As usual with Red Bull, everything about the venue and party is fantastic.

Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogether, then inarticulate, and then drunk. When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling!

I hate the taste of alcohol. When I'm drinking, I'm drinking Red Bull.

Dear Red Bull: Where the fuck are my wings?!

To a group of 25-year-olds here for a bachelor party, it'll conjure up a sense of naughtiness, escape and a secret-keeping thing. But to a 75-year-old couple from Des Moines, it'll be violating their low-cholesterol order from their doctor, and having shrimp cocktail at 3 o'clock in the morning and not telling their kids about it.

I never thought my face would be on the cover of a Red Bull Six Pack.