February 27, 2013
And I can't help but do a smirk 'n' jerk every time he guzzles a 5-Hour energy shot like it's some magical elixir that will imbibe him with the stamina of horny bull. He looks so cheesy holding the little plastic bottle to his lips that I wanna knock it out of his hands mid-gulp.
It's always a bummer when I see the 24-pack of Red Bulls taking up an entire tray in his fridge. It depresses me to imagine him buying it at Costco and lugging it home. The plastic casing is ripped away on one side, like a wolverine attacked it for his energy fix too. This entire half-empty case needs to get the fuck out of my face.
Why does he even need this massive influx of caffeine? He’s not trying to restore Jurassic Park’s electrical grid during a hurricane; he’s just driving to work to sit at his desk and sneak glances of his Twitterfeed on his phone when his boss isn’t looking. NOT THE SAME, DUDE.
Why don't we put these scrotum-shrinkers down and pop a handful of blueberries, a pack of almonds, and take a power nap like a normal, healthy person.