One day, I know, the amount of Diet Coke I drink will catch
up to me.
It’s inevitable.
I drink six to eight liters of the stuff a day, after all,
it’s a wave of nonstop caffeine I surf to make up for the fact that I can’t get
a proper night’s sleep due to the amount of caffeine I ingest. It’s not normal,
it’s profoundly unhealthy, and there are bound to be consequences.
I am aware of all of this, acutely so, yet I persist with my
unhealthy habit. I do this consciously, making the informed decision, even knowing
as I do that it will come back some day to haunt me, to follow the path I have
placed myself upon.
It is who I am. It is what I am. I know that it is wrong,
and yet I continue.
I have thought it out, fully, you can trust me on that. And
I drink this much diet coke anyway.
So you may know, beyond doubt, that your protestations of
the side effects of what I’ve chosen to do to myself, your helpful advice and
suggestions regarding what might be best for me, will fall upon deaf ears.
I know it’s wrong, I do it anyway, it hurts no one but me,
so try not to worry to excess.
Yes, I have heard that aspartame causes brain tumors. No,
this hasn’t deterred me in any way.
In the event that I develop a tumor upon my frontal lobe, I
have learned from popular culture, this tumor will in the months I have left to
live provide me the ability to either see the future or read the minds of the
people around me. I will use this ability, for however long I have left, to
fight crime, constantly at odds with a female detective that I’m constantly one
step ahead of, and with whom I share a fascinating “Will they/Won’t they”
sexual tension.
Don’t get me wrong, she will be much more than simple eye
candy for the fans. The good detective will, indeed, be a very good detective,
and on more than one occasion will her training and keen analytical mind
uncover clues that I, even with my ability to read minds and see the future,
would have missed. Ours will be a partnership, in the truest sense, in spite of
our oft strained professional relationship.
Because she, you see, will not believe in the paranormal,
and will believe me a charlatan in spite of the proof I weekly put in front of
her of the results my unorthodox methods achieve.
It will run on Fox, for a season and a half, and when it is
abruptly cancelled midway through a season arc that will later win multiple
Emmy’s, the fan reaction via internet will be explosive, passionate and
furious…
Does this seem unlikely? Unbelievable? The fantasy of a man
in denial? Perhaps.
But I do know that the “aspartame causes brain tumors” meme
is based on one flawed study from more than a decade ago, and for me to have
the equivilent amount of aspartame as the mice the tests were performed on I
would have to eat truckloads of the stuff raw, every single day.
Which I do not do.
That’s science fact, bitches.
So no, I’m not worried about the amount of Diet Coke I
drink. The caffeine’s bad for me, I’d be better off if I quit, but it’s not an
immanent threat. And in the meantime, I still have to quit smoking in a
permanent way, that one WILL kill me, and that’s by far my higher priority.
Plus, really, don’t pretend you’d watch the show. It’d be a
fun one.
Now, if I can figure out how to get Diet Coke to sponsor…
