Editor’s Note: Everything you about to read is (sadly) true. The only parts Probot exaggerated is how many cigarettes he smoked. It was more like 25 and most of them were enjoyed in my living room, after I had told him not to. He really did do pull-ups off the second story porch and he drank a lot of the ocean before I managed to pull him to dry land. I’m glad we can joke about it now, but at the time, my thumb was on 911 the whole time. In conclusion: DON’T TAKE DREN.
Last Saturday a thirst for scientific knowledge got the best of Oh Mars and me. For several months now we’ve been obsessing about the weight-lifting/fat burning supplement know as Dren. It’s been the subject of humorous conversation on Uhh Yeah Dude and Oh Mars has actually stumbled on a few print ads for the supplement in his body-building magazines. The customer reviews I’ve read of this stuff are pretty amazing. People confess to having euphoric bouts of energy, pumping more iron, pumping iron longer and sweating profously while on Dren. This one in particular put me over the edge:
I’m a confessed ephedra junkie . On bench day I sometimes took 36mgs at a time with caffeine and Chromium, focused, straight forward, fast and intense. DREN does that for me and more,Supersetting, drop sets, slow burn, forced reps, forced negatives, whatever intense technique you want to use, you can use it. I was so vascular, I saw veins that I didn’t know existed, People watched, and I laughed and enjoyed, enjoyed being a freak. Cardio, my legs had a brain of it’s own on the treadmill, my feet going to the beat of vicarious by Tool. I didn’t want to stop, and oh did I sweat, when I stepped off the treadmill I had a cold feeling and goosebumps, I think I had to keep moving, then I went on the stepper , with half intensity I believed I climbed the C.N. Tower twice, after my workout I was wide awake for several hours, Great feelings , you will feel this.
I don’t know what the fuck this guy is talking about, but it sounds fun, right? Anyway, I had the brilliant idea of taking the supplement recreationally and having Mars chart my behavior. The following is my best effort, along with some help from Mars to fill the blanks during my blackout, of the events that occurred that evening.
I arrived at Mars’ crib at 7 PM with the Dren, a couple 40s and a 12-pack. The research I did on the active ingredients in Dren led me to believe that I’d basically be taking an amphetamine and my previous experience with another amphetamine, adderall, was that I’d want to drink like a fish and smoke cigarettes like a chimney. I’m a non-smoker.
The evening began casually enough. I made sure Mars had a writing utensil handy and popped down two of the bad boys. Through the teeth past the gums, look out stomach here it comes.
I was enjoying watching the Celtics beat up on Dallas and Mars’ former homeboy Jason Kidd, about 45 minutes after having consumed the stuff, when I began to feel a little something something. I had already noticed that the 40 was going down pretty easy, but as I looked over at Mars I realized he still had a good quarter left. 40s are Mars’ jam so I knew something was up. This moment also sticks out in my mind because outside the window two creepy-as-fuck cat eyes were starring in at us.
“What the fuck is that!?” I yelled at Mars.
“Oh, that’s just, like, some neighborhood cat or something. We’re in Salem, there’s tons of homeless cats lurking around.” He replied. (Editor’s Note: With magical abilities)
I’m not sure if it was the result of getting a shot of adrenaline from being surprised by the cat or what, but from here on out things got, well, things got intense.
“Fuck that! Neighborhood cats!? I’m getting my other 40.”
I got up and walked into the kitchen and realized it felt wicked awesome to clench my calve muscles as I walked. I grabbed both of the other 40s and made my way back into the living room. I figured since I was up I might as well grab the other one for Mars too. I was doing curls with them as I walked into the living room and Mars just gave me a look and scribbled down a note in his pad.
I cracked my 40 and took massive pull. Then I had a great idea.
“Hey, maybe I should do some push-ups or something? Ya know, see how this thing’s really working?”
Before Mars could answer I was on the floor doing push-ups. Now, I do go to the gym regularly. I run and bike mostly. I lift weights maybe two days a week. I did 53 consecutive push-ups and only stopped because I felt I proved a point. Which I said out loud. And which now I have no real idea what that means.
Editor’s Note: I don’t think professional body builders can do push-ups at the speed I saw Probot bang out 53. I seriously thought I was having a nightmare.
“This shit works!”
“You feeling hyphy?”
“Yeah, but I neeeeed a smoke.”
I took another big swig of my 40, grabbed my jacket (which it turned out I didn’t need because my body temp was through the roof) did a jumping jack(???) and went outside to have a cigarette. Oh, before we get outside I should add that mid-way through our first 40 we did a shot of whiskey. On my drive down I realized I still had my flask in my center console from the Celtics game that we had gone to a couple weeks ago and there was still a little whiskey left it in. Enough for two shots to be exact.
While I was enjoying the hell out of my smoke on Mars’ porch (another sign that I was really being influenced by an outside substance) I noticed that I could jump up and grab the porch on the second story. Kinda like Kevin Garnett throwing it down on Dirk. Anyway, I jumped up (cigarette in mouth mind you) grabbed the porch and started doing pull-ups. 11 pull-ups, actually. Mars must have been able to see me because he came out at this point and asked me how many I did, not wanting to miss a detail of our experiment. I swung down and just as I hit the ground I turned and looked at Mars and saw that fucking cat approaching on the railing just behind him.
“That fucking cat!” I shouted.
I took a step towards Mars, who stepped aside and I kid you not, I fucking ninja-kicked the shit out of that cat off the railing and launched it a good 10 feet off the porch. It didn’t move. It wasn’t going to move because it was dead. We wouldn’t know that until the morning though.
I was ushered inside at this point. It probably being in our best interest to get me out of view from the prying eyes of any neighbors with nothing better to do than spoil our fun with a call to the Police Department.
Back inside it was fairly obvious to me that we should see who could drink the remainder of their 40 faster. In the name of science Mars agreed. I would say that we both had somewhere in the ballpark of 60-70% left. Minus the few big pulls I had taken, I only really had a few sips and while I was having a smoke Mars had been able to surpass the damage I had done. Under normal Saturday night drinking conditions what remained would last a solid half hour, but thanks to Dren and me insisting on taking a drink for each point (singular) the Celtics recorded, that bitch was cashed in under 15 minutes.
Who actually finished first is kind of fuzzy because about five minutes into our contest Mars went to the bathroom to take a hose and upon returning produced a fairly substantial bottle of Hornito’s tequila.
“Ta-da!” stated Mars upon re-entry.
My response was to rifle off a quote from Dumb and Dumber:
“Just when I thought, you couldn’t get any stupider, you go and do something like this… AND TOTALLY REDEEM YOURSELF!!!”
Oh Mars and Probot, long after Mars thought the Dren experiment was still funny
Seeing it as completely unnecessary to dirty another set of shot glasses Mars proceeded to pour two tequila shots into the glasses that had previously held our whiskey. Now I’ll say right here, right now, that I do enjoy a drink, but I can’t recall smelling anything as vile as a shot of tequila coming from an unwashed glass that had just been used to shoot whiskey. This is not a knock on Mars at all because I was all for reusing the glasses. There is a chance; however, that it did not actually smell that bad and that the Dren was also somehow boosting my senses because when I mentioned how raunchy it had smelled just after doing the shot, Mars gave me a look like I was crazy. He made a note.
Rather than getting hung up on the issue I simply went back to putting down my 40 as quickly as possible. I will say that when that second 40 was done I was feeling pretty good. I went and took a piss and when I looked in the mirror the face looking back at me was flush and a little sweaty. I washed my face with some cold water because I knew right then and there that this party was ready to go on the road. Little did I know what that would actually turn into. I left the bathroom with a bounce in my step, grabbed a couple beers from the fridge and went to watch the rest of the game.
The game was over. The C’s had won by like 30 or something ridiculous. I remember cheersing Mars, suggesting we go hit a bar and then going back outside to have a cigarette. I must have just grabbed my pack from my jacket because I wasn’t wearing one when Mars came outside to ask me what the hell I was doing looking under the hood of a car parked across the street.
“I can hear something under hear.”
“You can what?!”
“I hear something.”
I slammed the hood down and ran to another car a little further up the street. God it felt good to run. I was so hot. I cupped my hands against the car’s hood and listened.
“I hear something in this one too.”
“JOE, what the fuck man?!” Mars was walking up the street towards me.
I took off up the street in a full sprint and rounded the corner at top speed. I knew where I was going. I had passed the beach on the way to Mars’ house and I knew I could make it there on foot. I was feeling fucking great, but I needed to go for a swim. The sweat was beading up on my face. It was getting hot. Really hot.
Still in a sprint, I ripped off the long sleeve overshirt I was wearing and held it up high in my right hand like a flag. I looked back and could see that Mars was following me. I remember thinking in my head “alright then, so it’s a race you’re after.” I somehow managed to find another gear and began running even faster. I whipped my flag into the cheering crowd that filled the grandstands I had imagined were rooting me to victory.
Pouring sweat, I had reached the beach. I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my socks. I turned back to the parking lot and couldn’t see Mars. I said this out loud:
I stripped to my boxers and ran towards the sea. The water looked warm and inviting. I dove in. It was freezing and unwelcoming. I couldn’t really feel the water. I knew it was cold, but it was like I was covered in some kind of forcefield. I was thirsty. Some of the saltwater had splashed into my mouth and it was delicious. I took a gulp of the water and let it sit in my mouth. I don’t remember much else.
When Mars arrived he said I was trying to drink the ocean…. and that I kept saying I knew I could do it…
So there it is people. Push-ups, pull-ups, curls with 40s, cat murder, excessive drinking, smoking, sprinting, sweating, swimming, crowd hallucinations, heightened senses of smell and hearing and trying to drink the Atlantic Ocean. All in all, a great Saturday night and if you don’t believe EVERY word of this, well I just don’t know what to tell you…