I Thought Nothing Could Make Me Dislike Dr. Pepper

I just saw the Dr. Pepper Cherry commercial starring Fergie of The Black-Eyed Peas.  I can only descirbe her wardrobe as the Elvira, Mistress of the Night Maternity Collection.  It seems the core message of the commercial is that Dr. Pepper Cherry causes bloating and jowliness.

Apparently, someone showed her a photo negative of Gwen Stefani circa 1999 and she just decided to run with it.  All I can say is that if Mr. Pepper truly is a doctor, this ad must somehow violate the Hippocratic Oath.  Somehwere, Josh Duhamel is cowering in a corner, praying for the nightmare to stop.

This actually might have been more appealing if they had gotten Taboo, but apparently he can only appear in physical form if you first watch a black and white video tape that ends with a glowing ring.  

Show me any scenario where you wake up and see the thing pictured above at the foot of your bed and you do anything other than soil yourself and start reciting the rosary.  I dare you.

How could you, Dr. Pepper?  How could you?  I'm not mad.  I'm just...disappointed.

Let's Take a Deep Breath and Think About This, Taco Bell

I have always loved Taco Bell.  While I occasionally might not be in the mood for a burger and fries, while I have always considered the dining experience at Subway to be akin to eating out of a friend's refrigerator, and while I want to slap anyone who offers me a panini, I have always been easily persuaded to make a run for the border.   When others were criticizing Taco Bell's beef content, I was simply ordering three times as many tacos to make up the difference.  Indeed, in my mind the taco was not 64% empty, but rather 36% full.

My devotion has been steadfast.  I once listened to a story from a restaurant sanitation specialist that detailed the invasion and complete conquest of a combination Taco Bell and KFC by an enormous and apparently very determined and well organized colony of rats, and all the while I was thinking to myself, "I'm going to go through a Taco Bell drive through on the way home."  I did, and I didn't regret it.  You could Secret of NIMH the hell out of my local Bell, and I would still dine with Nicodemus.

I have persisted even in the face of strong evidence that Taco Bell wasn't as committed to the relationship as I was.  They have consistently done away with my favorite menu items.  They insist on trying to make their sauce packets humorous rather than readily available.  They even found a way to make Charles Barkley not awesome.  On top of all of this, I once went through a drive through in Dayton, Ohio and was asked what I would like to order.  I told them I wanted a Big Beef Burrito Supreme and a Beef Meximelt.  The disembodied adolescent voice on the other end of the intercom responded, "I'm sorry, we're out of beef."   Take a moment and contemplate the series of epic failures necessary to create that situation.

Nevertheless, I have kept the faith--until now.

Tonight, I saw an ad for this:

 

Behold, the Pacific Shrimp Taco.

"Six succulent shrimp, marinated in spices, topped with crisp shredded lettuce, creamy avocado ranch and fiesta salsa, and served up in a taco."

Let's be honest with ourselves, Taco Bell:  just because you can acquire and sell shellfish doesn't mean you should.  Your reach has exceeded your grasp, and just as Alexander tasted bitter defeat as ambition overextended him in the Asian subcontinent, so will you taste bitter defeat as greed overextends you into the undiscovered country of Crustacia.  When I look at the genetic discards firing sour cream out of a re-purposed caulk gun behind your counters, I rarely think, "These are the people I want preparing my seafood delicacies."

Also, I have a number of firm beliefs.  Among these, I believe seafood should cost more than a Snickers.  I fear that Taco Bell may test this belief, and they will pay the price.  The streets will run orange with the puke of the non-believers, and no amount of caramel apple empanadas will cleanse their mouths of the taste of shrimpstank.   I will laugh heartily from within my hip-waders of judgment, and they will rue their choice of fourth meal.  And who gave them the false-confidence to believe they could handle the preparation of a food that requires de-veining?  I blame you, Top Chef.

Taco Bell, take my advice:  make sure you're well stocked with partial-beef, and stick to what you know.