Generic Energy Drink Corner: WILD STALLION

Note: Background changed to protect the creator, who is gainfully employed and likely not paid to discuss generic energy drinks on company time.


Well, it's been some time since I've partaken in the generic drink game, but I could not pass up the opportunity to charge myself up on some of this stuff. Wild Stallion? Come. On. Are they serious? Although I guess if you think about it, even if it was to mock the product...the name sold me.

But still...come on, people! Be creative! Wild Stallion and Crazy Horse and Bucking Bronco and Rabid Dog and all of the names of that ilk are just so damn contrived! How about something like Firebush! I'd drink the hell out of some firebush. I'd shotgun that ish, right here at my desk. I'd get it all over my shirt. And I wouldn't care, because I would have gotten so much damn energy out of that Firebush that I'll be awake later to do my laundry. GET ON THIS, ENERGY CZARS!

But this stuff? This Wild Stallion? Ok. I expected it to suck. I did NOT expect it to cost $2.59. Seriously, Wild Stallion? Are you just trying to sell a bunch of Wild Stallions for this kind of purpose, collect your winnings and shut it down? I looked closer and I guess not...I don't know who Imbibe is, but they have created a website for their electric horsesemen-themed energy drink. Trot faster dot com! I guess that people that sample the Stallion are just clamoring to get their hands on some merch or order some energy power or whatever the hell else you can do on there. And they had better be good at marketing because...well, because the "Electric Green" flavor tastes like it was created from storm runoff in Cambodia. It's freaking nasty.

The smell is not exactly unpleasant, but it does not create the impression that this drink is going to be good. So I had low hopes. And then I tasted it. It was like bubble gum and cock. Seriously, it's like the factory collects chewed-up Cotton Candy flavored Bubbalicious gum from underneath desks in Bolivia and then slaps it repeatedly with dicks to squeeze all of the juice out. Just slaps it with dick after dick until they've squeezed out enough juice to fill a can. Add the standard guarana, taurine and Cherokee pubes and you've got yourself a drink that tastes like it's being sucked out of a horse. Hey, Wild Stallion!

It also gave me the energy shakes. Poor energy distribution, Wild Stallion. All in all a terrible excuse for a potable beverage. Never again!

Apples v. orange mocha frappuchinos

Roger Maris! One big season. NOT IN THE HALL! So why does McGwire deserve it? This is just the question that a knowledgeable yet retarded baseball fan may be asking him- or herself at this point. For example, one such human is Peter Pascarelli (scroll down a bit). Says Pete:

I've not voted for McGwire and this latest chapter is unlikely to change my mind. It's not as if McGwire's admission, while admirable in its candor, comes as a surprise to anyone. My reluctance to vote for him exists on several levels. For one, the automatic admission of 500 home run hitters has been tainted by the whole PED culture. For another, even with his giant home run numbers, McGwire was an exceedingly one-dimensional player. Home runs were all he brought to the table -- he did not hit for average, he was not a great RBI producer, he had relatively few other extra-base hits besides the home run, he was average defensively, a poor runner, etc. He also had a string of very poor seasons that coincidentally ended with what have been known as his steroids seasons. Roger Maris is not in the Hall of Fame because his great seasons were too few in number. McGwire should not be in the Hall of Fame for largely the same, albeit bloated, reason.

Ok. Let me preface this all by saying that I'm a huge McGwire fan. Favorite player of all-time. Probably not even close. Among major sports, it's probably McGwire-Barry Sanders-Jaromir Jagr-Fuck Basketball. Maybe Shawn Kemp. Ha. For rilly. Regardless, McGwire is the man in the MLB for me, at least aside from Pittsburgh players (ANDY VAN SLYKE!). So take this with a 535-foot bomb of salt. Anyways, if you don't want to vote for Mac because he used steroids...that's perfectly acceptable. Hell, I myself am not quite sure how I'd go about it if I had a vote. But I'm not going to get into that, because that's all over the internet and is so largely a matter of personal beliefs and morals and all of that gay stuff that it doesn't justify mention on a blog like this, which is generally dedicated to talking about dicks rubbing together and pandas fucking fat chicks. Because I have no morals. Fuck you and the pedestal you stand upon. Which is probably made out of dicks.

But this belief that, ohhhhh, McGwire was so one-dimensional, oh my Godddd, he only hit home runs! That's all he did. All he brought to the table. He didn't hit for average! His base-running sucked! Well fuck, that's because he was usually jogging around the damn bases. Homeruns are probably the most important non-pitching positive stat for a team, and McGwire is arguably the best all-time at them. He his a homerun every 10.7 at-bats, NUMBER ONE ALL-FUCKING-TIME. That's insane. He hit more than 60 TWICE. His teams got a home-run from him every 2.5 games. That's insane! That creates an environment very conducive to winning. And his career OBP was .394. That means that he got on-base two out of every five at-bats. Who cares how he got on? Does a single count for more bases than a walk? In an average game, McGwire got on-base almost twice. That's good. Very good. Ozzie Smith was only good at defense. Nolan Ryan only struck people out. Why do they get in and McGwire doesn't? Would it have helped if he did backflips on his way to first base?

And CERTAINLY don't ever compare him to Maris while I'm around. Unless you just finished comparing apples to third-world economies and want to see if you can make an even more tortured comparison. That comparison is so tortured that I'm surprised it doesn't give up any actual info. John Yoo probably came up with it. Roger Maris had one HUGE year and then two other years above 30 homeruns. See for yo'self. 39 the year before the big record year, 33 after. That's it. Under 30 every other year. One homerun every 18.5 at-bats, or almost half the rate of McGwire. Two seasons of OPS+ over 150 (OPS+ takes the sum of a player's on-base percentage and slugging and adjusts them relative to the rest of the league in a given year...100 is considered average). And if you want to talk batting average...Maris had two years with a batting average above that of McGwire's CAREER average of .263. He never OBP-ed above McGwire's career average in any single season. That's it. One great record-setting year and two more great ones. Kind of great, at least. Maybe offense wasn't what it was now way back then, but the OPS+ tells a bit of a story.

Now, looking at McGwire. Mac led the league in homeruns four times to Maris' one. He hit over 50 homeruns four times. He had a career OPS+ of 162 and a high of 216. He may have been just a homerun hitter, but he was a fucking insanely awesome homerun hitter. Comparing his homerun-hitting career to that of Maris and saying that they are even somewhat analogous in pure lunacy. You have to be a lunatic to do so. Something has to be fucked up in your head to make that comparison. Maris did it for one year. McGwire did it for the better part of an entire career. Even when he was hurt and only getting 200 at-bats in a season, he was mashing. Mashing epically. Hitting balls harder than that chick got hit in Jersey Shore. He was a beast.

So say that McGwire shouldn't be in due to PEDs. But don't say that his numbers weren't good enough because he didn't steal enough bases or something gay like that. If it weren't for PEDs, he'd be in. Unquestionably. And don't ever ever ever ever ever say that voting McGwire into the Hall would be like voting for Roger fucking Maris, or I will find your address, befriend your family, and give you a cute little rabbit for Christmas. And then, after a few months that you've had that rabbit and love it and your kids love it and you've called it something cute like "Buttondrops", I will come to your house unannounced one afternoon around dinner time and I will invite myself in and I will choke Buttondrops to death right in front of your entire family. I will brutally end that rabbit's life while your kids cry and you look on in horror. And I was scream at you, "DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE? DO YOU STILL WANT TO COMPARE ROGER MARIS' CAREER NUMBERS TO MCGWIRE'S, IGNORING THE HUGE SHORT- AND LONG-TERM DISCREPANCIES IN FAVOR OF MCGWIRE? HUH? HUH? DON'T YOU EVER FUCK WITH RATIONAL THOUGHT AGAIN!".

Fuck Peter Pascarelli's rabbit.

Who wants to burn down a church?

If you don't, I suggest that you watch this video. Then maybe you will want to join me.

This is the kind of stuff that turns me against religion. Sure, I'll buy that religion does give some people a sense of peace or whatever with life and helps them feel good and all of that, but there is too much of this stuff. And the worst part of it isn't Pat Robertson...it's the fact that there are probably millions of people who listen and think, "ya know what, Pat's right! If Haiti's going to make a pact with the devil, of course God is going to send a devastating earthquake to clean that island up. What's that? The pact happened all the way back in 1825? Well, you know what, GOD'S GOT SHIT TO DO!". Better cut a check to Pat right now to cleanse Haiti from the devil residue!

Jeez, Pat. I know you are insane to the point where you've claimed that the Lord done hath given you the strength to leg-press 2,000 pounds. Well, that and your age-defying protein shake, which is probably some form of jizz latte. And I know you blamed Katrina on all the sin and abortions and the dicks touching together down in New Orleans. Weird, though...all of these dens of sin are located on coasts vulnerable to earthquakes and hurricanes. Maybe we should start a sinplex in International Falls, Minnesota and see what the Lord comes up with to run that one out of town. Maybe polar bears? Anyway, this one's got to take the cake. Blaming an earthquake leveling a dirt-poor country that kills an estimated 100,000 people on a voodoo priest from the early 19th century? Come on, man. Doesn't God have a statute of limitations on this stuff? The sneakiest part about it was the way God subtly placed a fault line under the country and kept it inactive until he really needed it. Although I guess all of the scientists that predicted such an event have some explaining to do...why were they crediting their obvious conversations with God to science? Probably just served to piss him off more.

The best part is the comparison to the "wealth" of the Dominican Republic, as if God had big plans for the entire island of Hispaniola until the voodoo priest went and fucked it all up. The differences in societies have nothing to do with the mountain range that separated them...I mean, come on! Those ancient civilizations couldn't just dig tunnels or something? Or just boat around them to see what's up with each other? The French and Spanish couldn't just get together on this one? Crazy. Pat also ignores that while the DR is in much better shape than Haiti, it's still poor as fuck. Just because it has some resorts doesn't change that fact that it's not a great place to live. In fact, the main reason that it looks so good is probably the fact that it's right next to Haiti. Haiti is the DR's fat friend. So the Dominican looks good enough comparatively for "US" to fuck it. We'll probably still end up with crabs.

So fuck you, Pat Robertson. You and the complacently-nodding light-skinned chick that you rode in on.

I wore Max Starks' condom once

I gots nothing else to talk about, so might as well get random.

Anyway, right before I moved to the Everglades, I was working as a valet at some Pittsburgh area night spots. But not your normal valet where some dude in a suit pulls up to some fancy little gay restaurant and has you park his Lincoln in a garage. No, we were working at a place where every car had rims and they all pulled up at the same damn time and we hustled to put them all in an alley. Without scuffing the rims. And, on Sundays at one of these places, many Steelers would typically pull up after home games (or afternoon road games against close division opponents). So that was always pretty interesting. Willie Parker owes me $20 and Joey Porter hates me. So does Casey Hampton, but he hates everybody. Big Snack was typically a Big Prick.

Joey Porter hates me because I broke into his car and stole $4,000 from one of his friends. Not that I actually did, of course. But try telling that to Joey Porter and his friends. During some nights in that area, people were breaking into cars and stealing the stereo systems out of them, as they were typically expensive after-market upgrades. And they did some numbers on them, too. Somebody broke into Ricardo Colclough's car and tore it apart so badly that it wouldn't even start. Had to tow it out of there. And they broke into Peezy's van as well. Yes, the Peezy Van. A white van that said PEEZY on it. I had never even heard him referred to as Peezy before this. I also lost the keys to his other car when I accidentally locked them in Casey Hampton's car and forgot about them. So Peezy was nonplussed when I told him that I lost his keys along with the fact that I allegedly broke into his van. Luckily I remembered where the keys to the Hummer were after a few minutes.

But really, Joey...why would I break into your van? I HAD THE KEYS! I could have opened the door, taken money out of your Hawaiian friend's wallet and left. Do you think that in between parking your whips I also destroyed Ricardo Colclough's car? And your friend couldn't fly back to Hawaii the next day because I stole his whole wallet. Why would I do that if I had time to plan this all out? I don't even want this dude's wallet. And if I had it, yinz could have just had me arrested right there on the spot. I guess I could have pretended to break in to make it look like I had done it, but it would have been pretty damn hard to do all of this while parking your cars. Anyway, Joey Porter thinks I broke into his car. So does Casey Hampton. The next week they pulled up and said "now nobody better break into the cars this week...we know you did it". Then why come back? That would be like Roethlisberger going back to his hoe in Vegas and saying, "hey, I know you accused me of rape last time and the case is still pending...but can we do it off the record this time?". Anyway, they aren't as intimidating in person as you would think. When Casey Hampton flipped out because a bar employee tried to have him move an hour after the bars closed so that he could sweep around his seat, Snack got all pissed that he was being disrespected and talked about how much money he brought into the place. Came off as more of a 'bag than a badass.

Regardless, Snack was the only one who really did that. The rest of the Steelers are really cool dudes. Charlie Batch and Mike Logan used to hook me up on the reg with tips; they were the only ones to do so. But with the money we charged to park I didn't really expect any tips. I was paid well just for being there. One of the coolest, most down to Earth Steelers was none other than Max Starks (along with Kemo and Najeh Davenport). Max was the man. So we hooked Max up when we could. After his injury in the 2006 season, he stopped by real quick once. Just for about 20 mins. So we pulled his car right up to the corner and didn't charge him. However, as I got out of the car, a wrapped condom fell out onto the sidewalk. A Magnum, of course. And I had never even tried using one of them. So I put it in my pocket for later. Max also handed me $10 on his way out. Thanks, Max!

It took a few weeks since I wasn't a player back then, but of course I got a chick to do me before I left for Florida. I still had Max Starks' Magnum handy and decided to try it out and, well, see if it fit. Lo and behold, they are pretty much the same size as regular condoms...maaaayyyybe a bit wider, so if anything they are easier to put on. No hassles with the Mag. They'll pretty much fit anybody, though, which leads me to believe that most people who use them just do so for the status and to make themselves feel better. Regardless, I tried it, it worked, and I gave the business to a young lady with Max Starks' condom.

Thanks again, Max!