Friday, October 14, 2011


A Short, Yet Reasonable Guide to Extreme, Extreme Sports Drinks and "Power" Beverages


Zé do Caixão for Instinto

Instinto is a very simple and serviceable power drink with a very clear and univocal ideology: survival. The central graphic on the bottle of a hand clawing out of rubble expresses this. This, and its motto in all caps: WHY DID YOU LET ME LIVE, GOD? BIG MISTAKE. The taste of Instinto is not unlike human urine, only with the distinct iron tang of blood and a significant hint of renal failure. It has a significantly ashy, metallic, post-apocalyptic taste to it, as though one were indeed drinking it out of a rusted hubcap and spiking it with acid from a cracked battery in a monochrome sea of ash while killer drones fly overhead, as depicted in the commercial spots. Users of Instinto typically somehow manage to incorporate knives into most of their workouts, and sometimes fire.

Instinto enjoys a significant and uncomfortably devoted fan base among all-too active and still-at-large people. This may have to do with the combination of a number of features that give Instinto cross appeal: its discounted bulk pricing; its additional use as a saline wound wash and the forward looking design of its bottle which is specifically designed for significant NBC shielding and easy decontamination and allows the bottle to be easily mounted on a pack animal or wielded as a hand weapon.

Users of Instinto tend to be lean, extremely aggressive types. They tend not to wipe down their equipment: indeed, spitting may be a problem. Cutting in line and pilfering are typical of Instinto users, as is the adept use of the towel as a close quarters weapon. If you don’t drink Instinto, it is worth noting that the people who do are inevitably the ones you have to watch out for; should any dangerous event or crisis present itself in the gym, or even if the lights flicker slightly or the a/c blows a little warm, the Instinto users will be way ahead of you, on the other side of the fire door, blocking it with a chair. Instinto users know this. As a rule, they workout and travel alone, so if you ever see more than one of them at time, get the hell out the gym as fast as you can.

Never sleep with an Instinto drinker. The first time they have either charmed or forced their way into your place, you can be pretty sure that sometime during sex they have made a complete set of impressions of all of your keys on the lump of plastic modeling clay they keep in their gym bag. Also, don’t look in the gym bag.


Because of its commercial spots Fthagn! is sometimes mistaken for a cologne or mildew remover. In application it is generally considered too caustic for either purpose.

Surprisingly bitter for an exercise or power drink, yet comparatively sweet for an absinthe and achewood mixer and disturbingly opaque for a “mineral” water, Fthagn! comes in a slender serpentine glass bottle that is typically seen listlessly and precariously dangling from the long and intelligent figures of men in big shirts or women in flowing workout outfits with Empire or Neoclassical lines. The latter can often be seen on the treadmills on the “sleepwalk” setting carrying flowers to some unknown destination that they never reach.

The workout of your typical Fthagn! drinker tends to be long, drawn out and dolorous, with occasional swooning and bits of poetry. Fthagn! drinkers carefully wipe down their exercise equipment before and after, each time with the attentiveness of burying a loved one. Their perspiration tends to smell faintly of lavender, which is part of the appeal of the beverage.

However languid the workout of your average Fthagn! drinker seems to be, this does not necessarily make for poor practice, as their workout inevitably goes on an inhumanly long time, until they are drenched in a cold, dewy sweat that drips off their long raven locks into their maniacally bright eyes, long after most good Christian people have said their prayers and are safely in bed. Cardio workouts seem meaningless to Fthagn! drinkers as none of them seem to breathe while exercising (though they may sigh) or have a detectible pulse.

Note that if you spot a Fthagn! drinker in the shower, it is not necessary to wake them. It is usually sufficient to turn off the water, if the hot water has run out, and wrap them in the heavy sable riding cloak that hangs next to amber soap and shampoo they invariably carry*.

*The shampoo is Johnson’s Baby Shampoo. For a larf, quote the slogan on the bottle to a Fthagn! drinker: “No More Tears.” Invariably, they will begin laughing with dreadful irony, “No More Tears! -Ha! Ha!” However, note that their laughter will go on longer than comfortable for most people and may end with coughing, or worse, a looked of fixed intensity that should not be received full on.


As of this writing, Werewolf is banned in most gyms and public places. Most of the adverse effects and behavior that have come to be associated with it are generally attributed to its high tequila and PCP content, though the company maintains that its primary ingredient is “pure rage.” Drinking Werewolf has been accurately described as “an Incredible Hulk-like experience” though it should be noted that Dr. Bruce Banner is never actually portrayed as unashamedly soiling himself when he becomes the Hulk.

Werewolf drinkers inevitably make the same discovery at the gym: that everything at the gym is either very heavy, durable and hard to break, like free weights and exercise machines, or is light, fragile and easy to break, like big mirrors and other people’s ipods and small facial bones. They also inevitably come to the conclusion that they themselves are more like the former than the latter, indeed are some sort of anvil against which all things must be forged or broken: a serious decline in overall peace and security, property values, standards of living, and availability of electricity, communications and potable water inevitably follows. Retail of Werewolf is extremely unpopular with local law enforcement, whom are highly averse to protracted foot chases, broken handcuffs and human bites.

Werewolf has a very pleasant herbal taste, not unlike Jagermeister or going down on a Wiccan. I highly endorse Werewolf as my extreme sports drink of choice. If it is not available in your community, similar effects can be obtained by mixing Night Train, Redbull, Gatorade, Smoking Dog, ether and Butazamine.

I hope you are all happy now.


KFP said...

i'm stuck in chicago for the night. come hang out at the airport! the bars here are AMAZING.

grigorss said...

The only way I could be happier is if you also wrote stories about Batman...

grigorss said...

The only way I could be happier is if you also wrote stories about Batman...

Van Choojitarom said...

You mean like where Batman beats up his mom?

Van Choojitarom said...

Yes, they are. Sorry.

grigorss said...

Sure, why not? And after that, all the rest of his family (what's left of it...).
Batman embodies what every modern man aspires to: someone who has managed to transform his everyday, mundane, ineffectual neuroses into devastatingly effective, self-empowering psychoses!!!