worth the hassle — of course everyone who’s got a pint of it will say it’s worth it. But being cornered by that barley-wine dude, standing ass-t0-elbow among people with church keys on their belts and exceptional brews in their hands? Worth it to us.