An Update A Day: Day Four and a Bit

  • 5/24/2007 09:15:00 pm
  • By Mark Gibbings-Jones

To: PepsiCo, Inc.
700 Anderson Hill Road
Purchase, NY 10577

Dear Pepsi,

I feel I must complain to you in the strongest possible terms about what has happened to me upon consuming some of your popular Pepsi Max soft drink. I shall start my story from the beginning, and with pictures.

En route to a local bar with a few of my multi-ethnic model agency colleagues, I noticed a can of your 'Pepsi Max' soft drink affixed to a blue bar, somehow suspended in mid-air just in front of me. Although I can't be fully sure, from my position by this blue bar, each end of the bar seemed to be labelled - one end as 'xam', the other with 'orez', not quite sure why. In order to be fully sure what I saw in front of me was not some kind of urban mirage, I elected to pick up this can, at which point the world around me began to spin at an alarming rate.

Desperate to steady myself, I grabbed on to the only thing I could still see clearly - the magic hovering can affixed to the blue bar. This did little to help my feeling of extreme motion sickness.

Unsure what else could be done at this point, I decided to take a drink from the can, in the hope that the carbonated liquid inside would somehow calm my nerves.

This is where things took a turn for the worse. I found myself propelled to an alternate world, where suddenly I was completely unable to move my arms, legs or body. My eyes darted nervously around, hoping somebody would be able to help me. Unable to utter a plea for help, I could do nought but bobble my head around furiously, in the desperate hope that someone, anyone would understand my predicament.

In a mixture of relief and abject panic, I noticed that I was situated in front of two young women who appeared to be giants. I had no way of knowing if they were somehow responsible for my being in this desparate situation, if they would be able to save me, or if this was just the beginning of something much worse. I continued to flail my head around, unable even to mouth the word 'help', hoping against hope that they were benevolent girl-giants. O! Sweet relief! They appeared to have noticed me, and the look upon their face seemed to be one of understanding. Surely they would be able to help me.

My relief was all too short lived. Their expressions seemed to turn to one of mocking joy at my entrapment. They did little more than taunt my helpless form by laughing in my helpless face, even going as far as kissing me, in some sort of depraved display of jolly glee. As my confused form tried to signal outside of the vehicle I was trapped in, just in case there was anyone else who could possibly help me, the evil girl-giants drove away, far away, far from any possible hope of rescue.

It is now three weeks since that original experience, and I remain trapped, affixed to the dashboard of the car belonging to the two giantesses. I cannot bring myself to relate the experiences I have had to endure since my initial capture, but suffice to say that I feel this entire experience hardly qualifies as 'maxing' my 'life'. As such, I must insist that you change the slogan for your current promotional campaign to something along the lines of "Pepsi Max: Run The Risk Of Inhabiting A Nightmarish World Where Your Entire Body Is Somehow Substituted With A Plastic Figurine And You Suffer A Series Of Torments Where You Long For Nothing More Than The Sweet Release Of Death", which I feel would be more accurate.

Ian Bloke.

PS. Oh, and "help", obviously.

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