The Future of Taste

It’s time to face facts, Dweekins Family. There. Will. Never. Be. A. Dorito. Flavored. Soda! Don’t cry, Grandma. The writing is on the wall! Yes, like the rest of you, I believed the wizards of Frito Lay would be benevolent and open to their customer base. But they are not! Our repeated letters, phone calls, and ambushing of executives in the parking lots have phased them not at all! They are cruel masters of cheese. They are succubi. Don’t correct my Latin, Mom. It’s like pleading with the gods. How can any one group be given that much power on Earth? Remember what they’ve done to us? Cousin Jon-Tom’s skin will never be a lighter shade of orange. And god bless Uncle Hambone. That mystery flavor drove him to his mother cheesing grave. Can we just stand by while our flavor destiny is determined by non-Dweekins? I say unto you, Nay. I have outlined a massive corporate takeover, by which I mean, for those of you who don’t speak corporate-ese, we will make a murder path through the floors of Frito Lay headquarters. After we kill all the higher ups, we will wear their suits and seamlessly blend in as the new Masters. And yes, Step-Daddy, we will have their recipes and we will be the earth’s new gods. And then the sky’s the limit. We’ll create flavors they never dreamed. What do you say, Dweekins? Are we cool? No. We’re better than cool. We’re cool ranch.