The following is intended to be read with the utmost seriousness.
Here is my most controversial opinion: Pepsi is far, far superior to Coke. There, I’ve said it, and I can already feel the distant rumbles of the avalanche of unsubscribers that is sure to follow. But I stand by my opinion and I don’t care what persecution comes my way for saying it out loud.
No, Coke could never match the smoother, sweeter tingling of Pepsi for me. I was a convert to Pepsi, having been a long-time drinker of Coke and other colas, and like all converts, I was fanatical in my newfound faith. Down, down with Coke and all the other tired, boring old potions! That was my view.
And I had science on my side. In the famed Pepsi Challenge, the upstart Pepsi-Cola took on Big Daddy Coke in a blind taste test—and won! That this great victory, a historical landmark forever scratched into the brains of we faithful, did not translate into market dominance—that the devilry of Coke overpowered even those who had drunk of and delighted in the sacred Pepsi waters—was merely a testament to the foolishness of the masses.
We few, we keepers of the Pepsi Can, we knew the truth, and we remained staunch in our faith. And we were secure in our righteousness, too, for had not Pepsi faced down American racism? Had not Pepsi, the Caesar of the Colas, become the driving force behind the civil rights movement?
And we sneered—oh, how we sneered!—at all those who were too weak for the full Pepsi experience, those who chose Pepsi Max and the like over the real thing. Heretics, the lot of them.
Ah, but why do I speak as if my faith is still strong? For a catastrophe has befallen the Partisans of Pepsi. It came upon me slowly but surely. You see, my Pepsi addiction had been going strong for years, but over the past few months the pleasure of drinking Pepsi began to ebb. I thought my faith had faltered and I begged forgiveness, but it was no use. Pepsi tasted weaker, empty almost, and sometimes I even actively felt distaste for it. What the hell was wrong with me?
But I kept on drinking, a loyal follower, until the Great Pepsi Shortage. Suddenly, bottles of my precious libation were hard to come by. I drove to different stores, seeking it out, sometimes successful, sometimes not. And then I wondered: why is this? Was it somehow related to my growing distaste? I mulled it over for a long time, unable to answer those questions, until one day, struck by inspiration, I glanced at the side of a bottle I had managed to procure—and there it was, the terrible truth!
Pepsi had significantly reduced its sugar content.
The fault had not been in me, it had never been in me. No, it was far, far worse: Pepsi itself had betrayed me!
Oh, that world-shaking moment of realisation! The horror, the horror!
As soon as I discovered the truth, I knew what had happened. For our nannying government had, in previous years, introduced higher taxes on sugar, obliging many soft drinks companies to alter their recipes. For a long time, Pepsi held out and those of us who were the strongest in our faith accepted the price rise. But it seemed that now they had given in. And indeed, when I conducted some research into the Mysteries of Pepsi, I saw that the holiest of holies had…I can hardly type the words out. Yes, Pepsi had…changed its recipe!
Oh! It still hurts to think of this capitulation. Without realising it, I had been drinking heretical—nay, infidel!—Pepsi for months, too slavish in my devotion to think about the diluted taste too much. I did not want to shatter my faith. But Pepsi itself has shattered it instead. This is the worst of all worlds. My Pepsi, my Pepsi, why hast thou forsaken me?
Is the Great Betrayal a worldwide phenomenon? Is even the holy fount of American Pepsi tainted now? I do not know. But if not, perhaps there is hope: perhaps I can import Pure Pepsi, or perhaps I can emigrate to wherever it still exists… But, no. No, it’s impossible. Neither option is within my means. The restoration of my faith is beyond my power now. Even the whispers of Pure Pepsi’s continued existence in can form do not excite me: I need it in large quantities, 2-litre bottles, if my faith is to return.
Within me lurks still a faint flicker of that faith. Perhaps the outburst of millions of voices in condemnation of the impurity of the new waters will force Ramon Laguarta, the Pope of Pepsi, to repent. Perhaps it is even a test of our faith. Well, my faith was strong—Pepsi, please, I beseech thee, restore it!
I must live with but a tiny portion of hope. I fear that my Pepsi addiction has come to an end. My waistline will be pleased, no doubt, but what of my tongue? What of my heart? What of my very soul?
Get thee behind me, Pharisee Pepsi! And farewell—I hope only for a short time—to Pure Pepsi, my dear, my holy, my beloved.
You've made my morning, Danny! Thank you.