There was a time when I, your humble reviewer, was big into exercise (those days have long since passed). “Redline” was one of those insane workout-boosting liquids you’d take by the teaspoon—one was really all it took to turn me into some kind of teeth-gnashing monstrosity with unnatural blood vessels showin’ all over the place. After the effects had worn off I was left a shaking and disoriented husk, wracked with chills and sore for days. I swore off the substance forever.
And yet, here we are.
I’m gonna be honest with you all: I’m scared of this drink. If we’re talking about the all the same chemicals here, it’s going to be like Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk to do his day job. I assume I’ll go through several keyboards, and possibly try to eat my mouse. Will I feel a need to bench press my co-workers? If my iMac throws an error message, will I have the cognitive capacity to understand that it is not a personal threat against me and/or my kin? Time will tell. I’m sippin’ on this stuff in real-time, so expect this to start reading a lot like the end of Flowers for Algernon.
First and foremost, it actually tastes pretty okay. I went with the Triple Berry flavor, and it’s alright. Big time medicinal aftertaste, which is to be expected from a drink packed with ingredients like “N-acetyl-K-tyrosine.” It tastes a lot like one of those 5 Hour Energy shots, which is unsettling—if I’m staring down the barrel of an 8oz bottle of that stuff, I should probably start writing up what personal possessions I’m leaving to whom right here and now.
It’s full of vasodilators, some kind of nootropic, and some chemical compound that’s been proven to stop fat uptake in mice. It’s two servings to a bottle at 125mg of caffeine per, warnings of which are plastered all over the label. In fact, in general, there are warnings plastered all over the label. It has drug interactions, and there’s a whole list of conditions wherein you should consult a “licensed qualified health care professional” before drinking it. I… I’m not sure anyone should drink this?
The kick is brutal. This is not a daily drink. This is probably not an “ever” drink. You don’t need to be this vasodilated or “ripped” or whatever just to ride the train and read a book. I mean, if you do, it’s cool—you have my blessing. Please don’t hit me.
Plus side of these jitters? Gigantic muscles. No working out required; I’m just getting huge over here. Biceps as far as the eyes can see.
The Cadillac of energy drinks. The Cristal of the nerd-set. The very bottle speaks of class and distinction. Also: the name is hilarious, and it’s all I can do to keep this post from degenerating into a list of debatably clever double-entendres.
When Bawls hits your tongue When you taste the Bawls Bawls has a very light, naturally sweet flavor that’s meant to be savored at one’s leisure. It’s not an oh-god-half-an-hour-to-finish-this-website kind of drink that you smash back for a quick chemical rush, because it’s just too good for that. You would be hard-pressed to find a finer way to stay at your baseline.
This is the kind of thing a caffeine junky would sip on while sittin’ in a bigass leather chair. You crack open a bottle with deep reverence, breath deep of the icy plume of condensation that results. Maybe you’re wearing a red velour robe, maybe you have a pipe—I don’t know how you roll, but I assume that’s pretty close to it.
There was a time when it had to be ordered online (Thinkgeek), which only added to its air of of exclusivity. Now it’s starting to pop up in retail stores, which is cool. 7-11 has it pretty consistently, which is unsurprising considering their dedication to the luxurious and refined. Go and find yourself some; you’ll thank me later.
Maybe you’ve heard of this one. The quintessential modern energy drink. The sweet nectar that paved the way for a thousand imitations. I mean, what’s to say? If you’re reading this, you’ve had Red Bull. It’s just sweet enough, it’s just tart enough, and it calms the shakes.
Weighing in at only 90 or so milligrams of caffeine for the smallest size can, it takes several to buoy me through my average day. Your mileage may vary; I may just have a problem.
Don’t get me wrong, either: it’s still got about as much caffeine kick as a cup of coffee. Keep a few handy, and they’ll see you through the long-haul—this drink is designed for a long-term buzz, not a sprint. On those sleepless nights when I am become a dead-eyed engine of web design, it’s Red Bull pulling the strings of this horrible, lurching marionette. Also, it tastes good.
My final verdict? If they made Red Bull scented cologne, I’d wear it.
Holy hell, it’s Jolt. This is a beverage for a more innocent age—a time when caffeine intoxication was new and exciting, and Jolt was reserved mostly for kids who’d watched Hackers a handful of times and had at least one copy of The Anarchist’s Cookbook on a floppy. I’m just saying, I knew one of those kids. Let’s call him “a friend.”
In my youth, Jolt was the thing to drink when I was staying up all night building complicated games in Hypercard on my Mac Classic II—so now that I’ve matured to staying up all night building complicated websites in TextMate on my iMac, you can see where I’m pretty psyched to see my old buddy Jolt.
I gotta say, too: I get a kick out of the can looking like a big battery. It’s like a dorky old-man-joke that wouldn’t be half as entertaining if it weren’t coming from some cool old guy.
It tastes a-okay by me. Plain ol’ orange soda flavor, with a hint of that weird and undefinable Jolt aftertaste. It’s still one of the industry leaders for caffeine content. When you’re the OG of the caffeine game, you got to come real with the milligrams. Feel me?
I’m just gonna throw this right out there: not delicious. No part of this drink is appealing to me. I don’t like the taste, I don’t like the can, and I sorta resent the store clerk who sold it to me. Even the name “No Fear” is awful—it speaks to me of tribal shoulder tattoos and black, wolf-centric t-shirts.
For the record, too, I wouldn’t be adverse to giving a quick open-hand slap to whomever designed the label. There are seven different fonts on the front of the can. That’s right, seven typefaces were harmed in the making of this can.
It’s kind of got a raw sugary taste, in what seems to be a half-assed attempt at covering up a sickly medicinal vibe. And I mean, hey, maybe it’s got a nice little kick to it! Maybe drinking it will be me into some kind of crazy transcendental caffeine-zone. Hell, maybe drinking one full can will instill in the drinker the ability to fly and shoot lasers our of their eyes. Unfortunately, this is something I will never know, as the can I bought just sat on my desk being offensive to each one of my senses for the duration of the work day.
I had a Red Bull.
If you’re like me, seeing punch-flavored anything calls to mind the bright red, non-specific “fruit” punch that was all the rage throughout my childhood. The stuff that came in big nondescript glass jugs, with an ingredient list that read something like:
High fructose corn syrup, water, red
Imagine my delight when I discovered that Rockstar chose not to deviate from that tried and true mid-80’s formula! Instantly I was whisked back to a time when I was forming strong opinions about the place of Super Mario Bros. 2 within the scope of series.
It’s the kind of sickly-sweet that you’re thinking of, which isn’t intolerable. If you put a couple of heaping scoops of Starburst in a blender and added some seltzer, that’s basically what we’re talkin’ about here. It deviates from the standard Rockstar formula that more tartness equals more X-TREME™, which, y’know, that’s fine by me.
Buzz-wise, it didn’t seem to have a whole hell of a lot of kick to it. It’s not gonna be anyone’s go-to drink when you’re looking for the big time palpitations, but it just might do the job if you’re looking to pop in a VHS and get radical with some Ninja Turtles cartoons.
Overall, I’d rate it as a solid, uh, “pretty okay.”
…Listen, I’m new at this, alright?
Let me start out by saying this: There is something deeply unsettling about the site of a tall, foaming glass of Brawndo. Some centuries-old genetic imperative gnaws at the back of your mind, seeking to steer you away from a substance that was obviously never meant to be ingested.
That being said, Brawndo is goddamned delicious.
I am not ashamed to say that I was scared of it. It genuinely looks like it belongs tucked under the kitchen sink. Somehow, despite being neon green, it stains everything it touches highlighter-yellow. In a bizarre accident that miraculously resulted in zero (0) superpowers, I can verify with certainty that this includes human skin and living room curtains.
None the less, Brawndo is good. It has a very pleasing lime taste. Not too sweet, no funky aftertaste. It’s every bit as drinkable as Gatorade, but has less of a sugar-water thing goin’ on, and leaves you with a solid caffeine buzz. Officially—and this is on the record, now—it has become my morning beverage of choice.
My rating for Brawndo is: “Holding down the safety on a nail gun and shooting nails at stuff.” It’s something no one should ever do and probably every bit as dangerous as it seems, but, man, doing that is awesome.