Sep 2010 23

by SnakePlissken

Growing up as a forced Catholic really fucking sucked. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m going to make a butt-fucking joke right? Nope. I was going to make a “getting up early on a Sunday” joke. It’s really the only thing worse than forced sodomy. But what those early Sundays were great for was shit booze. A little hit of something cheap and sweet when you’re half-awake really goes well with a slice o’ Christ. To this day I still don’t mind hitting the sauce a little early on the Day of Rest. Today I choose something cheap and purple. A little something called Four Loko Uva.

According to the webshite, Four Loko Uva (a.k.a. headache in a can), is named after a Brazilian berry of the same name. I’m guessing the berry doesn’t also contain taurine, guarana, caffeine, and 12 % ABV though. Yep, this shit has all that peppy stuff blended right in, not only making the drinker asshole-loud, but not able to pass out. Great.

The Pour

That’s damn purple stuff. If it weren’t so highly carbonated I might be convinced it came out of Grimace. How much more purple could this be? And the answer is none. None more purple. It truly looks just like a glass of good ole’ store brand purple drink, from the fizzy slight head to the syrupy consistency. If I was a teenage I’d put it in a soda bottle to sneak into the school box socials, or whatever the fuck it is that kids do today.

The Aroma

When I was little, mom used to make me take a goddamn chewable vitamin every night before bed. Usually it was a cheap-o store brand that tasted like fruit-dipped asshole, but sometimes it was a Flintstones chewable. They tasted slightly less like fruit-dipped asshole, so it was a real treat. The red was the best, the purple was the worst. And when I took a whiff of Four Loko Uva I smelled Flintstones grape-dipped asshole. Shit. Behind that is the distinct twang of cheap alcohol. Slightly like the kind best reserved for cuts and bruises. Betty Ford would turn this down.

The Flavor

I hate when products call their flavor grape, or in this case compare it to grape, and it never tastes like grape. It always just tastes like purple. A weird saccharine sweet version of the fruit is what this product presents, with a noticeable aftertaste that lets you know it’s an energy drink. And the alcohol? Oh it’s there, starting a little campfire in your belly. Maybe making some s’mores. Settling in with its friends until it’s time to get tossed out like a hobo caught in a freight yard by a railroad dick. Not quite Robitussin, but not far off.

The Verdict

The devil isn’t red, he’s purple and fits in a can. This is the stuff you’d probably see shirtless guys at ICP concerts drink all day. You know the ones, they usually end up head butting a security guard or falling off of a stack of speakers. Seriously, my gut felt rough the next day after this one, so I recommend caution. It’ll hurt ya.


SnakePlissken wasn’t sure if butt-fucking was one word or simply hyphenated.



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