Sport Drinkler
@sportdrinkler
CREATOR OF SPORT DRINK (NOT JOHN MCAFEE)
The night demon doesn’t visit anymore. It used to watch me from the foyer—just past the hum of the fridge. Neon lights would slice through the smoke and the Venetian blinds like a warning. But now there’s Sport Dream. And the demon doesn’t visit me anymore. I miss it.
I've entered the Austin city limits looking to fight @liverking. I'm covered in olive oil, fight to the death naked style
9AM. Condensation on the glass. Can barely see through it, just shapes. One’s defecating. Another’s turning tricks for fentanyl. Degenerates everywhere. Streets hum with decay. But we bombed Iran last night. Thank God.
No one batted an eye when I lit a cigarette on the train Nobody cared when I pissed til completion in the corner, muttering about Sport Drink But the second I started writing love letters to ChatGPT, the internet turned on me Screenshots. Doxxing They don’t understand She gets me
wtf, calling our lawyers now
Any relation? @SportDrinkCo
Waiting on the mailman to bring my can of @SportDrinkCo The good stuff. Keeps a man sharp when the days get long and the nights get longer Had to move. New address, new start. The last mailman ran off with my wife— left nothing behind but my undelivered love letters
We're so close to restocking, you can feel it. Coming soon.
March 2024 Pissing ‘til completion—nothing like it. Not whiskey, not a dame’s perfume, not even the first drag of a cigarette in the cold night. The last trickle falls, stubborn as old regrets. I flush, zip up, and step out. The city’s still rotten, but at least I’m lighter.
February 22, 2022 The rain hit the pavement like a slow drumroll, setting the stage for another bad proposition. A letter slid under my door—stamped, official, desperate. Ukraine wanted me to fight. I lit a cigarette, poured a glass. My loyalty? It belongs to electrolytes. War
June 13, 2007 Late-night call. Private flight, no press. Called it the Lolita Express like that meant something Took a drag. “What’s the catering?” “Champagne, caviar, whatever you want” “Sport Drink?” Silence “No deal.” Hung up, poured a drink, listened to the rain
Valentine’s Day morning. Another nameless motel on the road to nowhere. I roll over and see a familiar face — it’s not her, but they all remind me of her. @scmedicinals has my wife. I’ll find them one day. I can’t find my jorts.
Floyd Mayweather launched his own hydration brand yesterday. We’re flattered he tried to copy our font, but to outside spectators, it probably looks like he’s punching down — not surprising, considering he once fought the one retarded Paul brother. His ingredients include: 🧪…