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Munz and the Red Bull Rampage

I remember my first taste of Red Bull. It was the mid-nineties, I was hanging out in a bean-bag bar on Khao San Road in Bangkok watching a dodgy copy of Beverly Hills Cop III, with a bunch of happy Brits and a hippy Dane by the name of Munz. Munz had a massive head.

Munz offered me what looked like a medicine bottle with a little Thai script and a couple of bulls in profile, on the label.

I took a sip.

The next three hours passed in an adrenaline-fuelled blur of tuk-tuk nudity after which I awoke in a Bangkok prison. I got a trial with a lenient judge, pleaded the “Red Bull” defence and was out within the hour.

Three months later I still had a pain in my heart and since that day my left eye will occassionally – and without warning – drift to the right.

All of which provides an almost seamless segue into the video I’d like you to ponder today.

I know the recipe for Red Bull has probably changed since those halcyon days of minimal food and drink standards, but if I were made to compete in the Red Bull Rampage, maybe I’d consider just one more sip, thanks Munz.

Cartwright P. Moocjheenie
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