Hey, you little non-neon-colored pissbaby. You want to take my beloved Pipeline Punch, huh? You think my Monster Energy consumption is so concerning? Well, good luck trying to take it from me because you’ll have to pry that sweet battery acid from my cold, cold hands that will not stop shaking for some reason.
I dare you to come and take my Monster Energy drink. Even if I handed it over willingly like a coward, the condensation on the can would send it spilling from your puny mortal hands to the cold, hard ground. You wouldn’t want to let that happen. I also have the upper hand with my lightning-fast reflexes, so I could snatch my beverage right back from your weak, decaffeinated arms.
It’s not like you have other options. What are you going to do, take my Ultra variety pack away while I’m sleeping? Bold of you to assume I’m capable of rest. While you dream about separating me from my beloved Monster, I stay awake to unleash the beast.
I don’t have an energy drink problem. I’m also fond of juices, java, and lemonade. It’s just a coincidence that those also happen to be Monster-branded products. I’ll even settle for a Red Bull if it means I can get my afternoon pick-me-up without you bringing me down.
Many have tried to stop me from indulging in my fun little drinks and all of their efforts have failed. My hands shake so much that the cops can’t cuff me. My mind races so fast that my psychiatrist can’t comprehend what’s going on in there. My bladder always needs emptying so I’m never in one spot long enough for anyone to track me.
The only way you will separate me from my Monster is over my dead body. Even then, good luck getting the can out of my still-twitching corpse’s grip.