You’ve all heard about this drama surrounding Coca-Cola’s attempt to save polar bears, aye?
I’ll be honest: I’ve only digested the broad strokes. Why bother putting research into this, when my real goal is to just show off a new Slurpee?
From what I can gather, the story goes like this: Coke, in their continuing effort to make the world better for polar bears, has released special edition cans with cute polar bear graphics on them. I assume that there’s some monetary donation aspect to this, as I can’t imagine Coca-Cola calling bear-themed can graphics “charity” without one.
All well and good. The cans are adorable. The problem, some say, is that these cans of normal Coca-Cola look too much like cans of Diet Coke. The complaints were large and loud enough for Coca-Cola to halt production and do everything short of a full-scale recall. I guess people who are too stupid to read cans are the winners, but what about the losers? What about the polar bears?
Polar bears get mean when they’re caught in the middle. They’re no longer cute. Unless, by “caught in the middle,” you mean literally, as if two brave jerks surrounded a polar bear and threw a beach ball to one another, just out of its reach. Then they’re still cute, flopping their heads and paws around like that.
That’s one of the cans. It does bear a stronger resemblance to Diet Coke than normal Coke, but, you know, it still doesn’t say “diet” anywhere. I’d also imagine that some potential confusion may be disarmed by the 10’ “DRINK COCA-COLA & SAVE BEARS” banners peppering every location where it’s currently sold. This whole thing just makes me mad. Do I sound mad?
I’m sketchy on the details beyond this. I know Coca-Cola did something to make things right, but I’m not sure if it was merely a promise to stop making diet-looking non-diet cans in the future, or something more aggressive. It’d be interesting if retail chains were actually being told to remove them from store shelves. Stuff like that usually only happens when secret poison is involved.
Well, that’s almost ten paragraphs. It’s at least more than five paragraphs. Now I can Slurpee like a turkey. (Trademarked.)
Let’s say I’m a hunter, maybe a tiger, and Christmas bullshit is my prey. If so, the 7-Eleven holiday edition Slurpee is my version of a full-sized, peak-aged antelope. A tough catch, but so sweet when you don’t go home all bloody and regretful.
Finding one just makes me so happy. And I’m not even that wild for Slurpees. I feel like I’m more in the role of “inspector,” charged with making sure 7-Eleven follows proper protocol. I don’t think you have to love steak to be good at ensuring that who those serve it aren’t using rat poison. Do I sound mad?
The Sprite Snowball Blast Slurpee. /glow
Moving from Coke to Slurpees was no huge leap. The campaigns are intertwined, or the same, or however you’d convey it. It’s still tied to Coca-Cola, and it’s still all about polar bears. The real point to remember? You get a Slurpee based on snowballs out of it.
Pouring Slurpees while taking pictures is not easy. Don’t judge until you try.
It’s a good, Sprite-flavored Slurpee.
That’s the quote I want attributed to me in the next 7-Eleven Snowball Blast TV commercial. I hope they remember the hyphen between the “x” and the “e.”
I’m not even certain that we’re meant to eat it. Maybe we’re supposed to buy and safely transport enough Snowball Blast to build fantastical winter villages in our backyards. This is the kind of snow you only see in the movies. So sparkly, soft and fresh that it simply must be fake.
But this isn’t fake. It’s real. And it tastes like LYMON.
If so many car companies hadn’t beaten it into the ground, I’d nominate “Halo” for that next TV commercial.
I’m prone to exaggerations, but the photo’s right there. You can see it. You can see that this is amazing snow. Perfect in a way that few straws have experienced before. Only time can ruin it. But the same could be said for us all.
Augh. I want to shrink down to an inch. For once, it’s not out of shame. I want to squish and tumble all up in that snowy cup. My own private winter edition of Candy Land! All I’d need is a tiny chocolate crown, and one of those magic pretzels you eat when you want to grow big again.
My first Christmas-related Slurpee experience was during the 2007 season. Unfortunately, until today, it was also my last.
Only, not really. When I do these holiday countdowns, I always try to gather enough materials for more topics than I’ll ever have a chance to cover. It’s safer that way. If I run of out items to describe, I might have to start incorporating real thought into these entries. I respectfully pass.
That’s how it was last Christmas, anyway. December came, December went, and I still had an overflowing plastic tub filled with Santa junk, making me trip whenever I walked into the living room.
Of all the things I didn’t get to write about last year, only one truly bothered me. Mainly because I was wasting such a boss photo of a Slurpee in front of a Christmas tree:
Last year’s Christmas miracle was the Snow Fruit Slurpee, which I’m guessing was some kind of grapefruit deal? I don’t know, all of the 7-Elevens around here never had it in stock. Oh yeah, the pictures were up, but every time you consulted the flavors, there’d be something like “BAJA MAJA TUTTI COCO” where the Snow Fruit should’ve been.
Maybe that’s why I never bothered to cover it. That second photo clearly isn’t of a Snow Fruit Slurpee, but rather, a Wicked Apple Slurpee, leftover from the 2010 Halloween Countdown.
I guess I was going to say, “Sure, I couldn’t find the Snow Fruit Slurpee, but I’ve held onto this other one for three whole months, and that should be enough.”
But it wouldn’t have been enough.
I know that now.