I'd Never Wanted A Coke So Much In My Life...

water

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Oct 29, 2004
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For those who have yet to hear Coke's new radio ad campaign it has some guy or girl just talking over the radio telling the sleep-inspiring stories of the time they wanted a Coke. While the commercials themselves once again prove my theory that the best marketing execs work for beer companies, it did give me the idea for a thread: Tell your own humorous/fictional "I'd never wanted a coke so bad..." story!

As usual I will begin:

I'd never wanted a Coke so bad in my life as the time I was smoking crack with my two midget buddies. We'd been up for 76 solid hours living off nothing but crack and Pringles, when all of the sudden Midget +1 (to this day I can't remember his name or which garbage dump I dropped his body at) dropped the crack pipe on my pants which instantly set them ablaze. It wouldn't have been as bad if I hadn't been using my pants as an Ether rag earlier that day, but I'll tell you that I went up like Richard Pryor. Furiously I began to swat at my pants, too slowly realizing that I was just fannnig the blaze, Midget +1 and +2 had started into Oompa-Loompa style song by that point about the dangers of crack, and were no help. Then suddenly I realized that if I had an ice cold Coke I could pour it on my pants and save my future entry into the gene pool. Since there was no Coke in sight I ended up breaking the crack pipe and stabbing Midget +1 in the neck with it, dousing the flames with blood gouting from the wound. When all was said and done I wished even more that I had a cold Coke and some Neosporin.

Ready, set, go...
 
It was dark in the cavern. Dark and cold. I had no idea how long I had been down there, or even how deep I had descended as I felt my way along the slick floor. I had stubbed my toe on at least a dozen different stalagmites. I knew they were stalagmites because as I entered the mouth of the cavern I found myself mentally repeating the lessons of my geology professor.

"Stalagmites and stalactites. Which is which? Think 'g' for ground and 'c' for ceiling."

I reached blindly into the dark ahead, searching for any obstacles in my path, and pondered the laborious natural processes by which the the curious formations were created. For millenia mineral-rich water leeched through the limestone of the cavern ceiling and fell, one small drop at a time, in precisely the same spot on the floor. Ever so gradually a small ring of minerals formed around the perimeter of that spot, then a larger ring, then a small cone, until finally the majestic beauty of an adolescent stalagmite loomed within the inky blackness. And the process would continue until eventually a pillar of minerals connected floor to ceiling. It was all rather astounding.

I slipped along, my mind whirling with thoughts of time and space, the universe and the fantastically slow mechanics of geology, and at that moment I suddenly realized how refreshing a cold Coke would be. But if I didn't hurry that band of Indians would escape with that hiker's scalp.
 
My uncle died Wednesday. As a result, I have a house full of various relatives, some who I have never met before. I cooked dinner this evening for about a dozen people. I made chicken marsala and a few other dishes. Garlic, olive oil and chive butter spread for bread I made earlier in the day. I pulled basil and garlic from my garden to mix with a nice olive oil as a salad dressing, it went well with the pasta also. I made an interesting salad out of onions, green and red bell peppers, a touch of cucumber (all from the garden) with a salad dressing made from merlot, red wine vinegar, honey and a touch of olive oil. After I sauteed the chicken, I baked it for a while in a nice crystal dish my mom had. It just so happens that I have the same dish. I was cleaning up and taking dishes to the kitchen after dinner and one of my great aunts daughters (I guess that would make her some sort of cousin though she has a son about my age) mentioned how much she like the crystal dish. Its probably 12" x 14" x 4" deep and has a metal stand so you can set it on the table. I asked this cousin who lives in Florida if she would like one, I have the same dish upstairs and you can have it if you would like it. As soon as I offered, my mom belts out in front of a crowd of people I have just met, "MICHAEL, YOU CAN'T GIVE THAT AWAY. IT'S YOUR WIFES. THE DIVORCE. WHAT ABOUT THE LAWYER? SHE CAN'T HAVE THAT." At that moment, I thought to myself, "I could really go for a Coke." A Coke, so that I could pour it out and shove the empty bottle up my mother's rectum, kick her in her grotesquely large leg, watch her fall to the ground in pain and let her drown in the Coke that I had just poured out.
 
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