Until I was prepping for this review, I had never heard of this person by the name "PewDiePie." In fact, I thought their name was, literally, "Pew," then "Die," and then "Pew;" shows how cultured I am, and how well I can read. I do not think it matters really, since I found this at the local dollar store. So heads up "PewDiePie," whoever you are, products do not appear in discount shops because they're doing "well."
The official website pretends the flavor is lingonberry, a fruit so unusual that my spellcheck tells me it is not even a real word. Anyway, sips here resemble a sweetened cherry and cranberry blend, a surprisingly pleasant mix, as the latter introduces just enough acidity to help keep the sucralose and ace-k from completely dominating the experience. It is not "great," mind you, but there is enough balance and restraint that it shows a sense of responsibility on behalf of G Fuel: turns out they do not want to completely and totally destroy your tastebuds with all that synthetic sweetness. At this point I am nearing the end of the can, and it proves that despite some initial and much appreciated complexity, there is not enough "here" to warrant the sixteen ounces on offer.
Amino acids and vitamins make up a portion of the energy blend here, but what I care about is the 300 milligrams of caffeine. And the resulting buzz is very nice, on par with any other hyper-potent potent potable. Overall, G Fuel PewDiePie could have been much better, but it should have been much, much worse. Suppose that is something.
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