Pictured at the right is a family portrait that’s sure to both warm and accelerate the cockles of one’s heart to equally uncomfortable levels. Look’it the widdle guy! So young, so naive, so full of chemicals. I think we can all remember those days.

This thing has been a long time coming, and I like to think that I managed to keep some very realistic expectations of it. “It will taste kind of like Red Bull,” “it will be comparable in strength to the leading energy shot, ol’ 5-Hour,” “I will never be burdened by sleep ever again.” I was 1/3rd correct: it does taste kinda like a concentrated Red Bull, though not as harsh as you might be thinking. Imagine if someone mixed up a double-dose batch of Red Bull flavored Kool-Aid, and that’s basically what we’re talking about here. It’s actually very pleasant—I don’t think I’m doing it justice. If you’re inclined towards Red Bull, I’m confident you’ll enjoy it.

That said: Under 100 milligrams of caffeine, in an energy shot? My initial reaction was that this long-awaited sauce was weak, and I did despair. But perhaps the issue lies not with the Red Bull Shot, but truly, within myself? Let us think on this:

Chemically, this thing weighs in around the same area as a small can of Red Bull. It’s not like you’re slugging back a Sixteen Hour Anyurism (patent pending) in the morning and you’re wired for the entire day. Picture this, instead: say, you drink two or three cans of Red Bull to get through your average day—let’s assume for a moment that you have a caffeine problem, as I have heard some people on the internet do. Now, these little guys take the place of one or more of said cans! Variety is the spice of life, they say. They’re convenient, they’re delicious, and they keep you at a very pleasant caffeine baseline.

As an added bonus: Very stashable. You never know when you’ll find yourself deep in the throes of the caffeine DTs, without a convenience store in sight. In that respect, it’s like a little portable epinephrine shot for those of us deathly allergic to decaf.

“Relax Drank.” I don’t even know where to begin.

This stuff is the antithesis of this entire website. This is not an energy drink. This is a relaxation drink, which couldn’t possibly be further from how I roll. If I don’t have my heart rate up somewhere it shouldn’t be and my neurons aren’t throwing off sparks like an arc welder, I might as well be asleep.

Never the less, I drank it. I did. I hated the idea, but for you guys—my loyal four-or-so readers—I drank it.

It’s got 1mg of melatonin in it. Melatonin. You get this stuff in sleeping pills, I think somewhere in the ballpark of 3mg. I’m not 100% as to whether or not melatonin crosses the blood-brain barrier when taken orally, but that is science for another day. It’s got some other wacky stuff like rose hips (which are just lousy with vitamin C, for what that’s worth), and valerian root. Theoretically, yeah, these are pretty well established relaxation/sleepiness chemicals. This has all the potential to be a big can of kryptonite.

It was actually very tasty, like a light grape soda. If this were an energy drink that tasted this good, I’d have a new #1 favorite.

Did it work? Actually, yes. I became “chilled,” yeah—even a little drowsy. Granted, it’s very possible this was just a placebo effect, but from where I’m sitting, yeah, it worked. Give it a try for yourself; for science. Let me know.

In yet another installment of Wilto’s Design Corner: This can is hilarious. I don’t know if this bizarre branding was intentionally ridiculous, but it’s amazing. “Relax Drank: Extreme Relaxation Beverage. Slow your roll.™” I picture a DJ dozing off while doing skateboard tricks. I have no idea who they’re trying to market this thing towards, but I think maybe it’s me.

I feel like this had a lot of potential. If this were some kind of Jolt/Red Bull hybrid, I can see where that’d be good, y’know? At least tolerable. But, no. This is just awful, because I guess they figured no one would go for it without the “all natural” gimmick.

Look, I get what they were going for, here. “All Natural” is a big thing right now, right alongside all this “hurf hurf sustainable green durf.” Some guy in the initial Red Bull Cola meeting probably threw out “all natural ingredients” alongside “biodegradable cardboard cans” and “fairly traded free-range octopus ink labels,” and he most likely got a raise for it. There’s a lot of money in convincing people that they can refute the second law of thermodynamics, and good on ‘em.

You wanna market a car made entirely out of wicker, that’s cool, knock yourself out—but it’s not gonna sell energy drinks. We’re not your target demographic—we’re in it for the unnatural ingredients. Every day we pump can after can full of chemicals of questionable nature and origin into our respective bloodstreams, in search of an energy boost above how our all-natural bodies normally work.

We’d also like to get said boost from something that tastes at least halfway decent, which–and I can’t stress this enough–Red Bull Cola does not.

Now, I don’t want you guys thinking I’m one-note here: I don’t sit around cracking open shot after shot of heinous chemicals at all times. Sometimes, a man just has thirst to quench. I’ve had my fair share of soft drinks, and a wholly unfair share of some. Mountain Dew? Man. Code Red in particular—my God, it bordered on obsession. Case after case. Two cans with breakfast. I still slip up every now and then.

Before that? The good Dr. Pepper. Prior to that: root beer. I’m not saying I’m some kind of connoisseur or anything, but I have been known to swish an A&W.

In root beer terms? This stuff is pretty good. No crazy flavors happening on account of the energy drink aspect. It’s no Barqs, which I find is generally the best root beer bang for your slightly-more-than-a-buck. It’s a purely caffeine/guarana kind of thing—like regular Bawls before it—so it’s not exactly a huge kick in the face when it hits you. Still, pretty solid buzz. A sippin’ drink.

The only thing that’s throwing me off on this one is the outright embarrassing name.

Look, I’m a nerdy kid. And no, not in the “hipster kid who wears $50 faux-aged Nintendo t-shirts and a calculator watch” kind of way. I’m talking about legit nerdliness—Zelda tattoo nerdliness. Walking around with a bottle that has some of the letters swapped for numbers? Not helping my case. It’s like wearing a placard that says “ASK ME ABOUT MY WARCRAFT GUILD.”

I have to give it to Bally’s—the gym people—for figuring out a way to pack so much concentrated awful into such a tiny bottle. I hate them for it.

I wasn’t prepared for this. I’m thinking, “hey, it’s a shot! You hardly taste these things; it can only be so bad!” This was not a matter of my personal preferences, or a funky chemical flavor, or a weird aftertaste—this was a bizarre and putrid, distinctly organic mixture. It tastes like it’s gone bad, seemingly by design.

I have two theories on how this stuff is made. Join me as I hypothesize, won’t you?

1) A elderly witch doctor toils deep in the black heart of Bally’s Total Fitness headquarters, torn from his home and forced into an uncaring world that he can never hope to understand. Under penalty of death he’s forced to brew batch after batch of a what was once a sacred recipe, prepared in tribute to an ancient fertility god and consumed by the newlyweds in his tribe, that they might produce strong, healthy offspring. He goes through dozens of spoons per day, as each time he stirs his simmering cauldron he draws back a shriveled and charred handle (y’know, like in old Bugs Bunny cartoons). He weeps nightly. No one hears his cries.

2) Some guy scoops this stuff out of a clogged storm drain.

But for all the disgusting taste, how does it work? Poorly. I was half-expecting rocket fuel here—if it tastes this bad, part of me expects that it would work great. But, no. No kick, no buzz, no appeal whatsoever. Two thumbs down.

I’d just finished up at the checkout of a local Walgreens when I spied a stack of boxes, full of black, unmistakably energy-drink-shaped cans. Imagine my shock when, upon closer inspection, I was met with the sight of one Kevin Youkilis’ majestic beard. Turns out, the beloved first baseman of the Boston Red Sox had put out his own for-charity energy drink. I darted back into line and held the can at the clerk with child-like excitement.

“A Youk energy drink!”
“Yeah,” the teenage cashier muttered, with genuine disinterest. “No one buys these.”
“I assume most people can’t deal with the side-effects.”
She glanced up at me for a moment, stone-faced.
“Instant beard,” I clarified.

Now, here I am expecting a big can of pseudo Red Bull, as is so often the case with these fly-by-night drinks. No, it turns out: highly carbonated, with a light, almost Bawls-esque flavor. It was, at first taste, excellent. Not only would it undoubtedly make me good at baseball, but it was delicious! Or so I initially thought.

Then, slowly, a grey wave of mediocrity washed over me—a terrible and familiar aftertaste. I confirmed my suspicions with a reluctant, flinching glance at the can’s finer print: “0 carbs.” this was a diet energy drink. I persevered, I kept the faith, I even cowboy’d up for a fleeting moment—but, in the end, I couldn’t get past that pervasive diet-anything flavor.

If you’re into the diet thing and you can find it, you may well enjoy this drink. As for me, well… Youk, don’t blame me if I ever doubt [your beverages]; you know we couldn’t live without you.

Answering the doorbell, I was greeted by an outstretched arm bearing, with no small degree of effort, a 32oz. can of Monster Heavy Metal.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I know, dude, that’s why I got it. You gotta write about this.”
“Man, I can’t drink this; I’ll die. I don’t think I could drink all this if it were water.”

Moderately daunted, I pulled the tab this morning.

My first observation is that you will look like a goddamned cartoon character, hoisting this ridiculous thing with one comparatively tiny hand. Taste-wise, not at all what I was expecting—nothing like standard Monster, not a Red Bull clone. It actually tasted pretty natural, like some vaguely chemically, watered-down juice blend. I assume this is because finishing a can of Monster this size would be a twisted endurance contest—but then again, I’m not a big fan of it to start with. It was alright.

I managed about half of this beast before I lost interest, and I’m not adverse to it. The buzz was about what you’d get from drinking an equal amount of any of the big-name drinks; nothing special there.

My question is: who needs this? Who walks into their neighborhood 7-11 and says to themselves “I could really go for like eight servings of an energy drink this morning?” Moreover, who comes casually strolling into their office or onto a job site with a can that could honestly do with a handle or wheels, as though it’s perfectly natural?

So basically, it’s an okay thing to drink, as a substance. If you need this much, maybe it’s time to take a step back and consider some substance abuse counseling? Or take a couple No-Doz, I mean, I’m not gonna judge. At least then you won’t sound like a water balloon every time you move.

This has secured the number one spot, for all my kidney-wrecking energy drink experimentation. This stuff? Awesome.

That’d be my sendoff line, if I found myself in a mid-nineties commercial for Jolt Endurance Shot. I’d end this review with a smile and a big thumbs up to the camera. Maybe a wink? Freeze the frame and fade to black, as I have said all that need be said.

Thing is, I’m not especially into niacin. I dunno if it’s just me, but I don’t think expanding my blood vessels just for the sake of doing so leaves me more energetic than I otherwise would be. I’m guessing a lot of companies throw it into their energy shots for the sake of producing a palpable “rush.” I’m pretty sure that my body has for the whole blood-moving thing on lock, no augmentation needed.

These Jolt shots are sans-niacin, which is rare. Just a bunch of caffeine and some other nondescript chemicals that I didn’t care enough to pull up on Wikipedia. Whatever they are, they work great, and that’s enough for me. Real smooth buzz that lasts you for a solid portion of the day—no crash, no shakes.

I ended up with the grape flavor, which tastes like “grape flavor.” Grape drink, cough syrup—all the same stuff. I don’t particularly mind it. It’s like taking a swig of strong Kool-Aid™.

The packaging is pretty decent too, especially compared to some of the other energy shots out there. I’m looking at you, 6 Hour Power.

The packaging looks like a nitrous tank. That’s the main idea here, for those of you fortunate enough to never have been caught up in the marginally fast and relatively furious world of aluminum spoilers and fake blow-off valves for naturally aspirated Honda Civics. Long ago did I cast my gaze upon this dark terrain from the seat of my Mitsubishi Eclipse, and yea, I did despair.

So, it’s surprisingly fruit-juice-tasting. I was expecting a Monster-esque kinda deal or power steering fluid or something, but no, actually fairly pleasant. It tastes like someone took one of those arguably make-believe Vitamin Water flavors like “starfruit” or “passionberry” or whatever, boiled it down for a while, and added a little carbonation. It does look like antifreeze, though. Just sayin’.

The caffeine level is absurdly high on this one, which caught me off-guard—somethin’ to the tune of 300+ milligrams per 22 ounce bottle. That’s like drinking four consecutive Red Bulls. That is a solid hit of the old anhydrous no matter how you look at it, and I am in favor of that.

I give this one a thumbs-up if you’re looking to kickstart your nervous system in a big way. Now, go back and read this post again in the voice of Vin Diesel, if you weren’t already.

I forget what it was that inspired me to purchase this–my first energy shot–on that fateful day. I was down with the caffeine and all, sure, but all those crazy vitamins? Drinking 8333% of your recommended daily allowance of anything, I assumed, was probably enough of it to kill you. That’s one hundred and sixty oranges worth of vitamin C, or forty gallons of water. And yeah, lots of people use it, okay. Some people also do meth, and I wasn’t planning on slugging any of that down during my commute either.

Even now, after dozens of these little bastards, I still eye them with reservation. Like the plot of so many buddy cop movies, I don’t trust it and it doesn’t like my liver, but we’re just gonna have to put aside our differences for the time being and work together—because, by God, these syrupy little potions work.

This is likely as close as one can get to a video-game-style power-up, at least within the context of things found at a convenience store checkout. Not but a few scant moments after finishing it off, it hits you: a literal rush of energy, that continues on for the handful of hours advertised. You’re not super jittery, but you’re energetic. You’re motivated. You’re focused. You’re ready to take on the world. Sometimes, as an added bonus, you’re red?

Yeah, you can turn red from all the niacin in this stuff. When a drink is messing with my own personal hue/saturation, I can’t help but assume something biochemically unsettling is goin’ down. But turning an Irishman red is really no large accomplishment, and it’s a small price to pay for such effectiveness.

It’s a shot and all, so taste doesn’t enter into the equation in a big way, but they’re actually pretty good. I haven’t found a flavor that I dislike.

All in all, 5-Hour Energy has earned my seal of approval. Go get yourself one and try it. It’s an experience.