15. “BooKoo”

It’s hard to say anything against BooKoo since the drink is so damndedly tasty, but we’ll come right out and say it: their name is terrible.

For those who aren’t Francophones, BooKoo is a bastardization of the French word for big, beaucoup; however, instead of making us think “big” we think “clowns,” and clowns are spooky.

Iiiiiiiiiit's BooKoo the clown!

14. “Blow”

Despite being a clear rip-off of the much more popular and controversial energy drink Cocaine, Blow also lends itself to some all too obvious jokes we’re far too classy to print.

We will; however, give Blow extra points for actually being sold as a vial full of white powder which you mix with water. That’s pretty cool.

13. “Go Fast”

There’s not much that can be said about Go Fast, other than “well, yeah.” You’re supposed to make us go fast Go Fast, that’s why you’re an energy drink.

Go Fast is like a box of crackers called Put Cheese Upon or a WatchMe brand television set. Screw you Go Fast. Screw you for being so ludicrously obvious.

12. “Kaboom!”

We know it’s en vogue to imply your energy drink will give its consumers near-fatal doses of energy, but this just makes us feel like the product is initially defective.

The name makes us fear that it is produced by ACME, and when we attempt to drink it to get that quick burst of energy necessary to catch the roadrunner some faulty wiring causes the entire thing to explode. It could happen.

11. “Invigor8″

Do you see what they did there? It’s really very clever, you see, the number 8 sounds like the phonetic sound “ate,” they’re homophones you see, and, get this, it’s marketed by V8, so the 8 is actually part of their name, and…wait, did we say clever? We meant irritating, very irritating.

10. “Mozart”

Alright, we can admire what they were trying to do here. We all know the energy drink market is saturated with names like THUNDERBLAST, AMP, MANJUICE, and TESTOSTERZONE, so we’re fairly sure Mozart brand energy drink was trying to stand out as a “classy” drink, but really…Mozart?

Is their marketing slogan For that speedy pick-up thou need whilst penning Con Fan Tutti?

9. “Kabbalah”

Contains surprisingly little actual power.

The moment you see the word Kabbalah, you know you’ve heard it somewhere, it lies someplace in the back of your mind and you simply can’t put a finger on it. We’ll help you out a bit:

Madonna.

Yes, that Kabbalah, the wacky ass Jewish religion that Madonna, Demi Moore and Paris Hilton support.

And yes, this is indeed an energy drink marketed by the Kabbalah religion. Reportedly it is strawberry flavored and made with water blessed by a rabbi. Furthermore, the energy drink has regular Jews mad at the Kabbalah Jews for “selling out.”

Sadly, we did not make a word of that up.

8. “Deep Throat”

Hey kids, now you too can pretend you’re Linda Lovelace with Deep Throat brand energy drinks. Finally, you can perform gratuitous sex acts for money in front of a camera well into the night without fear of fatigue.

Just thank your lucky stars they didn’t make the can a large phallus or attempt to simulate any related flavors.

7. “Kronik: Grind”

Let’s ignore the obvious shill towards pot heads here and focus on the real issue: Kronik Grind sounds like something there should be a support group for.

Note to future marketers: if your product’s name conjures up images of debilitating disease, horrid mental defects or uncontrollable self gratification, consider a different name.

6. “Bong Water”

There’s two energy drinks marketed directly towards stoners?

Stoners?

One of the least energy craving demographics in existence?

Energy drinks?

On top of that, they chose a name that may as well be “tastes like piss” for how appetizing that sounds. How hard is this? What about “Ganja Grape,” or “Bong Berry”? Don’t make me do your job for you Bong Water Inc.

5. “Phat Phruit”

We’re pretty hip people, we’re up on the slang and lingo of the kids, and we know that when a “homeboy” calls his “fine mamma” “phat” he’s not telling her she’s corpulent, but rather he is letting her know she is pretty hot and tempting.

However, we can’t for the life of us determine what a “Phruit” is. Does it stand for “Panting Heavily Ruins Unctuous Ill TaTas”? Is it a fruit that reacts readily with acid? We may never know.

4. “Who’s Your Daddy?”

Who indeed. Who’s Your Daddy claims to be the “king” of all energy drinks, which is a fittingly douchey claim for a completely douchey sounding energy drink.

In fact, scientists proved in 1932, with science, that only complete douche nozzles say “Who’s Your Daddy,” and we are left to assume, with science, that only douche nozzles drink Who’s Your Daddy brand energy drinks.

3. “1 in 3 Trinity”

Finally an energy drink for the devout Christian on the go for when the Holy Spirit just isn’t enough. Let’s be frank, we all know how hard it is to find energy drinks not mass produced by Satan himself or his corporate subsidiaries. Thankfully, the edgy people at 1 in 3 Trinity have solved this problem that has plagued all of no one with 1 in 3 Trinity energy drink.

1 in 3 Trinity claims to be “Fused with The Fruits of the Spirit”, and who are we to argue?

2. “Hunid Racks”

We lied when we said we were culturally hip. Somewhere along the way we got lost amidst the baggy jeans and angry talking music. That’s why Hunid Racks confused and infuriated us so much, and after much furious Googling we finally figured out what a “Hunid Rack” is: It’s 100,000 dollars, or as we say in America: 100,000 smackaroos.

We don’t hate Hunid Rack’s name just because it belittles us with its urban know how, we also hate it because it sounds like something found growing on the bottom of a geriatric’s foot.

1. “Sum Poosie”

Sum Poosie is the energy drink equivalent of having a “No Fat Chicks” sticker on your car or a “One in the pink; two in the stink” shirt: if you are seen with one, you will never know the touch of a woman.

Sum Poosie exists solely for 14 year old boys to giggle and talk about getting “sum poosie.” Ironically, they will never get the real kind. However, once sales eventually slip (how long can this stay amusing?) they may want to talk to the 1 in 3 Trinity people, concerned Christian parents may be interested in having this as abstinence in a can.

“10. Spend 15 minutes a day having a giggling session. Here’s how you do it: You and another person (partner, kid, friend, etc.) lie on the floor with your head on her stomach, and her head on another person’s stomach and so on (the more people the better). The first person says, “Ha.” The next person says, “Ha-ha.” The third person says, “Ha-ha-ha.” And so on. We guarantee you’ll be laughing in no time.”

Michael and I, our senses of humour in desperate need of enhancement, decided to give some of their suggestions a try.  First, Michael fired up Photoshop and gave this suggestion a go:

“6. Sort through family photographs and write funny captions or one-liners to go with your favorites. When you need a pick-me-up, pull out the album.”

Next up, I did my best to envision the sort of person who might exemplify this tip:

JOHN: Oh yeah?  What’d they say?

BOB: Apparently a baby’s coffin actually costs more to make because it has to be done custom.  The whole service is looking to run me more than eight thousand dollars.

JOHN: Geez, buddy.  That’s pretty rou- oh, shit.  (He is looking over BOB’s shoulder.) Here comes Fred.

BOB (Pinching the bridge of his nose): Oh, shit.

FRED (Unperturbed by the pair’s obvious attempts at shunning him): Good morning, fellows!  Although, since it’s a Monday, I suppose I should call it a “bad morning!”

He beams at BOB and JOHN, who have still not acknowledged him.  FRED continues to stare, unblinking, his eyes shifting from one man to the other with clockwork regularity.  They hold this position for several minutes.  BOB and JOHN begin to show overt signs of discomfort at their contortions, whereas FRED has not moved a muscle, his gaze continuing to swing from man to man like a terrifying pendulum.  Finally, JOHN (at the very limits of his endurance,) emits a small, involuntary cough.

FRED (Abruptly): Ha Ha Ha!

His laugh is an empty, dead thing.  Every barked syllable is like the sound of a sparrow flying headlong into a window, a jarring impact followed by a nauseating squeak.  HUNGH-eek.  HUNGH-eek.  HUNGH-eek.  BOB and JOHN, unable to withstand both their aching muscles and the assault of FRED’s laughter, finally abandon the happy pretense that FRED does not exist.

JOHN (Straightening up): Fuck. Fred, please.  Can we not do this?  Just for today?

FRED’s laughter finally ceases, to the visible relief of both other men.

FRED (His manic grin twisting so as to reveal the slightest amount of perplexity): I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, John!  Come on, tell me a funny thing that happened to you over the weekend!  You know that I am a person who enjoys hearing funny stories of what happened to people over the weekend, much more than I enjoy hearing gossip!

JOHN: Fred, please, I’m begging you-

FRED: Go on, don’t be shy!  How about you, Bob?  (Without warning, FRED’s hand shoots out and delivers a hammer-like blow to BOB’s spinal column.  BOB gasps and staggers.  FRED’s arm returns to his side without even the slightest twitch to indicate that it has moved.)

BOB (His patience finally snapping): My son died, Fred.  My eight-month-old son fucking choked to death on Saturday.  He tried to climb out of his crib, got tangled in his blanket, and accidentally hung himself while my wife and I were asleep.

He pauses to see if any of this has phased FRED in the slightest.  It has not.

FRED: That certainly is both annoying and frustrating, Bob!  But you know what they say when your son dies!

BOB: I don’t-

FRED (Cutting him off): “A dead son in the hand is better than two in the wife!”  (The quotation marks are clearly audible.)

There is a cold, yawning silence.

JOHN: Jesus, Fred.  Did you actually have that prepared?

FRED (Pride evident): You’ll find that I have a joke prepared for any occasion, John!  It’s all part of my experimentation with jokes!

JOHN: Yeah, well that’s really-

He is interrupted as BOB starts grunting in pain, his veins standing out as he slides to the floor, clutching his left arm.  JOHN stares at BOB confusedly for several seconds before he comes to a realization.

JOHN: Holy shit, Fred.  You actually gave Bob a heart attack with your fucking miscarriage joke.

FRED (Obviously brimming with pleasure): Thank you!  It’s quite a “side splitter”, isn’t it?  (JOHN continues to gape in shock.  FRED continues.) Don’t worry, John!  Another thing I’m always prepared for is if my humour is too hilarious, and as such, I have learned CPR!

JOHN (Relieved): Oh, thank God.  Hurry, get to work!

FRED kneels by BOB’s convulsing form with macabre theatricality.  Appearing to take great care, he unbuttons BOB’s shirt and places a hand upon BOB’s solar plexus.  He presses down.

BOB (In obvious agony): GNNNAAAAAAAAAGH!  (He spasms anew, even as FRED continues to apply pressure.) HURRRAGH!  AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGRAAAGH!

JOHN, sensing something is amiss with BOB’s condition, finally seizes FRED by the shoulders and flings him bodily from his friend.  FRED lands with his palms upturned, exposing a small metal disc.

JOHN (Unable to believe his eyes): Fred, is that a fucking joy buzzer?

FRED: Never leave home without it!  I bet that came as quite a “shock” to him, didn’t it?

JOHN’s fists clench, and he is about to strike FRED until BOB emits a tortured groan.  JOHN looks from FRED to BOB, and comes to a decision.

JOHN: I’m going to go call the paramedics, Fred.  (He points at BOB.) If you so much as touch him, Fred, I will fucking kill you, understand?  (He strides away before FRED has a chance to answer.)

FIN