Thomas Piece-of-horseshit.
I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just going to be brutally honest. Once upon a time, low-cal beverages used to be labeled like Hybrid SUV's, with giant bubbly letters and cliched clipart. Now it borders on the subliminal.
After a long hard day of setting up 400 pound shelving units, I'm plodding through the supermarket, and to my right is a six-bottle tote of Black Cherry Thomas Kemper Soda. Oh, happy day! Yes! No...
One sip immediately put me in mind of licking between the toes of Elmer Fudd's muddy, sweat-encrusted feet. So I examine the bottle more closely. Whoops, the wrapper is more of a white than the normal red. A miniscule proclaimation on the top decries its low calorie status. Fair enough, but expecting the worst, I inspect the ingredients: Sucralose. Now I can take the maltodextrin and sodium benzoate, but why does this stuff have to constantly gnaw its way into my diet?
Other quips on the bottle include such gems as '10 delightful little calories' and 'one nice, big suprise.' Yeah, that's right, 'suck it all down, perverts.' 'One honey of a Black Cherry soda.' More like 'one honey of camel ballsap.'
All this was only 10 minutes ago, and I still have 5.45 bottles to go, which isn't even enough for a weedkiller additive. I've downed two Vernors ginger ales, chewed an aspirin and am munching my way into a box of raisins as I type. I can still feel the stuff roiling in my stomach, and from my taste buds to the back of my throat still lingers chemical violation.
Fuck sucralose, fuck aspartame and fuck all artificial sweeteners. If I didn't want excess sugar, I wouldn't be drinking motherfucking soda pop, so fuck you and your trojan bullshit, Thomas Kemper. I think I'm going to throw up.
Holy fucking shit. Fuck off!
I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just going to be brutally honest. Once upon a time, low-cal beverages used to be labeled like Hybrid SUV's, with giant bubbly letters and cliched clipart. Now it borders on the subliminal.
After a long hard day of setting up 400 pound shelving units, I'm plodding through the supermarket, and to my right is a six-bottle tote of Black Cherry Thomas Kemper Soda. Oh, happy day! Yes! No...
One sip immediately put me in mind of licking between the toes of Elmer Fudd's muddy, sweat-encrusted feet. So I examine the bottle more closely. Whoops, the wrapper is more of a white than the normal red. A miniscule proclaimation on the top decries its low calorie status. Fair enough, but expecting the worst, I inspect the ingredients: Sucralose. Now I can take the maltodextrin and sodium benzoate, but why does this stuff have to constantly gnaw its way into my diet?
Other quips on the bottle include such gems as '10 delightful little calories' and 'one nice, big suprise.' Yeah, that's right, 'suck it all down, perverts.' 'One honey of a Black Cherry soda.' More like 'one honey of camel ballsap.'
All this was only 10 minutes ago, and I still have 5.45 bottles to go, which isn't even enough for a weedkiller additive. I've downed two Vernors ginger ales, chewed an aspirin and am munching my way into a box of raisins as I type. I can still feel the stuff roiling in my stomach, and from my taste buds to the back of my throat still lingers chemical violation.
Fuck sucralose, fuck aspartame and fuck all artificial sweeteners. If I didn't want excess sugar, I wouldn't be drinking motherfucking soda pop, so fuck you and your trojan bullshit, Thomas Kemper. I think I'm going to throw up.
Holy fucking shit. Fuck off!
Last edited by unnamednewbie13 (2009-02-08 03:23:07)
