Health Risks of Energy Drink Essay Example for Free

Health Risks of Energy Drink Essay Introduction People want immediate results in the middle of the busy day, after exercise, or any other activity which requires them to recharge themselves. So, instead of focusing on key natural ways such as sleep habits, improving diets we used to go for certain energy drinks available in the market without knowing the pros and cons of these drinks related to our health. Recent researches on the consumption of energy drinks have proved that the excessive use of these types of drinks can cause severe health risk including increase in systolic pressure, insomnia, and various other discussed later in the paper. It is the common phenomena that energy drink used to rebuild the energy lost during the exercise, which is not right. Similarly, it does not help burn calories, neither it speed ups the metabolism nor it provides long lasting energy to our body. Energy drinks are the fastest growing beverages market (Bornstein, 2011). Youth is reportedly consumers more energy drinks than other demographic variable. There are various energy drinks available in the market targeting the same type of crowd with different slogan and appeals. Some have focused on athletes, some on teenagers and students etc. Excessive caffeine can cause various health problems such as insomnia, jitters, nervousness, gastrointestinal problems, and heart palpitations. Background Statement We see various TV ads focusing on red bull, 5-hour ENERGY, monster etc so are these drinks shelved at the supermarkets. However, American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) and UK drug inspecting agencies has reported severe health related issues on the consumption of energy drinks. The sales of energy drinks in UK and other parts of the world is increasing so are the concerns after the researches made on this particular subject. Hence, the need is to review the myth surrounding energy drinks consumption. What are energy drinks? According to UK soft drink report (2012), soft drinks are â€Å"traditional glucose based energy drinks; functional or stimulation energy drinks which claim a particular energy boost from caffeine, Guarani, turbine and ginseng or other herbs or some combination of these ingredients†. The ingredients used in these energy drinks act as a stimulant to the central nervous system of our brain. These include caffeine or Guarani and vitamins etc. Health Risk There are various serious health risks associated with the consumption of energy drinks. Some of these health risks are discussed in this section. Drinking energy drinks in moderation is not necessarily harmful. Excessive consumption of energy drinks containing caffeine, however, can result in the same health effects related to consuming too much caffeine, such as insomnia, jitters, nervousness, gastrointestinal problems, and heart palpitations. Like sodas, the amount of sugar and empty calories (calories that do not contain nutrients) in energy drinks contribute to poor dietary health when consumed regularly. Hence, the affects of these drinks are short term as well long term. These affects are categorized below: Short term affects †¢ Hurts performance †¢ Increased heart rate †¢ Abnormal heart rhythm and other problems †¢ Crabby †¢ Trouble Concentrating †¢ Negative interactions with medications †¢ Increased Blood Pressure Long term affects †¢ Caffeine Addiction †¢ Liver Failure †¢ Sleep Apnea †¢ Kidney Failure †¢ Cardiovascular Disease So, it is better to be aware of these health issues and do not use more than 100mg/day of the caffeine as per health official recommendation. Conclusion After reviewing the ingredients, myths, and other factors surrounding the energy drinks it can be concluded that excessive use of caffeine i.e. by consuming more energy drink will certainly lead us to the several health risks which might be short term as well as long term. So, the need for the people is to get educate themselves, so is the responsibility of the energy drink manufacturers to warn the customers of the potential health hazards associated with the particular drink. References Roy-Bornstein, C. (2011). Just Say No to Energy Drinks. Pediatrics For Parents, 27(7/8), 11. UK soft drink report (2012) Available at: http://www. britishsoftdrinks. com/PDF/UK%20soft%20drinks%20report%202012. pdf.

An Analysis of The Building Essay -- The Building

An Analysis of The Building Larkin put "The Building" in the middle of his collection for a reason, it is a pillar that supports the rest of the collection with its long lines and many verses, and because of this, is maybe a bit more clearer than some of his other poems in the ideas and views that are expressed through it. Of course, being a Larkin a poem, there is the obligatory underlayer which so many people miss, but in "The Building" it is easier to discern and comprehend. The title of the poem, "The Building" already hints at the main theme of the poem. The word "building" is a very vague term and in it's vagueness one can make out the fright of the author for this building, he cannot specify that it is a hospital as if not saying the word will make it go away. At the same time in this poem, Larkin makes out the hospital as the real world, everything around it is fake so that the word "building" is put in contrast to his view of what it really is. The poem starts in this indistinct manner and moves onto a much more definite reality: death. The first thing we discover about the building is the way it dominates the author's view, of all buildings he can see it is the tallest, it "shows up for miles". Although he doesn't want to know what it is, it dominates his view and his destiny - all men and women end up in the hospital before they die, and there is that sense again, of Larkin's fear of death. He sees that the hospital is the real life, all else is false, you delude yourself all your life about death, pretending that it doesn't exist yet when you get in the hospital you finally have to face the truth. He names the places he would like it to be: a hotel, an airport lounge, a bus, but he can no longer d... ... to die. Not yet, perhaps not here, but in the end, And somewhere like this." As in most of his poems, he starts with a fear of something, in this case death but comes to realise later on that in fact it is only an inevitable part of life. And he also comes to understand that if people weren't so scared of death than life would be less valued as he hints to in the last part of the poem: "...a struggle to transcend The thought of dying, for unless its powers Outbuild cathedrals nothing contravenes..." The poem ends disturbingly with "With wasteful, weak, propitiatory flowers". The structure of the poem with nine verses of six lines adds up to 63, but that last odd line makes it more regular, it makes 64 which suggests 8x8, so that the last line might seem a bit irregular and odd but it also completes the poem (and also the rhyme scheme).

Fool Chapter 2

TWO NOW, GODS, STAND UP FOR BASTARDS![11] I found Drool in the laundry resolving a wank, spouting great gouts of git-seed across the laundry walls, floors, and ceiling, giggling, as young Shanker Mary wagged her tits at him over a steaming cauldron of the king's shirts. â€Å"Put those away, tart, we've a show to do.† â€Å"I was just giving ‘im a laugh.† â€Å"If you wanted to show charity you could have bonked him honest and there'd be a lot less cleaning to do.† â€Å"That'd be a sin. Besides, I'd as soon straddle a gateman's halberd as try to get a weapon that girth up me.† Drool pumped himself dry and sat down on the floor splay-legged, huffing like a great dribbling bellows. I tried to help the lout repack his tackle, but getting him into a codpiece against his firm enthusiasm was like trying to pound a bucket over a bull's head – a scenario I thought comical enough to perhaps work into the act tonight, should things get slow. â€Å"Nothing stopping you from givin' the lad a proper cleavage toss, Mary. You had 'em out and all soaped up, a couple of jumps and a tickle and he'd have carried water for you for a fortnight.† â€Å"He already does. And I don't even want that thing near me. A Natural, he is. There's devils in his jizm.† â€Å"Devils? Devils? There's no devils in there, lass. Chock full o' nitwits, to be sure, but no devils.† A Natural was either blessed or cursed, never just an accident of nature, as the name implied. Sometime during the week, Shanker Mary had gone Christian on us, despite being a most egregious slut. You never knew anymore who you were dealing with. Half the kingdom was Christian, the other half paid tribute to the old gods of Nature, who were always showing promise on the moonrise. The Christian God with his â€Å"day of rest† was strong with the peasants come Sunday, but by Thursday when there was drinking and fucking to be done, Nature had her kit off, legs aloft, and a flagon of ale in each hand, taking converts for the Druids as fast as they could come. They were a solid majority when the holiday was about, dancing, drinking, shagging the virgins, and sharing the harvest, but on the human sacrifice or burn-down-the-King's-forest days, there was none but crickets cavorting 'round the Stonehenge – the singers having forsaken Mother Earth for Father Church. â€Å"Pretty,† said Drool, trying to wrestle back control of his tool. Mary had commenced to stirring the laundry but had neglected to pull her dress up. Had the git's attention hostage, she did. â€Å"Right. She's a bloody vision of loveliness, lad, but you've buffed yourself to a gleam already and we've work to do. The castle's awash in intrigue, subterfuge, and villainy – they'll be wanting-comic relief between the flattery and the murders.† â€Å"Intrigue and villainy?† Drool displayed a gape-toothed grin. Imagine soldiers dumping hogsheads of spittle through the crenellations atop the castle wall – thus is Drool's grin, as earnest in expression as it is damp in execution – a slurry of good cheer. He loves intrigue and villainy, as they play to his most special ability. â€Å"Will there be hiding?† â€Å"There will most certainly be hiding,† said I, as I shouldered an escaped testicle into his cod. â€Å"And listening?† â€Å"Listening of cavernous proportions – we shall hang on every word as God on Pope's prayers.† â€Å"And fuckery? Will there be fuckery, Pocket?† â€Å"Heinous fuckery most foul, lad. Heinous fuckery most foul.† â€Å"Aye, that's the dog's bollocks,[12] then!† said Drool, slapping his thigh. â€Å"Did you hear, Mary? Heinous fuckery afoot. Ain't that the dog's bollocks?† â€Å"Oh yeah, the dog's bloody B. it is, love. If the saints are smilin' on us, maybe one of them nobles will hang your wee mate there like they been threatening.† â€Å"Two fools well-hung we'd have then, wouldn't we?† said I, elbowing my apprentice in the ribs. â€Å"Aye, two fools well-hung, we'd have, wouldn't we?† said Drool, in my voice, tone to note coming out his great maw as like he'd caught an echo on his tongue and coughed it right back. That's the oaf's gift – not only can he mimic perfectly, he can recall whole conversations, hours long, recite them back to you in the original speakers' voices, and not comprehend a single word. He'd first been gifted to Lear by a Spanish duke because of his torrential dribbling and the ability to break wind that could darken a room, but when I discovered the Natural's keener talent, I took him as my apprentice to teach him the manly art of mirth. Drool laughed. â€Å"Two fools well-hung – â€Å" â€Å"Stop that!† I said. â€Å"It's unsettling.† Unsettling indeed, to hear your own voice sluicing pitch-perfect out of that mountain of lout, stripped of wit and washed of irony. Two years I'd had Drool under my wing and I was still not inured to it. He meant no harm, it was simply his nature. The anchoress at the abbey had taught me of nature, making me recite Aristotle: â€Å"It is the mark of an educated man, and a tribute to his culture, that he look for precision in a thing only as its nature allows.† I would not have Drool reading Cicero or crafting clever riddles, but under my tutelage he had become more than fair at tumbling and juggling, could belch a song, and was, at court, at least as entertaining as a trained bear, with slightly less proclivity for eating the guests. With guidance, he would make a proper fool. â€Å"Pocket is sad,† said Drool. He patted my head, which was wildly irritating, not only because we were face-to-face – me standing, him sitting bum-to-floor – but because it rang the bells of my coxcomb in a most melancholy manner. â€Å"I'm not sad,† said I. â€Å"I'm angry that you've been lost all morning.† â€Å"I weren't lost. I were right here, the whole time, having three laughs with Mary.† â€Å"Three?! You're lucky you two didn't burst into flames, you from friction and her from bloody thunderbolts of Jesus.† â€Å"Maybe four,† said Drool. â€Å"You do look the lost one, Pocket,† said Mary. â€Å"Face like a mourning orphan what's been dumped in the gutter with the chamber pots.† â€Å"I'm preoccupied. The king has kept no company but Kent this last week, the castle is brimming with backstabbers, and there's a girl-ghost rhyming ominous on the battlements.† â€Å"Well, there's always a bloody ghost, ain't there?† Mary fished a shirt out of the cauldron and bobbed it across the room on her paddle like she was out for a stroll with her own sodden, steaming ghost. â€Å"You've got no cares but making everyone laugh, right?† â€Å"Aye, carefree as a breeze. Leave that water when you're done, would you, Mary? Drool needs a dunking.† â€Å"Nooooooo!† â€Å"Hush, you can't go before the court like that, you smell of shit. Did you sleep on the dung heap again last night?† â€Å"It were warm.† I clouted him a good one on the crown with Jones. â€Å"Warm's not all, lad. If you want warm you can sleep in the great hall with everyone else.† â€Å"He ain't allowed,† offered Mary. â€Å"Chamberlain[13] says his snoring frightens the dogs.† â€Å"Not allowed?† Every commoner who didn't have quarters slept on the floor in the great hall – strewn about willy-nilly on the straw and rushes – nearly dog-piled before the fireplace in winter. An enterprising fellow with night horns aloft and a predisposal to creep might find himself accidentally sharing a blanket or a tumble with a sleepy and possibly willing wench, and then be banished for a fortnight from the hall's friendly warmth (and indeed, I owe my own modest apartment above the barbican[14] to such nocturnal proclivity), but put out for snoring? Unheard of. When night's inky cape falls o'er the great hall, a gristmill it becomes, the machines of men's breath grind their dreams with a frightful roar, and even Drool's great gears fall undistinguished among the chorus. â€Å"For snoring? Not allowed in the hall? Balderdash!† â€Å"And for having a wee on the steward's wife,† Mary added. â€Å"It were dark,† explained Drool. â€Å"Aye, and even in daylight she is easily mistaken for a privy, but have I not tutored you in the control of your fluids, lad?† â€Å"Aye, and with great success,† said Shanker Mary, rolling her eyes at the spunk-frosted wall. â€Å"Ah, Mary, well said. Let's make a pact: If you do not make attempts at wit, I will refrain from becoming a soap-smelling prick-pull. What say ye?† â€Å"You said you liked the smell of soap.† â€Å"Aye, well, speaking of smell. Drool, fetch some buckets of cold water from the well. We need to cool this kettle down and get you bathed.† â€Å"Nooooooo!† â€Å"Jones will be very unhappy with you if you don't hurry,† said I, brandishing Jones in a disapproving and somewhat threatening manner. A hard master is Jones, bitter, no doubt, from being raised as a puppet on a stick. A half-hour later, a miserable Drool sat in the steaming cauldron, fully-clothed, his natural broth having turned the lye-white water to a rich, brown oaf-sauce. Shanker Mary stirred about him with her paddle, being careful not to stir him beyond suds to lust. I was quizzing my student on the coming night's entertainments. â€Å"So, because Cornwall is on the sea, we shall portray the duke how, dear Drool?† â€Å"As a sheep-shagger,† said the despondent giant. â€Å"No, lad, that's Albany. Cornwall shall be the fish-fucker.† â€Å"Aye, sorry, Pocket.† â€Å"Not a worry, not a worry. You'll still be sodden from your bath, I suspect, so we'll work that into the jest. Bit of sloshing and squishing will but add to the merriment, and if we can thus imply that Princess Regan is herself, a fishlike consort, well I can't think of anyone who won't be amused.† â€Å"‘Cepting the princess,† said Mary. â€Å"Well, yes, but she is very literal-minded and often has to be explained the thrust of the jest a time or two before lending her appreciation.† â€Å"Aye, remedial thrusting's the remedy for Regan's stubborn wit,† said the puppet Jones. â€Å"Aye, remedial thrusting's the remedy for Regan's stubborn wit,† said Drool in Jones's voice. â€Å"You're dead men,† sighed Shanker Mary. â€Å"You're a dead man, knave!† said a man's voice from behind me. And there stood Edmund, bastard son of Gloucester, blocking the only exit, sword in hand. Dressed all in black, was the bastard: a simple silver brooch secured his cape, the hilts of his sword and dagger were silver dragon heads with emerald eyes. His jet beard was trimmed to points. I do admire the bastard's sense of style – simple, elegant, and evil. He owns his darkness. I, myself, am called the Black Fool. Not because I am a Moor, although I hold no grudge toward them (Moors are said to be talented wife-stranglers) and would take no offense at the moniker were that the case, but my skin is as snowy as any sun-starved son of England. No, I am called so because of my wardrobe, an argyle of black satin and velvet diamonds – not the rainbow motley of the run-a-day fool. Lear said: â€Å"After thy black wit shall be thy dress, fool. Perhaps a new outfit will stop you tweaking Death's nose. I'm short for the grave as it is, boy, no need to anger the worms before my arrival.† When even a king fears irony's twisted blade, what fool is ever unarmed? â€Å"Draw your weapon, fool!† said Edmund. â€Å"Sadly, sir, I have none,† said I. Jones shook his head in unarmed woe. We both were lying, of course. Across the small of my back I wore three wickedly-pointed throwing daggers – fashioned for me by the armorer to be used in our entertainments – and while I had never used them as weapons, truly flung they had spitted apples off the head of Drool, nipped plums from his outstretched fingers, and yea, even speared grapes out of the air. I had little doubt that one might find its way into Edmund's eye and thus vent his bitter mind like a lanced boil. If he needed to know he would know soon enough. If not, well, why trouble him? â€Å"If not a fight, then a murder it is,† said Edmund. He lunged, his blade aimed for my heart. I sidestepped and knocked his blade away with Jones, who lost a bell from his coxcomb for his trouble. I hopped up onto the lip of the cauldron. â€Å"But, sir, why spend your wrath on a poor, helpless fool?† Edmund slashed. I leapt. He missed. I landed on the far side of the cauldron. Drool moaned. Mary hid in the corner. â€Å"You shouted bastard at me from the battlements.† â€Å"Aye, they announced you as bastard. You, sir, are a bastard. And a bastard most unjust to make me die with the foul taste of truth still on my tongue. Allow me a lie before you strike: You have such kind eyes.† â€Å"But you spoke badly of my mother as well.† He put himself between me and the door. Bloody bad planning, building a laundry with only one exit. â€Å"I may have implied that she was a poxy whore, but from what your father says, that, too, is not breaking the bonds of verity.† â€Å"What?† asked Edmund. â€Å"What?† asked Drool, a perfect parrot of Edmund. â€Å"What?† inquired Mary. â€Å"It's true, you git! Your mother was a poxy whore!† â€Å"Beggin' your pardon, sir, poxiness ain't so bad,† said Shanker Mary, shining a ray of optimism on these dark ages. â€Å"Unfairly maligned, the poxy are. Methinks a spot o' the pox implies experience. Worldliness, if you will.† â€Å"The tart makes an excellent point, Edmund. But for the slow descent into madness and death with your bits dropping off along the way, the pox is a veritable blessing,† said I, as I skipped just out of blade's reach from the bastard, who stalked me around the great cauldron. â€Å"Take Mary here. In fact, there's an idea. Take Mary. Why spend your energy after a long journey murdering a speck of a fool when you can enjoy the pleasures of a lusty wench who is not only ready, but willing, and smells pleasantly of soap?† â€Å"Aye,† said Drool, expelling froth as he spoke. â€Å"She's a bloody vision of loveliness.† Edmund let his sword point drop and looked at Drool for the first time. â€Å"Are you eating soap?† â€Å"Just a wee sliver,† bubbled Drool. â€Å"They weren't saving it.† Edmund turned back to me. â€Å"Why are you boiling this fellow?† â€Å"Couldn't be helped,† said I. (How dramatic, the bastard, the water was barely steaming. What appeared to be boiling was Drool venting vapors.) â€Å"Common fuckin' courtesy, ain't it?† said Mary. â€Å"Speak straight, both of you.† The bastard wheeled on one heel and before I knew what was happening, he had the point of his blade at Mary's throat. â€Å"I've been nine years in the Holy Land killing Saracens, killing one or two more makes no difference to me.† â€Å"Wait!† I leapt back to the lip of the cauldron, reaching to the small of my back with my free hand. â€Å"Wait. He's being punished. By the king. For attacking me.† â€Å"Punished? For attacking a fool?† â€Å"‘Boil him alive,' the king said.† I jumped down to Edmund's side of the cauldron – moved toward the doorway. I'd needed a clear line of sight, and should he move, I didn't want the blade to hit Mary. â€Å"Everyone knows how fond the king is of his dark little fool,† said Mary, nodding enthusiastically. â€Å"Bollocks!† shouted Edmund, as he pulled the sword back to slash. Mary screamed. I flipped a dagger in the air, caught it by the blade, and was readying to send it to Edmund's heart when something hit him in the back of the head with a thud and he went bum over eyebrows into the wall, his blade clanging across the floor to my feet. Drool had stood up in the cauldron and was holding Mary's laundry paddle – a bit of dark hair and bloody scalp clung to the bleached wood. â€Å"Did you see that, Pocket? Smashing fall he did.† All of it a pantomime to Drool. Edmund was not moving. As far as I could see, he was not breathing either. â€Å"God's bloody balls, Drool, you've kilt the earl's son. We'll all be hung, now.† â€Å"But he were going to hurt Mary.† Mary sat on the floor by Edmund's prostrate body and began stroking his hair on a spot where there was no blood. â€Å"I was going to shag him docile, too.† â€Å"He would have killed you without a thought.† â€Å"Ah, blokes have their tempers, don't they? Look at him, he's a fair form of a fellow, innit he? And rich, too.† She took something from his pocket. â€Å"What's this?† â€Å"Well done, lass, not so much as a comma between grief and robbery, and much the better when he's still so fresh his fleas have not sailed to livelier ports. The Church wears well on you.† â€Å"No, I'm not robbing. Look, it's a letter.† â€Å"Give it here.† â€Å"You can read?† The tart's eyes widened as if I had confessed the ability to turn lead into gold. â€Å"I was raised in a nunnery, wench. I am a walking library of learning – bound in comely leather and suitable for stroking – at your service, should you fancy a bit of culture to go with your lack of breeding, or vice versa, of course.† Then Edmund gasped and stirred. â€Å"Oh fuckstockings. The bastard's alive.†

Education System in Bhutan - 3178 Words

 ¬Ã‚ ¬ Acknowledgement Getting this research done was a team effort. Our sincere appreciation goes to Mr. Sangay Tenzin, examination controller of Bhutan council for School Examination and Assessment, for his kind support to get standardized test scores of tenth and twelfth standard; Mr. Sonam Gyeltshen working under Bhutan council for School Examination and Assessment staffed under IT Department for his tireless work in getting the scores and providing us with the same; Dr. Shivaraj Bhattarai dean of Royal Thimphu College, for his kind approval to let us go for the collection of data and also for his help in editing our approval letter; Mr. Deb Kumar Acharyya, program leader for BBA for his kind help in calling off the classes on the days†¦show more content†¦Education quality in Bhutan has been noted deteriorated in many aspects like, In olden days students were sent to school at later ages like eight or ten, where they are matured enough to learn and analyze the teachings. In present days child ren at the age of four or five are sent to school where they seem to be innocent and will not be able to grasp what is delivered. In past days most of the parents were illiterate and when they sent their children to school they feel that their child is doing something new and were treated with pride and dignity. Whereas in today’s scenario, most of the parents are educated and when their child make mistake they refer it as blunder and incapable. It is said that, â€Å"The product quality directly correlates with the process quality† (Wangchuk 2009). To say that how good or bad the students are depends entirely upon how well they received the education. â€Å"The ‘quality input’ in a school setting encompasses adequately trained and motivated teachers, good infrastructure, good library, conducive teaching-learning environment, reasonable working hours, adequate stationary, normal motivated students and good recreational facilities. 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