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...
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...