After the satisfying tear of the closable cap, Tornado goes down hill faster than any in recent memory. Sixty four grams of real sugar cloy and disgust like high fructose corn syrup does, sticking to the palate a glue saturated of medicinal apple, gummy bubble gum, and sticky vanilla. The trashy triune tumbles through the sickly sweet sorghum ungracefully, its apathetic effervescence only stalling the already slow and shoddy experience. Tying the terrifying troika together is its tiring tartness, the kind of overwhelming and uncomplementary acidity only ever achieved by accident. Every sip is a bacchanalian of inordinateness, a regurgitation of all that has ever been bad about an energy drink's taste.
Every bottle contains: B vitamins, taurine, and 142 milligrams of caffeine. Your reward for stuffing the unsightly sixteen ounces down is a middling buzz, the kind of kick that lasts only two hours. Overall, I once saw a movie where Bill Paxton chased tornadoes. What does that have to do with Tornado Original? They both suck.