Here’s the deal. Welcome to the seventh installment of my world-renowned series – Makya Mcbee Vs. Reader’s Suggestions. This week’s suggestion comes from tireless reader Ian. While he was not clear on exactly what he had against this unnaturally colored beverage (to quote him, “Why don’t you pick on bottled water? Or Kool-Aid?”), it doesn’t matter. I’ve got my own score to settle here.
Kool-Aid (originally called Kool-Ade until, I assume, it was decided that, as long as they were going to misspell the front end of their hyphenated product name, they might as well follow through and misspell the suffix meaning “sweet drink” as well) was invented in some year by some person. (Research has never been one of my strengths). And I am adamantly against the spelling of “cool” with a “k.” Kool-Aid? Don’t drink it. Kool cigarettes? Don’t smoke them. Kool & The Gang? Okay…they get a pass.
Of course, the oddest thing about this “drink” is their mascot – the Kool-Aid man. We all know this guy -the giant walking pitcher who’s full of himself. His most modern version has him wearing tennis shoes, a yellow jacket and blue shorts. Which begs the question – what’s changed in the past few years that he now needs to be clothed? What is that small Kool-Aid bulge in his shorts? Come on, I think we were all willing to trust the fact that he was a Kool-Aid man.
Regardless of whether or not he’s going commando, I prefer my mascots in solid form. I mean, what’s with his arms and legs? They appear to be made of Kool-Aid, yet they don’t have a vessel to hold their form. Are his appendages liquid, solid, or some sort of gelatinous goo? And Kool-Aid man is often seen carrying a small pitcher of Kool-Aid, a miniature version of himself. What is this supposed to be? Is this his kid? Are we supposed to be comfortable drinking Kool-Aid man’s essence? He bleeds so that we may be refreshed? Does he survive if his pitcher is emptied? The whole thing is wildly disturbing.
And what is this granulated substance we’re dumping in our water? Is this the ashes of the Kool-Aid man’s departed father? How many brave Kool-Aid men must die? I don’t think Kool-Aid man’s aversion to doors was a gung ho urge to sell product…I think he’s running in fear from the children who are trying to drink him.
Plus, I just don’t trust a beverage that one can drink…or snort. Nor do I trust a beverage that lunatic Jim Jones chose as his cyanide delivery system at Jonestown. And I certainly don’t trust a drink that includes the flavor, “Triple Awesome Grape.” Triple awesome grape? How many years of development did this take? First their scientists created grape, then awesome grape, then double awesome grape, and then the day finally came. “Huzzah!” they must have cried in triumph, “We’ve cracked the impenetrable triple awesome barrier!”
So, how am I going to do it? How will I kut short Kool-Aids plan to konquer the world? Luckily, I have a simple, four step plan. Step One: Train a colony of beavers to do my bidding. Step Two: Send my beavers to Lake Michigan to build a large dam. Step Three: Hire a demolitions expert. Step Four: Instruct my expert to strategically destroy a portion of the dam so that the resulting flood hits only the section of the Kraft Headquarters (located in Northbrook, Illinois – and, again with the “k” spelling…) that manufactures Kool-Aid. When the water hits the powder a flavorful stream of triple awesome will spill out into the valleys of the Midwest. A river of multi-flavored goodness zigzagging across Kentucky and Tennessee and flowing down through Mississippi where it will empty into the Gulf of Mexico. Like a rainbow-colored, delicious oil spill, this cascade of fruity ambrosia will put an end to the Kool-Aid man and his seemingly limitless pitchers of himself.
Or, I guess I could start a petition.