An Open Letter to White Monster Drinkers
Hearken unto me, thou foul guzzlers of canned battery acid. I hath for years sipped upon thy sacred White Monster as though it were nectar of the gods, yet lo, I was but a blind fool wandering the wastelands of flavorless carbonation.
Then came the blessed crimson chalice: San Pellegrino Rosso Blood Orange.
Good LORD above.
This drink descendeth from the heavens itself. The citrus? Divine. The sparkle? Like an Italian orchestra tap dancing upon thy tongue. Meanwhile White Monster tasteth like somebody whispered fruit into a vat of TV static.
Aye, the sugar content be enough to awaken a Victorian child from the dead. Three cans and thy pancreas files for divorce. But dost thou think I care? NAY. I shall perish happy, red can in hand, like a Roman emperor dying mid-feast.
White Monster fans shall tell thee:
Bro it has zero calories.
And I say unto them:
So doth drywall.
Cast aside thy pale aluminum sadness and partake in TRUE splendor. Drink not the beverage of overworked gas station goblins when thou couldst sip the blood-orange ambrosia of kings.
I beseech thee:
Try the San Pellegrino Rosso Blood Orange at least once before thou meetest thy maker.