Pepsiman was roaming the streets one fine day in search of a party to crash. Ahh, life was good he thought. Since the guys at Pepsilabs had created him, Pepsi's stock was rising quickly, people loved him, worshipped him even, and the bad guys feared him. Yes, life as a superhero certainly had it's appeal.
Happening by a little family restaurant he decided to go in and check things out.
"Hey people!" he shouted. "What are you drinking today?"
A few girls in a nearby booth squealed at the sight of him, holding up their glasses of Pepsi for his inspection.
"Good, good", he said praising them, he would have grinned and winked at them except he didn't have any mouth or eyes on his polished aluminum face. Others muttered, a few looked apprehensive, but most of them ignored him.
"They will learn not to ignore me, oh yes, they will learn", he thought to himself.
"Hey you in the corner! Yeah, you fatso! I said what are you drinking?"
"I'm drinking coffee, is that ok with you asshole?" The fat, bald man responded.
Pepsiman slowly walked over to the table.
"What did you call me?" he said softly.
"Fuck you," the man said and turned away.
Quick as a flash, Pepsiman grabbed his bald head, and slammed it down hard on the table. Their was a loud crack and the table broke in two. The woman who was sitting across from the man screamed and covered her mouth while her plate of spaghetti flew into the air hitting her in the chest, then dropping down into her lap. Pepsiman then proceeded to lift the fat man into the air and piledrive him onto the hard ceramic floor. He then knelt down beside the man's unconscious body and stuck a can of diet Pepsi under his double chins.
"Time to lose some of those spare pounds bitchass", he whispered into the man's ear.
"All right, now where were we," he said in a jovial voice, standing up again.
"You there, yes you little boy, what are you drinking today?"
"...Juice," said the six year old, looking up at Pepsi man with terrified eyes.
"Juice?" said Pepsiman slowly, as if he didn't comprehend the meaning of the word. "Why are you drinking juice?" He pronounced each word slowly and separately, while looking at the ceiling as if trying to find the answers up there.
"My, my mom won't let me drink soft drinks..." he stammered.
"Give me the glass," hissed Pepsiman.
With a trembling hand, the boy handed over his glass of juice.
"This is what we do with juice," he said and the glass shattered in his hand, spraying the nearby people with the fragments.
"Now order your kid a fucking Pepsi and be quick about it," he said to the boy's mom who was shaking like a leaf.
"Where's the owner of this dive anyway?" he said turning around, "I want to have a little word with him."
After a few seconds a skinny man slowly stood up from behind the counter where he had been hiding.
"Um, I'm the owner...sir," he said clearly having wet himself.
"Christ do you always come to work stinking like that?" snarled Pepsiman. "Sometimes you people make me sick."
"Yes sir..." the manager stuttered.
Meanwhile, the rest of the room remained frozen with the exception of some people who were near the door and slowly edging toward it.
"One more step and your history dickhead," said Pepsiman without turning around. The guy who was nearest to the door froze but scowled in anger. Without warning he lunged for the door intent on escaping. Pepsiman spun so fast it was hard to tell that he had even moved. Quick as lightning he hurled a can of Pepsi at the man's head. Before he'd even touched the doorknob the man dropped to the ground in a silent heap. The can of Pepsi landed on the ground with a thud, then rolled away under a table.
"Anyone else want to leave?" He asked nonchalantly. "No? Oh good."
The manager was looking, his eyes bugged out, at the man on the floor who now had a large purple bump emerging from his head. Pepsiman strode over to the counter.
"What kind of soft drinks you serving here?" Pepsiman asked, walking up to the drink machine to find the answer to his own question. "7-up, mmm, Crush, ok, Coke..... no this won't do at all." He just stood there looking down at it, like a disappointed father who has found out that his son cheated on a test at school. The edge of the metal counter where Pepsiman was resting his hands slowly crumpled inwards.
"How long have you been serving this piss to your customers?" He asked in the same quiet, disappointed voice. The manager fainted dead away. Pepsiman strode over, picked him up by the neck and proceeded to revive him by sticking his head in the freezer and repeatedly slamming the door.
"Now then," Pepsiman said once he had his attention again, "Since you like Coke so much you're going to drink the whole supply here yourself see? You have until the end of today to finish it." Pepsiman started to head towards the door.
"And don't think I've forgotten about you other losers," he said to the petrified crowd, "I'll be watching you."
Once back out on the street again, Pepsiman smiled to himself. 22 more people who would never touch Coke again in their lives. Ahhh yes, he thought to himself, life was definitely good.
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