Pulp affliction: Why I don’t want a Fanta Orange

By Max Rubinstein

People today care about all the wrong things.

“Oh my God, did you hear about what Michael Vick did to those dogs?” Yeah, I did. Did you hear about the 20-cent price increase of the Junior Bacon Cheeseburger? Indeed, it’s issues like these, issues that affect our daily lives, that more people should be concerned with. Yet for some reason, the intellectual community overlooks these societal ills, and consequently thousands of “lesser” travesties continue unhindered every day. I won’t stand for this any longer, and neither should the American public. For this reason, I feel the condemnable state of orange sodas across the nation should be brought to its citizens’ attention, confronting one of the many under-acknowledged evils of our society.

The last time I had a Fanta Orange, I was in the Rome Fiumicino airport, and, knowing that it would be my last for a very long time, I sat and reflected upon my drink. Above all, it was delicious, refreshing, and affordable. I examined the bottle and watched how the bubbles delicately swirled bits of orange pulp throughout the drink. The pulp danced and spiraled temptingly through the carbonated waves, inviting you to dance along. A versatile and dynamic drink of varying textures and flavors, the Fanta Orange offered in Europe is a fine complement to foods ranging from microwavable Dino Nuggets to a filet mignon. It makes one wonder why Coke abstains from offering this product in America.

The product they do offer—what we incorrectly accept as Fanta Orange—is comparable to drinking straight Robitussin, but without the added bonus of getting wasted. A vile and repulsive substance fit for peasants and serfs, I’m surprised that there was such a load of nonsense on campus last year about boycotting Coke for “human rights violations”: releasing this biohazard unto the masses and into our refrigerators seems a far more substantial charge. I know that I, for one, have written multiple letters to the Coca Cola Corporation demanding change. Sadly, the only person to read my letters was “Steve,” a computer program capable of impersonating a low-level corporate underling, but with more character.

To be fair, it is actually possible to buy “Aranciata”—an unacceptable substitute—here in Hyde Park. Distributed by San Pellegrino, one can find both Aranciata and Limonata (a similarly fantastic lemon soda) at U-Mart. Too bad it costs $1.50 per can, or, as I measure my money, too much. If Coke, however, were to distribute this product here in the States, with the correct advertising, it would take off. These days, people are so concerned about eating right and not drinking soda that the best and most obvious product to offer them is a soda disguised as a health product (like Gatorade, but less disgusting). I myself actually have a commercial in mind that expresses this new, healthy Fanta.

Imagine the following on your television in between “Next” and “Parental Control”: Bruce Willis is a medieval monk assailed by enemies ravaging and slaying his people. Having no other choice he fights them off, but soon sees Death approaching, commanding that Bruce follow Him to the depths of Hell. But Bruce Willis doesn’t take orders from anyone, and he convinces Death to play him in a game of Stratego to decide his fate. Death agrees, but on the condition that Willis play with the red pieces. Of course, Bruce wins the game and Death, saddened by his loss, pulls out a flask of whisky and starts to drink. Out of pity, Bruce offers him a Fanta Orange and Death graciously receives it, disposing of his alcohol. In the end Bruce continues to slay his assailants, sipping on soda while killing foes, who are then seen to be advertising Sunkist.

There’s a subtle, yet profound, statement being made, and it’s that Sunkist sucks and Fanta is now a health product. Plus if Bruce Willis drinks it, so should you—and so does Death, which is really sweet because Death is normally associated with something bad, like dying, but in this case it’s with playing intellectually stimulating board games and avoiding alcohol. I spelled out this and a few more ideas in the letters, but Steve was, of course, unfazed.

In the end, I’m advocating that everyone do themselves a favor and go to the GSB, do a couple psych studies, pick up a free apple, and then head over to U-Mart to buy a can of Aranciata. It really is delicious and incredible, and I know for a fact that everyone will agree with me. God willing, Coke will then change its shameful ways and enter the market of authentic orange soda, driving down prices by what liberals will claim is the exploitation of impoverished women and children in Columbia. But these problems should not concern us so much. What’s important is that we, the American public, are given a more delicious, healthier, and cheaper orange drink product.

Max Rubinstein is a second-year in the College.