Yup, love ‘em or hate ‘em, they still make this stuff. Purple Gs are getting funnelled, chugged, vortexed, snorkelled, and otherwise demolished at high speeds – much like the endangered Goannas of its namesake. For some reason, every other person just assumed that the OG – the Purple G – just went under without making much of a splash. Well, you’d be wrong. This beautiful, absurdly purple, tongue-tinting, iridescent-shit-staining, borderline tasteless, drop of godly nectar is back with a vengeance.
The only major drawback of this gorgeous bevvy is that for some goddamn reason, half the bottle stores in Dunedin insist they don't make it anymore. The other half charges an arm and a solid chunk of leg, at 2.05 standards-per-dollar. It’s basically the (mildly) alcoholic version of those cheap plasticky tasting grape sodas, the ones that came in a 24-pack of lil’ plastic chode bottles and were sold alongside sausage sizzles at primary school. You know ‘em. *Disclaimer: Purple Gs do not purport to be grape-flavoured.
Despite coming in a glass bottle, Purple Gs are lowkey flat. A bit like a Major Major, a bit like the flat, tennis court-boiled, ant-summoning soda that runs through every North Islander’s veins instead of blood. Considering that this could be deemed a ‘scathing review’ (what are you gonna do, criticise Critic? Sounds dumb as hell), these are actually far less punishing of a bev than you'd think. They make for a good addition to your arsenal for Kings Cup, Rage Cage, and any other game that essentially depends on you donating your alcohol.
Purple G-fuelled interlude: Did you know you (allegedly) can't get done for drink-driving on e-scooters? That's something that really isn't talked about enough. Not that we endorse such tomfoolery, of course…
Regardless, with these somehow being one of the cheaper RTDs available – maybe not for percentage per dollar, but definitely volume outright – these things will have you go into the bathroom sober, have a solid 40-second piss, and then have you rolling by the time you have that door unlocked, which took you a minute or two because you did a half-assed job drying your hands on your jorts instead of the provided hand towel.
This endangered species is arguably the only drink to hold a worse stigma than the old 12% Cody’s, aka ‘court case in a can’. The actual taste hints at the aforementioned grape soda stuff, but if you watered it down and added the most vodka you could before you actually started to taste it. I doubt there’s a single RTD as scullable, whilst still tasting somewhat reasonable and without making you feel like you are going to fucking die after flattening a box.
Despite their decline in recent years, you do still see the odd cord hat-wearing, flannel over white shirt, absolute battler type strutting around studentville with a box tucked up under their arm – often because the handle’s ripped from already getting stuck into them. And that’s a beautiful thing.
Tasting notes: Kinda like how you thought spray and wipe would taste as a kid
Chugability: Like drinking a frozen Fanta the next day, give or take floaters 9/10
Hangover depression level: Less of a hangover, more of a sugar crash 9/10
Overall: Not for the inferior 6.5/1