Perky Jerky is the world's first all-natural performance enhancing meat snack. Put simply, we've combined the most tender and flavorful beef jerky, with an extra dose of energy (caffeine, from the Guarana we add) to provide a jerky experience you won't find anywhere else.
Whether you love it because it's the best tasting jerky around, or because it provides a nice little pick-me-up (similar to coffee or energy drinks), you're not alone. You'll find addicts in both camps.
How many times has this happened to you?You've got a big presentation to make after lunch, but you're totally wiped out from the morning. Eating a good lunch might give you the energy you need, but it might also make you logy. Worse, you are allergic to coffee, tea, soda, Red Bull and other energy drinks, and you can't swallow caffeine tablets. You are Adrian Monk locked and loaded, ready to succumb to every histamine reaction known to man. Except to beef and salt.
The answer might be Perky Jerky.
How many times has this happened to you?
You want to be the baddest motherfucking Blood Elf, but you don't have the time to level up there yet. You're worried the final battle with Arthas will be a large raid or tough instance like Ulduar. If you can't get your shit straight here, you're never gonna be finally taking down the Lich King. You've pwned some serious ass on the Wrathgate and the Battle for the Undercity quests, but this one's tricky. You psyched yourself up earlier on Eve, quenching your thirst for ownagi with torrents of pubbie tears, and extreme hydration like that might make a grandmaster like you outside the World of Warcraft have to get up and take a piss, but it's cool because you cinched a Glad drawstring bag around your dick and have felt The Force flowing out of you and into it for the better part of nine hours. Now hunger begins to gnaw at you with a sound like someone pushing a boulder across a steel floor or Gabe Newell smelling a bakery. You've got to stay awake two more hours, but you can't even leave this chair—as if you'd want to—without carrying this fresh-scented white bactrian camel bladdersworth of piss around with you.
Your phone beeps. It's a text—but that's odd, because you don't know anyone. The caller is unknown, but the message is two words: Perky Jerky.
Need a handjob from a teenager?
The answer might be Perky Herky-Jerky.
How many times has this happened to you?
You're out on the trail, heading home, but the one thing you've forgot to provision enough of is canisters of General Foods International Coffees. You open your pack to find nothing but dried meats. How are you going to stay awake through the badlands long enough to get home in time to see that widowed homesteader give birth to the son you conceived in a disinhibited whiskey haze the night of the Revue in town when the traveling theater company performed scenes from Aristophanes (the one you remembered, the one about the ladies not giving their men comfort) and the latest speech from President Cleveland—the night you finally unburdened your self of silence between her milkwhite breasts and felt her tears raining atop your head for the agony of her need and the agony of feeling her husband's dead eyes flickering with condemnatory fire from the daguerreotype on the wall? You fling your cheroot in disgust. Damn.
From across the horizon you hear your spirit animal, a bobcat, cry the words Perky Jerky.
Perky Jerky: stop shooting cows with shotgun shells loaded with caffeine. There's a better way.
