I have to admit, the first time I tried Red Bull, I absolutely hated it. It was the beginning of a long bus ride from Boston, all the way down to Wilmington. I had been handed a free can of Red Bull by a Red Bull promo team out scouting the malleable youth of New England. I had fallen for their trick. Anything free must be good, right? Upon opening the can, I realized otherwise. The smell of Robitussin seeped out from the large aluminum capsule. Disturbed, I took a sip. Gross! I nearly ejected the liquid in my mouth onto the poor, unsuspecting bus passenger to my right. Etiquette in mind, I thought better of beginning a seven hour bus ride by puking on my seat buddy, so I swallowed. The first thought that came to my mind was “carbonated cough syrup.” Not knowing what to do with the rest of the beverage, I quickly downed it, wincing as the chemical concoction made its way down my throat. The bus driver looked back at me. “HaHA!” he exclaimed in a manner reminiscent of the wicked witch of the west. “You won’t be getting any sleep on the trip now!” I could swear he called me “my pretty,” but perhaps this was the taurine taking effect.

Five years passed before I drank another Red Bull. I moved around from energy drink to energy drink, being the trendy person I am. Sometimes I even drank *gasp* coffee. But to be honest, nothing I found during that five year period came close to inspiring in me the sheer horror that Red Bull had inspired. And after a while, I realized that it was the horror that had gripped me tightly and had kept me from falling asleep. Caffeine, taurine, creatine, pyridoxine HCl, none of these things could keep me alert. But the thought that I was slowly drowning in a pool of bubbly expectorant did the trick nicely. And so, as my work load steadily increased, I realized I had made a mistake in leaving the disgusting beverage that a few underpaid foot soldiers of the Red Bull marketing machine had pawned off on me half a decade before.

Today, a whole eight years after my first sip, I am a Red Bull drinker. But it doesn’t stop there. In a phase of health-conscious behavior a year or two ago, I decided to try sugar free Red Bull. I do not exaggerate when I assert that there has never been a concoction more foul, more odious, more fear inspiring than sugar free Red Bull. It is as if a thousand pixies descend upon your tongue and painlessly rip off your taste buds, replacing them instead with rot and liquid pharmaceuticals. For this reason, when I am driving late at night, or studying into the wee hours of the morning, sugar free Red Bull is my drink of choice.

Red Bull, like scotch and Kansas, is an acquired taste. I certainly do not expect you to all run out to your nearest convenience store and buy a 12 pack of Red Bull after reading this. But maybe some of you will give it another shot. It is not the type of drink you pick up and enjoy immediately. Rather, you develop a love-hate relationship with it. You try to get away, you run and cower, only to realize that it has followed you. You cannot escape it, and eventually you realize that, as with any effective drug, after a while, you need it. It gives you wings. They say so in the commercials. So here’s to you Red Bull. Without your mind-controlling hallucinogenic powers, who knows how many papers I would have turned in even later!

In January, chicken and rice received its first letter from a reader. Teriyaki Virgin was apprehensive about using Asian spices and sauces and wrote about these fears. Through an in-depth conversation, rice was able to address TV’s concerns and recommend ways to employ systematic desensitization in order to learn how to enjoy Asian cuisine.

I am pleased to report that since that time, chicken and rice has received many letters asking similarly thought provoking questions. We at chicken and rice would love for you to share in our success, so here are just a few of them:

FREEMUSICzz%12_1 wrote:
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Dear FREEMUSICzz%12_1,
Your offer is enticing. However, I don’t believe you will actually give me a free iPod. Your spelling and grammar lead me to believe that you are either almost illiterate, a computer, or a slave laborer in Laos with a fairly impressive command of the English language given your circumstances. As the only question in your rant is “DO YOU WANT FREE IPOD???” the best answer I can give you is: yes, although, again, I doubt you can deliver. Have a wonderful day, and please, feel free to write into chicken and rice again!

viagra_altrntv wrote:
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Dear viagra_altrntv,
How did you know? This is amazing, it’s like you read my mind. I’ve always wanted a “natarul” solution with no “cemicals.” And she hasn’t “s2quealed” in forever. You must be a psychic. As sarcasm is difficult to decipher through text, I’ll make this blatantly clear: go delete yourself.

MarissaW wrote:
want the gnome went where processor how to never has dvd time. benzodiazapan gave all in the head super going at the store. how do for seven of times she for the good have an ugly time deck nose? now we hat speak numbing of even. twelve is hoping hyacinth to end phone of evil-doer. not fan screen has oscar into bed of sofa coffee tables accessories kitchen sauce. travel chrysanthemum tulip on wherever ten nevertheless cable shelves in hair product free jvc water bottle highlight essence mug oak screaming surrender dorothy adapter shadows offended. win.

Dear MarissaW,
Thank you for your insightful letter. I think the best answer I can give you is 52. If you require further clarification, please don’t hesitate to ask.

“Don’t drink the water.” It’s a common phrase, usually said in jest. Heck, it’s even the name of a DMB song. These four words have become a part of our American culture, a snooty sneer at countries with lesser water purification systems. It is easy, then, to forget the true meaning of this phrase, and to merely assimilate it into our pop culture.

Folks, I am here to tell you that this phrase is not a hip trend or a mere play thing for our amusement. Other such trends have perished at the hands of time: Airwalk, polygamy, L.A. Gear, flapper dresses, Huffy, white bell bottoms with a glowing afro and a huge piece of gold hanging around your neck, to name just a few. But the phrase “Don’t drink the water” will not fade. It will remain a part of our lives colloquially and substantively simply because it is true. It is not a mere ploy, a joke, a cliche, or a subtle advertising campaign for Evian. When you hear “Don’t drink the water,” then don’t drink the water.

Perhaps it was the ice, or perhaps it was some bit of water in the food, freshly sprayed vegetables even. Maybe it was the mouthful of water I accidentally swallowed while swimming in the Mexican caves of Cuzama. All I can tell you is that the Gulf of Mexico never looked so nauseating from 40,000 feet as it did last week.

So please, heed my warning and all future warnings, embedded in song lyrics or advertisements though they may be. If someone tells you not to drink the water, don’t assume they are attempting to make a funny. Take their warning at face value. A little dehydration in the beginning can save you a week of life-threatening dehydration later.