Mike Literman - 1759 Reviews

Sometimes drinks speak to me. No, not in a crazy way. Sometimes I see a drink and I just have to have it. This, for some reason, I had to have. I grabbed it, threw it on my shelf only to completely forget about it for about two weeks. Today, while picking my drinks for the day, I came across it and thought, "Oh yeah. I really wanted this." so in the bag and to work it went.

On first sip, it was very Stevia-esque. On second sip, I could start tasting what was supposed to be happening. Are you a graphic designer? Sure you are. Everyone and their brother is a graphic designer. As soon as you touch MS Paint (or Mac equivalent) and design your first birthday card, you say to yourself, "This is all a graphic designer does? Well, looks like I am going to design my album art for my band The Death Of A Thousand Suns Birthday." This drink is a gradient if I've ever tasted one. It does start out very Stevia, but then it slowly fades into a passion fruit that is actually quite nice. The green tea doesn't really come out to play for me.

I'm interested to see what else Honest does in this "zero calorie" line. I like a range of their drinks and am always game to try new ones.

Nothing says fitness like chocolate fudge. You know that you like to work on your abs for about forty minutes and then head on down to the local chocolatier and ask for a pound of fudge to make everything go to its intended place. I read in a book once that if you do squats in the gym and then eat a quarter pound of rocky road fudge, it does more than eating one dozen chickens. Whole chickens. Feathers, feet, and all. Just a quarter pound of it. Scientists don't agree because they think that a couple hundred scientific tests prove otherwise.

Myoplex, a group of half scientists, half chocolate enthusiasts, half R.C. enthusiasts, have fix this age old question by making a protein drink that tastes like chocolate fudge. Sure, it's a little chalky and tastes diet, but it tastes like diet, chalky, chocolate fudge. You're on a diet. You're working out like crazy. All you've eaten the last few months have been bean sprouts and broccoli and now, for an unlimited time, you can finally re-taste the smooth, elegant taste of chocolate without any of the hassle of guilt.

On the turn of a dime, it has become fall. Autumn to some, fall to others. I've been wearing a hoodie for a couple days and although I missed their deep hood, welcoming pockets, and going outside, throwing up my hood immediately, and feeling like a robber or rapist. Try it. I would never rape or never rob, but I just feel like if someone saw me throw my hood up, they would think I am up to no good.

Fall means cider. Apples in any form, really. On my way to visit my parents, I stopped by Tim Hortons and I wanted a mint chocolate, iced cappuccino, but was convinced to try a hot caramel apple cider. I got it because seriously, how can you go wrong? Apple cider and caramel and the added delicacy of whipped cream on top. Sweet. Half an hour later, I open up the cup and prepare my senses to enjoy pleasure to a parental advisory level. Then... Disappointment. To the fullest extent. It tasted like I was drinking a liquid candle. I am not exaggerating. If you went to Yankee Candle or equivalent, bought an apple cider candle, went out into the food court, lit it with a borrowed lighter because you just quit smoking, and drank the wax, you, my friend, have just drank a Tim Hortons hot apple cider with caramel.

I have easily half left and cannot stomach another sip.

I have to drink more water. It's a fact. You might need to, also. I'm looking out for your health. It's good for you. Drink more water.

Now that me educating you on the basics are done and out of the way, we can get to the nitty gritty. Side fact: if all water tasted like sweet tea, had no calories, and was as plentiful as water, there would be no war, no crime, no funny business. Everyone would just be high-fiving everyone, kissing everyone on the cheek like some fancy European country.

This Mio isn't half bad. I drank a large and a half glass last night and was pleasantly surprised. It was slightly diet, but it's a diet drink. I don't want that to dissuade you. It's not gross. It is closer than many sweet teas I've drank that aren't diet, aren't concentrate, and come highly recommend.

Think of it as a diet sweet tea. It's a getting a thumbs up from me.

This is quasi-gross. That's enough to punish this drink in my eyes for eternity, but I really did want to like it. I picked it up on a whim, thought to myself, "I'd like to encounter a berry breeze. This will do it for me. Great. Cash me out." It's a giant bottle and I wanted to slay the whole thing. First sip and there it was. That diet burn. What is that? I hate it. I will say there are omega-3's in here. Great. People are only going to drink it if it tastes good. If you and your dumb throat and dumber taste buds have accepted that this is the way that a standard diet drink should taste, you, my dumb friend, have a new favorite drink.

If I could get past the stingin' and the burnin', I would say that the taste is alright. Taste gets a three out of five. It smells a little odd, like an apple but like an uncut or unchomped apple. I found that weird but it's good that they could somehow disguise the fish oil scent, which is rank, not to be confused by the Smiths live album by the same name. Morrissey, if you're listening, don't waste your time with this drink.

Hey Jay, I just got a postcard in the mail. Let me read it to you. It's from the Dorothy Molter. Dorothy Molter? She's a lady who made root beer and sold it to people on canoes but she's from Chicago and I think she actually has ties to the mob. Listen to this letter.

Alright, I still don't see our review. I do have "people" around the nation. Remember, Dorothy was from Chicago and still has "connections". Technically you don't need all your fingers to drink a root beer but why risk it?

Is she serious? Is this a hit? No, hits are murder. This is more like I owe them money for not paying up on a 1995 Buffalo Bills game that I somehow skipped out on paying for the sixteen years. Still, I don't want to mess with the mob. I've seen the Godfather and I don't want to get to perforated by multiple gunmen. Did I drink the root beer? Yes, I did. I thought it was good. I think that she would have used cane sugar, but you can't really taste that it isn't. It's dark but not that licorice-filled darkness that many small brews are. It's well sweetened and well flavored. All around, a good root beer.

I can't believe that she threatened us. Also, now that I think about it, I can't believe that she did it on a postcard. Also, this postcard has a corgi licking a kitten and that's not threatening at all. Maybe she meant to catch us off guard. Did someone just knock at the door? Do you think it's her? I hope not. I like my hands and I enjoy the presence of all my fingers. Who makes root beer and is in the mob? It just doesn't add up. She must have a secret life where she's like a root beer soaked Mother Theresa and then another one where she drives an old gangster style Ford, wears pinstriped all the time, always has a cigar in her mouth, and says "see" all the time. "I'm the root beer lady, see." Like that. It could happen. Stranger things have happened. Don't get the door. She can leave another note if it's Dorothy. I need my hands for playing Trials Evolution when it comes out.

When the colonials invaded the United States, the Indians, although polite, were leery on "the white man". White men came in, sat down next to each and every Indian, and co-ate a delicious meal with multicolored corn. All was good. They did a little bit of trading. Oh, you've got beaver pelts? We've got these sweet hats. You've got teepees? We've got homes made of brick and mortar. "Let's eat", the Indians say to the Colonials. "Oh, wait. We've got something for you in the boat. Hold on a second." The colonial dudes go into the boat and pull out a case and put it on the table. "What's this?" said the Indian Chief. "Oh, this ol' thing? It's just a case of our favorite pop, Old Colony. If you look, you'll notice that Carl's face is the silhouette on the can. Here, we brought a can for everyone. We're swimming in the stuff so you can have this whole case."

The Indians take a sip and the chief looks and the Colonial man disappointingly. "You call this grape?" He drops the half full can of pop on the grass, allowing it to spill onto the ground. The Admiral Colonial dude was flabbergasted. "Why would you do that? That's not a great first impression, I've got to say." The Indian, very heatedly said, "This is a mediocre grape pop. You think because we're Indians we've never had grape pop? What do you take us for? This is very sweet and although I can tell that it's inspired from concord grapes, it tastes like candy and we don't really do candy here."

Then the Admiral declared war because he's a baby and doesn't like when people insult his favorite pop.

In the middle ages, times were tough. You had to raise your own fruits and vegetables, people got sick and died from things like a cough, and there weren't any Burger Kings. Not to mention, periodically, you had to be ready and the drop of a hat for a dragon invading your tiny town. On the plus side, you got to use your sword and were encouraged to at any given time. Throw it. Cut up fruit for dinner. Who cares? Every use is one step closer to being able to kill orcs and wild boars. For protein and energy, you have to eat mutton and probably nuts. I doubt that the meats are carefully marinated and are probably pretty bland. That's no good for anyone.

I would like to be the time traveler that brings a case of Bolthouse Farms to these people. I would be treated with so much respect. I am not going to go as far as being knighted, well maybe, but I would at least get a nice jacket or something. Perhaps I can have the local cobbler make me a nice pair of wingtips. That would be real nice of him. I would say to him, "Dear cobbler. I'm going to call you by your name, Mitch, because "cobbler" is your job and that's a jerk move. Mitch, I bequeath to you a case of Hazelnut Latte Bolthouse Farms drink. It tastes like a melted Arby's jamoca shake and is delicious. You don't know who Arby's is? It's a fast food restaurant that specialized in roast beef sandwiches. Roast beef, not roast beast. I don't know. It could be the same thing. Either way, this is delicious and will give you the botulism free energy you need to both make shoes and boots and shoot arrows at rabid animals. It is yours. Enjoy. Yes, they do make other flavors. What, is this not good enough for you? I come one thousand years back in time and you want variety? Mitch. Come on, dude."

Mitch is a good guy, he just doesn't have the manners one would expect from an adult man. He would take the drink, eventually love it, and be chocked full of energy. I wish him the best of luck with his footwear company and am anxiously awaiting my shoes. I told him to bury them in the ground at a specific location in a nice box so that I can dig them up. They'd better fit.

Oh I'm so sweaty from getting my swell on. Four hours of just heavy, free weights does wonders to my deltoids. I don't ride the bikes because that's for girls. I don't use stair climbers because that's for old men. I use free weights and that machine that shakes you together to get the maximum amount of swell to my increasingly bulging biceps.

After two hours, I run out of steam and I need some pump up so that I can pump up. At the smoothie bar, they sell these packets called Phix that the gentleman behind the counter mixes it in a cup with a fancy, long spoon. Slammed. I slammed it, like I do those weights. Slammed. Like Onyx. It went down smooth. It wasn't too strong either. It was a light drink, like a watered down juice. It didn't really taste like an energy drink. It just tasted good with a light fruit taste. I'm used to slamming down energy drinks and protein drinks that are either too sweet, or too thick, or too gross. This is the perfect drink for me to pump iron long into the night, as I do frequently. I have a goal to look like I did in my high school picture and now that I am a hundred pounds heavier. I have to work harder to get rid of those last, pesky fifty pounds. I've got to strive to slip into those Sasoon jeans and Yes T-Shirt like I had in my senior picture. I've got to get back to working on my hammies.

On a recent trip to Korea, you realize that in Asia, things are different. You had to travel all the way around the world to know that things on the other side of the world are different. You have eaten with chopsticks and all you can think of is that Jerry Seinfeld bit about using shovels and not using chopsticks. You haven't exactly mastered them but you're working on it and that's good enough for you. You have drank fish face juice, cow leg milk, and even chicken sauce which you thought was a drink but was actually a legitimate sauce for chicken and not made from chicken. That one was a mistake. You don't blame anyone but yourself for that blem.

You wander into yet another small shop on a nice Tuesday night and you come across this can. It's in English and at this point, you will drink anything you can read the ingredients for. You pay whatever the equivalent of one American dollar is in Korean currency and head out to walk the streets of the city, maybe pet a horse, maybe eat some meats of sticks, maybe both. You open the can, take a sip, and sigh in relief that there aren't any chunks or eyeballs or cow feet in it. You are later excited because you actually like it. It's a light black tea, sweetened with sugar. Just like mama back home would have made. No funny business in this can. All serious work. Suit and tie stuff. It's good and also has a little citrus taste to it. A nice twist.

For the first time in many moons you are quenched and can go to sleep not dreaming of something drinkable like you had back home. Tomorrow will be another day in Korea and you may or may not drink something gross. If you do, you now know what you can use to wash down your pig knee soup.

Why America is Fat, by Mike Literman of the Thirsty Dudes,

It's no stretch to say that many American's are overweight. We can't go a week without hearing the nightly news talk about how we weigh more than all other countries combined, or something along those lines. That's not true, but you can't go a week without seeing footage of obese, neck down citizens. Why does this happen? Well it's actually very simple. American's do not understand moderation. Food servings are too big here. Yeah, feeling filled is great, but the fact that there is a four patty Baconator at Wendy's is too much food. Yes, it's too many calories for a family of four eating a five-course meal, too, but it's too much food for one person. It seems like it's gone too far because as soon as some restaurant comes up with a reasonable quantity of food, people won't know what to do with so little food and that joint will be closed twice as fast as it opened. Cheese comes on everything and cheese is delicious. Everything is doused in some sort of sauce or cream. Diet pop doesn't taste good so people opt to get non-diet drinks in exchange. That's where Thomas Kemper comes into play.

Thomas Kemper, a responsible group of people, has developed a root beer that is diet using Splenda that doesn't taste like you're drinking some sort of industrial strength floor cleaner. It's dark, has a strong vanilla taste, and although it isn't as complex as their non-diet version, people who drink diet pop or should be drinking diet pop can sigh in relief at the fact that this drink is not gross. It's more than not gross, but baby steps say that saying that it's "great" might be overstepping my boundaries. I will say that this is probably the best diet root beer I've had and that should hold some weight. Also, they still craft it using honey, just as one would expect from Mr. Kemper and friends.

I'm not calling you fat, but instead of drinking eight beers, six of which are in a six pack and it is a six pack made from other people's beer that they left in your fridge that you decided were now your own and you would fashion your own, custom sixer and balance it on your stomach, leave them in the fridge for another day, or never, and replace it with a six pack of delicious, diet root beer. Your belts, which you have actually worn out an awls because you have put so many of your own holes in them, will thank you.

I was riding my bike in a race at historic Billy Goat Falls today. Uphill, downhill, uphill, downhill and so on and so forth. It was a five and a half mile race and reached some intense inclines of about forty percent. It would have been a test to even the most seasoned rider. It took me twenty-six minutes to complete it and I rode along the mountains and we saw snowcaps on mountains, gondolas, and even that pesky Sasquatch who was just walking around in his cave watching the race.

When I finished, one whole minute behind my teammate, we headed back to base camp, cranked up Craig David's Story Goes, and drank some XAPP.

Initially the taste was pretty good. Fresh out of the cooler at the base it was pretty refreshing, but as soon as the dreaded room temperature hit, it started getting that thick, gritty, protein taste. If I could review the initial, better taste, it was good. Not too sweet and a pretty standard fruit punch taste. It didn't have any of the protein drink flavor. I don't know if it just kind of congealed once it warmed up, but that's what I'm hypothesizing happened and that led to a thick drink that was no where near as good as it initially was.

Tomorrow we may take a trip to that roller coaster that you can ride your bike on, or maybe take a day trip to space and ride in the tunnels they have up there. We'll play it by ear.

On a fluke, sometimes it's really nice in Buffalo. Contrary to popular belief, although it snows like the dickens...Dickens(?)...Who cares? Contrary to popular believe, although it snows like Charles Dickens, the grass and snow sometimes emerge and when they do at the same time, it can be a really nice day. When this blue moon happens, the city knows it and every one goes outside. I'm going to say that the crime rate drops to zero because even the gangsters are drinking lemonade or buying new slacks at local shops. Gunfights are an indoor activity and should not be wasted on nice days like today.

We went out today to Buffalo's one of two beaches which, if you live in suburbia, are smaller than your yard and one of them is landlocked. A novel attempt, but poor delivery and a poor use of my tax dollars, I should say. Regardless, we played in the sand, walked by some WWII battleships, and got some ice cream. It was a nice walk into the sun and it made me quite parched.

While waiting for ice cream, I picked up a Vitamin Water that we somehow didn't do. I was going to get the orange one, because I like it, but the raspberry apple sounded better and more quenching. I made the right choice. It was everything I wanted it to be and was very refreshing, very cold, and I wish I didn't have to share it because I'm home now and am still thirsty. It did actually taste like raspberry and apple and nothing else. It was really good and possibly my new fallback when it comes to Vitamin Water. That says a lot.

To cap the night, I'm sure that there will be drag races outside my window as there are on most night and maybe, just maybe, if I'm lucky, there will be prostitutes outside watching the races, soliciting the racers and passersby. Hey, a woman has to make a living. I won't call the cops on you, girls.

I don't know where I got this. I know why I got it, though. Answer; because it was there. This is not a fantastic representation of mocha cappuccino. I promise to you that if you're looking for a "quality" drink, you won't find it constrained within the glass walls of this bottle. It's terrible fake tasting like they had some chocolate milk, cut it in half, poured bad instant, powder mocha cappuccino into to it, skipped all the "red tape" one would need to put out something legit and pushed it right to market. I probably got this on sale. The same people also make these chocolate milks that just tasted unpure.

Look. I enjoy a nice, sweet garbage drink. Give me a Nesquik in those gargantuan thirty-two ounce bottles and I will use all the strength inside of me to not Gregory House the whole thing. This is half that size and I'm going to probably have no choice but to dump half of that. Strong percentages. Weak drink. I don't know why a company called "North American Beverage" would market a drink called Havana. I do appreciate, slightly, that illustration of the most 80's bottle I've ever seen. It looks like it should be on the wall of a victim's house in Miami Vice. I felt like I should have been wearing a Panama hat and a Panama Jack shirt that I would have had to scour multiple Salvation Army's to find just to fully appreciate this drink. Since I'm wearing a fifteen-year-old hoodie that is ill fitting, this drink did not deliver.

While stuck in a desert, you reach your hand in your pocket. You pull out a pocket full of sand. You don't know what you should have expected. You've been out here with your camel for going on four days. Four long, hot, sweaty, sandy days. You have already lost ten pounds putting yourself at your "target weight" but it doesn't really matter because working out is what you wanted to do to lose the weight, not starve yourself. Sure, you ate that bird, but it wasn't great and you didn't have the proper spices and herbs to really make it a nice meal. You look at your camel and you see a rib eye steak with your camel's head in the hole, like in cartoons. You would never eat Jerome, but you would think about it, a lot.

You just endlessly climb hills of sand only to uncover more hills of sand. All of a sudden, you reach the peak of another sand hill and look down to see someone else. "Help!" you exclaim as you tumble and slide down the side of the hill. On closer inspection, that dude is fat. He tells you that he is just looking for a nice, flat place for a picnic for one. You walk with him, confused as to why someone would travel all this way for a picnic for yourself when you know for a fact that the country you are in has picnic tables and out here blows. The fat man sits down, lays out a blanket, takes out a three tier candlestick, four sandwiches, two bottles of Jarritos lime pop, a box of Nutter Butters, and half a watermelon. He takes several bites out of the first sandwich and looks at you, looking like garbage, and he says that you may sit down and join him. You sit; grab a sandwich, slice of watermelon, and bottle of pop. Why no Nutter Butters? Because it's 122 degrees in the desert and that chocolate has long melted.

You take a sip of the pop and are almost instantly relieved. All those days in the desert were erased and your camel finally doesn't look like a piece of meat anymore. Good old Jerome. You've have lime pop before, but this is so subtle, that it's actually quenching and not overly sour or bold like you were frightened it would have been. Just because you were starving, doesn't mean that you don't have taste buds.

You finish up, help the man clean up, and he offers to walk you back to the city. You walk over one hill and notice that you've just been going around in circles for four days. You feel stupid but now you can feel good about losing all that weight and having a sensible lunch.

You know, this is a good cola. It's good because I've spent the last twenty years drinking "common" colas. The Netherlands have stepped it up a notch and have released this 100% organic cola and although other companies have done it, this tastes different. Coloring is done by organic caramel and there is natural citrus for bonus flavoring. Who doesn't want anything bonus in life? I know who does and thinks you do; the Dutch. Them and their wooden shoes, which according to a recent episode of Globetrekkers, they still make and wear. No, not everyone, but some. The citrus adds a nice touch and you can tell in every sip that it's there. It's welcome, too.

One thing is that they have gone to the nines with greenness and organics and have used about as little plastic on the bottle as possible, leaving in your hand, a dangerous and almost inevitable spilling container if you're not careful. It really likes to give, like those new water bottles, which, in itself, even the best water bottle is terrible for the environment since you can get water everywhere. So, if you want a great, natural tasting cola that, for some reason, they call "sparkling cola" when it is just pop, and you enjoy change in your classics, and have great control of your hands, this is the drink for you.

Sour apple is played out. It always gets old quickly, is too sweet, or both. Usually both. Typically both. Fuhrman's decided to switch it up, keep the color, and change the flavor. It doesn't have that cheek puckering quality of a sour apple and although still very "candy" it's a nice change to what the kid in you is used to.

This is a small company in Pennsylvania and is mostly an apple orchard. One would hope and some of those people would assume that some of the apple goodness that are handpicked or machine picked end up in this drink, but part of me thinks that it's predominantly artificial. It doesn't make me sad as much as it makes me hopeful for the day when an apple orchard makes their own pop. Oh man, just the thought of that makes my mouth water.

Remember Tommy Lee Jones in Batman? Two Face. This drink is not so much villain as much as it is just two faced. It's half good and half less good. Initially it tastes like a diet Capri Sun or Sunny D. It's got a somewhat gritty, "Hey they put powdered vitamins in here!" taste to it. Then it tastes like Tang. I like Tang. I love quality drinks but part of me loves Tang and ain't nothing wrong with that. Oh, you've got something against Tang? You think because you're an adult you can't like Tang anymore? You would be wrong, good sir.

What is this? A review for Tang? Nope. Not anymore. This drink is like a Gatling gun in your favorite video game with a Gatling gun. Here's how they work. You've got to get it up to speed before the bullets start flying and once it's going, momentum keep it going to when you're done shooting dudes, it's still spinning and you can shoot quickly until it slows down. This drink is like that. You have to drink through the roughness but once you get past it, you can keep sipping and it's good. Once you stop for a minute, you know, so that you're not drinking anymore, you have to re-work yourself back up.

Let's talk about Maroon 5 for a second. Whether or not you like them, you have to give them this; they might write some of the catchiest, more radio friendly pop rock songs ever. Good hooks, funky guitar, great rhythm section, and Adam Levine is a good singer. Real good. Although you might not like them, you have to give them that. I think that they are one of those bands that I could probably listen to any record and say to myself, "Yeah, this is a certified multi-platinum album for a reason." So, I can see why Snapple called up the Maroon 5 hotline and said, "Hey guys. Reason we called you is because while we were getting a drink from Bret Michaels, we thought that we might want to ask some people that the kids like for being good, not for winning a TV show. So what do you say, dudes?" They then had to go to the thinking lair of the Maroon 5 multi-million dollar headquarters and put together the perfect drink to put their name on.

They each picked a fruit and you know it was Adam Levine who stepped it up and thought out of the box and said that he wanted hibiscus in there. Everyone else probably had "fruit regret" because hibiscus is the secret ingredient in many drinks to push it over the top. Since they picked them, they had to stick with them, though. Snapple took these flavors, put them in a mixer, called up the hotline a week later and said, "This is great stuff, guys. I can taste everyone's flavor suggestion and can still tell that it's a black tea. It's nicely sweet and there is a nice, complex overall flavor both in initial taste and aftertaste. You've got another hit, boys!" and promptly put the drink on the shelves. Mickey Madden, the bass player with ears of gold said that he knew that he could sense that the person that made that call had gold, T-bar glasses, smoked a cigar, and was wearing a fedora when he made the call. He could hear it. Also, he could hear the reverberation coming from the call and also noted that he could tell that he was calling from a velvet-curtained room. Maroon 5 did a five person high five, sold another million records that second, and got sushi.

Although this drink may be an acquired taste, who would want to go for a second one when it tastes like this? I don't hate the San Pellegrino Chinotto and I understand that it is an Italian staple, but this is something else.

Someone recommended this to me not too long after we started the site and I never found one that wasn't in an eight pack. If it was something that wasn't questionable, I might have gotten it, but since it was called a bitter, I didn't want to splurge and get an eight pack and have seven other ones lying around never going to be drank. Drinking this makes me appreciate my decision.

This drink tastes medicinal. The flavor seems like it might want to be cherry, and if you sip the smallest sip, you might taste it, but anything larger than that you get an onslaught of a medicine you were not prescribed. Oh, it's bitter, there is no doubt about that, but what is that good for? "Oh, I love a nice, bitter drink that doesn't have a taste as much as a tongue reaction when I drink it." Who is saying that? Who wants anything overly bitter? It's like asking for something too sweet or too salty. Does this accompany anything? I'm just so confused as to the purpose of this. I'm glad it was cheap, I'm glad it came in an awesome bottle, I'm glad I'm not obligated to drink the whole thing.