So seeing how I fit in to that category, I decided to take a shot at Jack3d and give myself the most amazing pre-workout EVER!

Being the conservative guy that I am, I decided to stick with the entry-level Lemon-Lime flavor rather than roll the dice with some bastardization of Grape Bubblegum or White Blue Raspberry. I was hoping for something along the lines of Gatorade original, and thankfully, that’s exactly how it smelt when I tore open my sample pack.

But before mixing with water, I noticed a dire warning printed on the label. Yes, the dreaded ‘Black Box Warning’:

This Product Produces An Intense Sensation Of Drive, Focus, Energy, Motiviation & Awareness. In Addition, It Allows For Rapid Increases In Strength, Speed, Power & Endurance. Therefore, Extreme Caution Must Be Exercised & Should Not Be Used By Novice Athletes.

Now I must admit — this made me more than a little nervous. After all, despite my trophy rack consisting of championships earned at Chess, Scrabble, and QuakeCon, I still considered myself something of a Novice Athlete. To be honest, I was slightly dumbfounded.

Was USP Labs trying to imply that one needed to be a Professional Athlete to ingest this wondrous concoction? But then I thought about that pimply-faced, chubby teen who came running into the GNC right before closing, heaving and puffing after having sprinted three stores down from his Hot Topic cashier position, and I thought to myself: If he can use Jack3d, then gosh darn it, so can this pimply-faced, chubby old man who can’t even run the length of two stores without heaving and puffing.

I poured the contents of the pouch into my 8 oz of distilled water because nothing screams ‘Hardcore Bodybuilding’ to the wannabes at Gold’s Venice like a bottle of distilled water — especially when I announce to the camera Levrone-style — ‘Eight Ounces of Jack3d…in yo face!’ with each rep of sipping.

Jack3d tasted better than I expected — not quite Gatorade level, but certainly better than Powerade — but the real test would be the workout.

I cleared out a section of the gym where the incline benches are located (a loud and toxic, pre-workout fart blast can do that) and I got to work. I banged out 20 pushups as a warm up and it felt like butter. I was ready to dig deep.

I loaded the bar up with 135. Sure, it’s “light weight” to Ronnie Coleman but it’s downright “average” to us mortals with low testosterone. BOOM! I rocked out 15 reps with a form so sweet, the gals on the elliptical machines right in front of me were smiling and licking their lips in approval (either that or they were watching a Ryan Reynolds interview on Extra).

I tossed another couple of ‘Magnums’ (45’s) on the bar and braced myself. You know how it goes — if 225 feels heavy, it’s not gonna be a good day. I squeezed my shoulder blades together like Ryan Kennelly and held my breath like Scot Mendelson and screamed like Tori Black as I lifted off. The 225 was steady as I held my arms in the locked position over my erect nipples. Yes, I thought! I’m gonna crush this!

I lowered the bar in a controlled manner so I could feel every fiber in my pecs coming to life, just like Dorian told me to do (or Dorian’s MD article told me. Or Dorian told MD Ghostwriter Ron Harris. Or Ron Harris just made that up.) And then it touched my chest and I exploded. I arched my back, exhaled, and grunted so loud a Planet Fitness lunk alarm went off 12 miles away in the Valley.

But nothing happened.

The 225 just sat there on my chest like a female bodybuilder paid to sit there and spit in my face. Except this time, I wasn’t paying for the humiliation.

Help, I whispered.

But the figure girls on the elliptical had moved on from gossiping about Ryan Reynolds to openly negotiating prices for Trenbolone.

I tried to tilt the bar to make the plates slide off, but then I remembered that I was the ONLY schmuck in the 60 year Gold’s Venice history who had ever placed collars on the barbell. Fuck!!!

My pride stopped me from crying out like a girly-man, but it didn’t stop me from flopping my legs around like those speared-Dolphins from The Cove.

Finally, someone noticed.

And it wasn’t just anyone — it was Rico McClinton!

Yes, THE Rico McClinton — a controversial 3rd place winner at the 1999 NPC Nationals!!

He swooped in like one of Lee Priest’s 37 Superman tattoos and grabbed the bar and in one easy motion, spared my life and won the hearts and minds of MuscleWeekers everywhere.

I graciously thanked him and offered him some of my Jack3d backwash lingering at the bottom of my bottle, but he politely declined.

I stared into the bottle looking for a scapegoat for my faux pas. Could I blame Jack3d for my failed lift?

Of course not. I’d never gone higher than 185 on the incline bench, and even then I needed a spot to move the bar two inches.

But the point is that Jack3d (and its Black Box Warning) gave me the courage to try.

And isn’t that what Bodybuilding is really about? Throwing caution to the wind and putting strange, unknown substances with lengthy warnings into your body in the hopes that you’ll derive some muscular benefit therefrom?

To which I can only respond to myself: HELLZ YEAH!

As I took it with my Code Red Mountain Dew (hey, caffeine + loads of sugar = alert driving!) to the cash register, I took another look at the front: Quadruple Layer! I was so excited I nearly took a bite without unwrapping it. I got back to my Bentley (okay, Murano) and opened it up. In the darkness of my car, I bit into the chocolate coating, felt my teeth sink into and then beyond the second layer of nuts, pass into the exoskeleton of caramel, before reaching the protein core. But instead of saying, “Yummy” or “Wow!”, I shouted, “Bullshit!”  How in God’s name can a company claim that a bar as sweet and gooey and scrumptious as this has 30 grams of protein hidden inside? Or even more preposterously, only 4 grams of simple carbs?? Who do they think they’re fooling? Okay, so I don’t really look like I work out, but do I really look that naïve?

I took another few bites and put the bar down somewhere between the gear shift and the change bucket.  Perhaps my road-weariness and hunger had turned me into some sort of hallucinogenic nomad wandering through the desert, so feverishly and desperately looking for water that he not only imagines that the sand he’s eating is water, but smiles on the verge of death’s door, happily basking in the sun as his sand-filled stomach offers him satisfying relief. In my state, I decided to leave half of the bar for later consumption.

The bar sat in an open plastic bag on my parents’ granite kitchen countertop for the next four days, without any protection from the elements (or cat hair).  At one point my mother took a peek inside the bag and pulled out something labeled “Beyond Ripped”.  Reading the label aloud, she simply laughed and pointed at my belly. Ahhh, self-esteem is a wonderful thing. On the fifth day, I took pity on the remnants of Mr. Supreme Protein and took a fresh bite. What the f*ck!?!? Those goddamn liars did it again!! It actually tasted better after five days at room temperature! This wasn’t a protein bar – it was a mad scientist’s experiment with some futuristic food substances that surely required the services of a 1985 DeLorean and magical clocktower to obtain. Unfair? Yes. Delicious? Absolutely. Liars? Hmmmm….

Rating: SUPREME (Liars?) ***** (Five Stars) out of ***** (Five)

Amended Comment: The quality of these bars has gone WAYYYYYYY down since this original review was published. Expect a new review right here soon!

“I’m going to review your bar and put it on the net,” I warn them, “so pick your best flavor.”

Like Donald Trump and his cronies on The Apprentice, the dorkasaurus and the two unattractive women at the booth briefly put their three ugly Cerberus heads together and announce, “Almond Caramel Crunch” in unison. I stare at them suspiciously for a moment. And then it hits me. Holy fuckwits, Batman! How the hell did the three ugliest people in the entire building all wind up in the same booth? Are they too cheap to shell out $50 for a hot fitness skank with implants and a thong to stand there for ten hours?

I bite into the bar, with these three people now staring intently at my mouth as it chews. And chews. And chews. The bar sticks to every corner of my mouth. I continue chewing as my eyes frantically search for a bottle of anything to wash this shit down. Mr. Propecia seems to sense my desperation but for some strange reason feels compelled to offer up a cheerful “We’re the best-selling bar in the country right now!”

“Manks a fumkin lot,” I reply. Here I am practically choking on his shitty bar, wondering what an improvement it will make when I spit it out onto his face, and this twink has the nerve to fabricate some phony sales statistics. For fuck’s sake, if this piece of insoluble dog crap is the best-selling protein bar in the country, Obama has fucked up America even worse than I thought.

With great determination and effort, I somehow get down the last of the bar and spend a few moments trying to trigger my saliva glands to get the remnants of this sludge down my esophagus. I sense that my audience senses my disappointment. They don’t even offer a full bar or suggest a different flavor for me to try. ‘FAIL’ is written all over their faces.

I quickly place the odds that in precisely one year the three of them will be unemployed at exactly 2:1.

Rating: ** (Two Stars) out of ***** (five)

I’ve tasted worse but never in the presence of such misplaced pride in a crappy product.

At the 2008 Arnold Classic, while others forage for t-shirts and packets of protein powder samples to take home, I find inner peace and happiness refilling my 2 oz paper cup at the MuscleMilk potpourri booth of magical flavors.  As the dominant product that boasts superior taste, MuscleMilk has had little competition to date. But to my surprise, I found a worthy challenger in a 1 oz dixie cup at the Labrada booth. The Contender: Lean Body Protein Shake available in Vanilla, Banana, or Chocolate.

Finding the Banana flavor at full retail price at my local GNC and going against every rule of my existence, I forked over FOUR DOLLARS (!!!) to see if my pallet receptor memory was still intact. I twisted off the cool patented cap that magically broke the seal and lining and then took a swig.  Mmmmmmmm!!! Like a chemically-enhanced, laboratory-grown banana-pudding-turned-liquid, the flavor shot me a “Wassup, homey!” before gleefully gliding down my esophageal slide.

I tried to stretch my money by drinking half the box, but at just 11 ounces, that’s about as masculine as wondering if Bo and Hope will ever get back together. I did the only manly thing I’ve done this year and slammed down the rest of the box, making sure to throw in a “Hell Yeah!” and fist-pump just in case anyone was watching.

Sure, drinking a banana-flavored protein shake in a cute red and blue box might not label you as the Alpha-Male, but just imagine the confidence you’ll gain knowing that all 40 grams of protein are going straight to your muscles, even if it’s at your wallet’s expense.

Rating: **** (4) out of ***** (5)

Hey, FOUR BUCKS is almost enough gas money to get me home from GNC!

Nonetheless, on this particular day in which my better half was lost in the cornucopia of the Mall’s teen clothing stores, I found myself walking past the GNC for the fourth time and decided to have a gander inside. I effortlessly sneaked past the Jay Cutler Hydroxycut display (regularly $89.99 but now $81.99!!) and asked the aforementioned sales clerk what products were selling. Predictably, he replied: “Well the Hydroxycut is always popular but it also really works!” Embarassed by both his inability to conjure up an original thought and the idea that I appeared no wiser than his typical mark, I looked down at the display of protein bars in shame. To my surprise, I saw several bars bearing orange price stickers indicating major price reductions. While I typically scoff at the idea of paying $3.50 for 30g of protein, I have no objections to completing the same purchase at a much lower price point. So when I saw two Muscletech Peanut Butter protein bars marked down to $0.75 cents each, I seized the day and plunked down my Platinum Amex (hey I’m not a cash-carrying kinda guy).

I figured that with its R&D budget exceeding the GNP of most third world countries, Muscletech would have mastered the basics of a quality protein bar — great taste, good texture, and the right combination of chew-ability and saliva-solubility.

Sadly, I was mistaken. I took a bite of the overly salty chocolike coated bar and chewed. And chewed. And kept chewing. Problem was nothing was happening! I actually picked up the bar and read the label again to make sure I hadn’t accidentally picked up Muscletech’s new Protein Bubblegum bar or something that I was expected to chew for several hours. Peanut butter doesn’t lend itself to many great beverage combinations, so I opened my fridge and quickly settled on my son’s whole milk to wash it down. Halfway through the bar, I stopped bothering to chew. It was pointless. This wasn’t a protein bar — it was the world’s largest protein pill.

I took another bite and downed another gulp of milk to help it bypass the peristalsis and go straight into my stomach where presumably, it would continue its resistance to acidic juices before winding its way through my intestines and vacating my colon in its original form. Had I either the time or inclination to do so, I’d send my bowel movement to the Muscletech labs for them to remove the intact piece and recycle it in a new bar, at least to give someone else a shot at obtaining some benefit from my purchase.

Rating: * (One Star) (at $0.75) out of ***** (Five Stars)

Ed. Note: Subtract the entire star if paying retail. Beach sand is free.

The taste was a little more old school than I expected. A little on the watery side with that slightly chemical taste that you don’t get from the Labrada and Musclemilk RTDs. They also come in cans as opposed to the more modern BPA cartons that the other brands are offering. The taste was somewhere between Chocolate and Vanilla but not really anything resembling Cookies n Cream, which is usually one of my favorite flavors for protein bars.

I paid about $6 bucks for 4 cans at Tarjay so if you don’t mind literally flushing $1.50 down the toilet an hour after ingestion in the hopes that a few micrograms somehow slipped into your brachialis muscle fibers, then by all means, head for the hills with the giant red bullseye.

Otherwise, save your money and buy six Strawberry Shortcake Pure Protein bars for the price of this four-pack. Or if you prefer to drink your protein out of a RTD package, stick with the old standbys.

Rating: ** (Two Stars) out of ***** (Five)