Frosty Jacks is a familiar brew to those acquainted with poverty boozing. Its bright enticing advertising and stunning blue bottle seems to mesmerise even the most resistant park bench dweller. Some time ago I was dirt poor and needed some kind of mental relief from the shitty grind of my existence, as I had roughly £1.45 a day to spend on booze my first port of call was Mr Frosty. Now Frosty Jacks is repellent in the extreme. The taste in mixture of value lemonade and drain cleaner, a tip here, if you don't want to squirm every time you take a gob full, then drop a skittle sweet into it. The skittle fizzes away and takes the edge of the nasty saccharine and adds a satisfying after taste that reminds me off the cough medicine actifed. The taste is not the real problem with Frosty Jacks though, its the effect it has on your sexual performance. In the 6 months I resorted to the Frosty crutch my crotch was as flaccid as a wind sock on a gentle June morning. I know this is probably is too much information, but this stuff really should carry a health warning. "Warning the will shrink your winky like a swim in iced water" should suffice. So in summary if you want to slowly die of ischemic heart disease while being impotent Frosty Jacks is your man, otherwise use to keep frost from your car windscreens.
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