Energy Drunk (aka A Big Ol’ Can Of Fail!)
Posted by Bob Reinhard on July 8, 2010
In my youth, I was like most kids. Full of optimism and ignorant to the horrors of the real world. I watched morning cartoons and played video games. I ate sugary cereals and played with potentially life-threatening toys. And eventually, I discovered my penis. And boy did I discover it A LOT.
But there comes a time when you must grow up, and you must move out into the world and take a handful of feces right to your senses. The optimism is soon squashed down by despair. Your child-like ignorance and innocence is raped out of you by harsh realities and terrible discoveries. Terrible discoveries such as what I stumbled upon in a gas station earlier today.
Ever seen something that simple stops you dead in your tracks. Imagine, if you will, you are walking down a peaceful suburban neighborhood. You see white picket fences and little kids playing in sprinklers. A lady with a dog walks by. Two beautiful teen girls roll past on a bike. And then suddenly, you turn and see an all-albino wheelchair roller derby in the driveway of the next house. Your mind is kicked right in it’s testicles. The sudden realization that everything you thought you knew was nothing hits you like a ton of bricks. You’ve just seen something that doesn’t seem real. You even have to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not in some horrible nightmare.
That’s what I experienced today while walking through this gas station. Right there, in the beverage cooler, sat THIS monstrosity:
For those of you who are wondering, that there is a 32 fluid ounce energy drink. 32. If you tipped the can over while it was open, it’d dump out so much toxin you’d think it was produced by BP. 32 ounces. And I drank the whole thing in about ten minutes. Why? Because I’m an adult and I make good fuckin’ decisions!
After I drank it, I proceeded to draft up a formal apologize letter to my heart. Not the first organ I’ve apologized to, but perhaps the one I’ve wronged the most.
Glancing at the back of this can, I can’t help but notice that it contains 95% of my daily recommended amount of regret! If I didn’t already get over 100% of my daily regret just by waking up every day, this would be useful I guess. And, it appears to have more sugar in this one can then the entire country of Brazil (which is eh… the world’s leading exporter of sugar, in case you don’t hold that kind of useless information in your gray matter).
Energy? You could say I have energy. Hell, there is so much adrenaline running through me now that when your mom swallows my load tonight, it’ll replenish all the energy she spent riding me reverse-cowgirl all night. She’s a real classy lady, your mom.
Much to my surprise, there is no liquid in the can. You open it up and a midget (that’s right, I said midget. Suck my nuts, that word is NOT the same as “Nigger”!) jumps out and yells at you to get your ass in gear. It’s energizing, alright!
The entire concept of energy drinks is lost on me. It’s sudden impact on our society has both appalled and amazed me. It’s a phenomenon much like skateboarding or iPods: it lends itself to nothing but a huge collective of douche-for-brains people trying to be hip and cool.
You can tell energy drinks are full of bullshit simply by listing off all the “extreme” names that people give them. Names that have to be typed in all-caps, or they don’t have the same impact. In fact, “All-Caps!” And “Impact!” are probably drink names themselves. You recognize the names: MONSTER! AMP! ROCKSTAR! FULL THROTLE! What you don’t recognize, is the society-splitting repercussions of their very existence.
Allow me to explain. As I said before, a whole rectum-load of giant tools drink these beverages the most. And what do they do? Get energized. That’s right, now we have a whole fuck-all load of high-energy assholes. And what happens when assholes get out of control? You get shit EVERYWHERE!
These people do not need more energy. They’re always the ones that “woo!” shit.
“Dude, let’s go piss on that wall over there!”
“Hey, you wanna go light farts on fire?”
“I’m sorry to say, but you have leukemia…”
“WOOOOOOOOOO… wait… dude, that blows!”
As I stared at the can, I began to wonder why someone would buy an energy drink in the first place.
I don’t think anyone buys them for the taste, because they taste like garbage water with a hint of citrus. As far as I can tell, energy drinks come in three flavors: Professional Wrestler’s Swamp Ass. Six Week Old Bacon Grease. And Grape.
I’m pretty sure no one buys them for the energy content. Not when you can easily wake yourself up with things that are less horrible, such as stabbing yourself in the scrotum with a toothpick, or sticking your penis in a wolverine’s mouth.
So, that means one thing: people simply consume them because they’re there. You put anything in a “cool” looking can and talk about it’s “positive” effects, and someone will buy it and put it in their mouth crevice. If I bottled up my urine, slapped a picture of a bull goring someone in the face, and wrote “Bob’s urine causes your penis to grow six inches INSTANTLY!” that shit would be flying off the shelf.
I’d like to end this blog with my great idea for the day. In an effort to cash in on this energy drink fad, I’ve decided to go into the energy drink business myself. The Counter Culture Clown is going to become the Counter Culture Energizer. Not as catchy, but fuck it. I’d like to introduce you to my first product:
HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT DUDE
Special Soul-Molesting Bin
2 Gallons Of Straight-Up-Your-Ass Energy!
Why be full of energy for just one day when you could never sleep again!