Once upon a desperate, college-age Summer, I was a bartender. My main gig was at a seedy dive that I'm pretty sure was a front for Puerta Rican gang activity. The place was always empty but it had been there for years and there was a room my boss (who never gave me his last name and paid me in cash) forbid any of us employees from ever entering. My usual customers, on those rare occasions when I actually had customers, were violent hicks with the worst taste in alcohol imaginable. One of the most commonly requested drinks was the Jaeger Bomb, or as my favorite patron, a West African guy who loved to play pool, called it, a "Jagga Bone". I prefer to call this putrid concoction a "Jagga Bone" because it allows me to imagine a vile creature called a Jagga that lives on a remote island and eats nothing but carrion. That would at least explain why that particular substance tastes so awful. What it doesn't explain is why any human being would want to drink it, unless the Jagga is a real bad-ass.

For those of you who have never tasted Jaegermeister, it's what I imagine partially fermented cough syrup would be like. It's the color of motor oil and about half as thick. Surprisingly, Jaeger is not the most disgusting element of a Jaeger Bomb. That dubious distinction goes to Red Bull, the first and most unpalatable of all the small-can energy drinks. That piss-colored brew of borderline-illegal stimulants has been in the news twice in one week, with neither of the stories being all that flattering.

The first comes from New Zealand, which is sort of like the Canada of Australia, only somehow more violent. As for Australia, I'm convinced it's just like America, only with more nude beaches and slang that makes everyone sound like hyperactive pre-teens. An Auckland resident named Brooke Robertson decided that the most effective way to get rid of that pregnancy weight was to consume nothing but Red Bull and a handful of cereal every day for eight straight months. This resulted in a heart attack and a host of now-chronic health issues. On the upside, I'm pretty sure Mrs. Robertson qualifies for some kind of world record.

When the PR people at Red Bull came out to defend their drink against the inevitable inquiries into its addictiveness, their spokesman cited some vague scientific evidence that caffeine isn't habit-forming. OK. Whatever you say, buddy. But ya know what is addictive? Cocaine.

It's a good thing the folks at Red Bull have that covered, too. A recent chemical analysis showed trace amounts of that very substance in Red Bull's new cola. Sure, it's not in large enough quantities to make drinkers feel like there are bugs crawling all over them, but yay is still yay. The source of this sugar-coated nose candy is in the coca leaves Red Bull uses to make its cola. While many products around the world use cola leaves, most of them use a variety that has been relieved of its cocaine-producing alkaloid. The people over at Red Bull have declined to say whether or not they're using untreated leaves for their new soft drink, which I'm sure indicates their complete innocence.

Bloid Bomb time:

Immediate Laugh Factor: 8/10- Woman's heart stops beating after drinking inhuman amounts of a trendy energy drink? Sorta funny. The idea of a dangerously thin, unnervingly jittery woman popping a handful of corn flakes and saying, "W-w-w-w-well, I-AH!-I'm st-st-stuffed!"? Hilarious.

Overt Ludicrousness: 5/10- I've met people who drink a lot of Red Bull. They're not exactly paragons of healthy living. I'm surprised this hasn't happened more often.

Depth of Cultural Wound: 2/10- The heart attack happened in New Zealand and the chemical analysis happened in Germany. This one doesn't really scream "high fashion".

Total: 15/30- When this Bloid Bomb goes off, tens of sheep will die in the explosion, while those just outside the blast radius will feel strangely energized.