Mess With the Bull, Get a Horn.

Upon driving Marc home after a leisurely afternoon man-date at the mall, I commented that I was feeling tired. I followed up that comment with a comment that I should try some of that Red Bull Energy Drink. It gives you wings, you know. Marc relayed the information that the Shoppers Drug Mart up the way kept a healthy stock, so I decided, upon dropping Marc off, that I’d go and get some Red Bull and give it a whirl since when I got home I had farm chores that required my attention.
.....Standing in front of the chilled shelves that held the drink in question, I read the can: “Warning, do not exceed 500 ml in one day.” I thought, “Lets go maximum.” I took two cans, went to pay, yes to Optimum card, got my change, and went, somewhat lethargically to the van. I started the van and cracked open the first can. I took a sip. I was some what anxious about what the drink might taste like and my initial response in that respect is as followed:

Red Bull tastes like what I'd expect pink cotton candy melted and mixed with crushed aspirin and seltzer water to taste like.

.....Not exactly delicious, not exactly horse piss in a dog doo-doo rimmed glass, but just this side of tolerable.
.....In the advertisements that I’ve seen on the tube Red Bull purports to give you a boost of energy or as they call it, “Wings”. Well, in my case, it gave me ass-gas as well as another enjoyable side effect.
.....Read on faithful reader, read on.
.....Half way home, a 15-20 minute drive the way I drive (I drive like your grandma gorged on a bottle of tranquilizers while blaring Sinatra's "Fly Me to the Moon" with the windows down), I’d finished my first can and was feeling, aside from the gas, nothing at all. “On to the second can,” I thought, shrugging my shoulders and tossing the empty over my shoulder. *crack-psssh* (That’s my attempt at onomatopoeia for what a can opening sounds like. Shut up, it’s dead-on.)
.....Finishing a third of the second can, I stopped. South of the boarder an uprising was welling. My pants were suddenly a size too small. My third leg got stiff. Euphemisms not penetrating? In other words then:

Wood like you or I have never seen.

.....I’m not talking soft pine; I’m talking fossilized redwood here. This is the hard-on of legends, I shit you not. And frankly, I’m getting a little worried.
.....Have you ever heard the story about that guy who was hard for days? At first it was all fun and games (no, no one lost an eye) but then after 4 days it hadn’t gone away and he could not sleep or urinate because of the pain? He eventually had to go to the hospital, where subsequently he and Pedro went under the knife? This is the prospect I’m currently dealing with. Yes, it’s only been an hour, but my body has grown chilled while my pants are on fire. Excuse the lack of sense this post might exhibit, but all the oxygen rich blood has travelled out of my brain and is currently funding the revolt below.
.....I still don’t get the whole “Wings” deal though. Maybe it’s a veiled reference to your balls filling like sails in a warm breeze. That made no sense whatsoever. Blame the Bull.
.....It’s 4:44, I’ve got a painfully happy full pair of pants and must go feed my dogs.