Saint Dirty Face

Look, some people wake up to the smell of freshly ground coffee beans, pour-over setups, fancy mugs with inspirational quotes, all that wholesome nonsense.

Me?

I wake up like a half-resurrected cryptid, stare at the ceiling, and reach for a grape 5-Hour Energy like it’s holy water.

That tiny bottle?

Yeah—that’s my coffee.

My lifeline.

My spark plug.

My “let’s get this show rolling before the demons regroup” juice.

I don’t sip it.

I don’t savor it.

I don’t swirl it around like a sommelier with self-esteem.

I knock it back like a sinner taking communion behind the dumpster—because I’ve got things to do and zero patience for brewing anything.

And here’s the kicker:

**As a pre-workout?

Oh, brother… I go an extra damn mile.**

That little purple rocket fuel hits the bloodstream and suddenly I’m:

Walking faster, Thinking sharper, And fighting the treadmill like it owes me money.

Coffee could never.

Not for me.

Not for Saint Dirty Face.

Coffee warms the soul.

5-Hour Energy attacks it in the best possible way.

Call it chaotic.

Call it unhinged.

Call it chemically suspicious.

But it works.

Some people need a mug.

I need a bottle that looks like it was designed by NASCAR.

And honestly?

That’s fine.

We all choose our rituals.

Mine just happens to be 46 milliliters of purple lightning with a halo over it.

Stay Dirty. Stay Wired. Stay Moving.™