Coca Cola Ad Quotes

The city throbbed, shimmered. Then, trying to snap himself out of it, he said, “Fuck Coca-Cola.” “Yeah, Sprite for life, fuckers,” I added, not knowing then what I know now: that Coca-Cola and Sprite were made by the same damn company. That no matter who you are or what you love or where you stand, it was always Coca-Cola in the end.

Altogether about 80 percent of the processed foods we eat contain added sugars. Heinz ketchup is almost one-quarter sugar. It has more sugar per unit of volume than Coca-Cola.

Like so much in Atlanta, Stone Mountain had become a bland and inoffensive consumable: the Confederacy as hood ornament. Not for the first time, though more deeply than ever before, I felt a twinge of affinity for the neo-Confederates I'd met in my travels. Better to remember Dixie and debate its philosophy than to have its largest shrine hijacked for Coca-Cola ads and MTV songs.

Barry Popkin of the University of North Carolina states that of the six hundred thousand food items for sale in the United States, 80 percent are laced with added sugar. Ninety percent of the food produced in the United States is sold to you by a total of ten conglomerates—Coca-Cola, ConAgra, Dole, General Mills, Hormel, Kraft, Nestle, Pepsico, Procter and Gamble, and Unilever.

By one estimate, about half the sugar we consume is lurking in foods where we are not even aware of it—in breads, salad dressings, spaghetti sauces, ketchup, and other processed foods that don’t normally strike us as sugary. Altogether about 80 percent of the processed foods we eat contain added sugars. Heinz ketchup is almost one-quarter sugar. It has more sugar per unit of volume than Coca-Cola.

Juice is not a fruit. Per drop, juice has the same amount or more of both sugar and calories when compared with sugared soda. If you agree that adding vitamins and minerals to Coca-Cola wouldn’t make it a healthy choice, then you should probably reconsider that morning glass of orange juice, as that’s all it really is—flat soda pop with vitamins, from which the processing has removed the vast majority of the fruit’s actual nutrition.

All the positive associations the subjects had with Coca-Cola—its history, logo, color, design, and fragrance; their own childhood memories of Coke, Coke’s TV and print ads over the years, the sheer, inarguable, inexorable, ineluctable, emotional Coke-ness of the brand—beat back their rational, natural preference for the taste of Pepsi. Why? Because emotions are the way in which our brains encode things of value, and a brand that engages us emotionally—think Apple, Harley-Davidson, and L’Oréal, just for starters—will win every single time.

Ti scrivo mentre tu sei da qualche parte a comprare la Coca-Cola. È la prima volta in vita mia che scrivo una lettera a qualcuno seduto accanto a me su una panchina. Ma se non facessi così dubito che riuscirei a farti arrivare quello che ti voglio dire. Perché tu non ascolti niente di quello che dico, prova a dire che non è vero. “Se può interessarti, oggi tu hai fatto una cosa molto grave nei miei confronti. Non ti sei neanche accorto che ho cambiato pettinatura. Piano piano, con sacrificio, avevo aspettato che mi crescessero i capelli e lo scorso week-end finalmente mi sono fatta fare un taglio femminile. Ma tu non ci hai fatto neanche caso. Ero così sicura di essere carina nella mia nuova pettinatura che non vedevo l'ora di farti una sorpresa, tanto più che era la prima volta che ci vedevamo da tanto tempo. E tu non te ne sei nemmeno accorto! Ti rendi conto di che vuoi dire? Figuriamoci, se è per questo probabilmente non sapresti dire neanche com'ero vestita. Ma guarda che io sono una donna. Per quanti pensieri tu possa avere, potresti almeno degnarmi di uno sguardo. Sarebbe bastato poco. Se solo mi avessi detto, non dico tanto, qualcosa tipo “Carina, questa pettinatura‟, ti avrei lasciato fare come volevi, immergerti nei tuoi pensieri quanto volevi. “Perciò sto per dirti una bugia. Ti dirò che ho un appuntamento a Ginza con mia sorella. Non è vero. Pensando di restare stanotte a dormire da te mi ero portata perfino il pigiama. Sì, se lo vuoi sapere nella mia borsa ci sono pigiama e spazzolino da denti. Mi viene da ridere, se penso a quanto sono cretina. A te l'idea di invitarmi a casa tua non ti ha sfiorato nemmeno. Ma non importa. Visto che ci tieni tanto a startene da solo fregandotene altamente di me, rimani pure da solo e pensa a tutti i tuoi problemi quanto vuoi senza nessuna interferenza da parte mia. “Il guaio è che non riesco nemmeno ad avercela con te. Mi sento soprattutto sola. In fondo sei sempre stato gentile con me mentre io per te non ho fatto niente. Tu sei sempre chiuso nel tuo mondo e ogni volta che io provo a bussare e a chiamarti tu mi lanci al massimo un'occhiata e subito ti richiudi in te stesso. “Eccoti che torni con la Coca-Cola. Vieni verso di me tutto sprofondato nei tuoi pensieri. Quanto vorrei che inciampassi! Ma non inciampi, ti siedi accanto a me come prima e bevi la tua Coca. Avevo un residuo di speranza che tornando notassi qualcosa e dicessi: “Di' un po‟, ma hai cambiato pettinatura?‟ Invece niente. Se te ne fossi accorto anche in ritardo avrei strappato questa lettera e ti avrei detto: “Dai, andiamo a casa tua. Ti cucinerò una cena favolosa e poi andremo a letto felici e contenti‟. Ma tu sei ottuso come un pezzo di legno. Sayonara. P.S. La prossima volta che ci vediamo a lezione evita di rivolgermi la parola.

She loved to experiment with her sauces. Everything started with sugar and salt. There was often vinegar and onions and tomatoes involved, but then she tried all kinds of ideas. A touch of bourbon, maybe. Stone-ground mustard. Chiles in adobo. Crazy stuff like a vanilla bean from Madagascar, bitter chocolate, Coca-Cola, coffee, star anise, tamarind, or Florida calamondins. She made careful recipe notes and kept track of the most popular flavors, adding her recipes to the most valuable treasure her mother had left behind---a massive file of clipped and handwritten recipes.

From the Bridge” by Captain Hank Bracker Behind “The Exciting Story of Cuba” It was on a rainy evening in January of 2013, after Captain Hank and his wife Ursula returned by ship from a cruise in the Mediterranean, that Captain Hank was pondering on how to market his book, Seawater One. Some years prior he had published the book “Suppressed I Rise.” But lacking a good marketing plan the book floundered. Locally it was well received and the newspapers gave it great reviews, but Ursula was battling allergies and, unfortunately, the timing was off, as was the economy. Captain Hank has the ability to see sunshine when it’s raining and he’s not one easily deterred. Perhaps the timing was off for a novel or a textbook, like the Scramble Book he wrote years before computers made the scene. The history of West Africa was an option, however such a book would have limited public interest and besides, he had written a section regarding this topic for the second Seawater book. No, what he was embarking on would have to be steeped in history and be intertwined with true-life adventures that people could identify with. Out of the blue, his friend Jorge suggested that he write about Cuba. “You were there prior to the Revolution when Fidel Castro was in jail,” he ventured. Laughing, Captain Hank told a story of Mardi Gras in Havana. “Half of the Miami Police Department was there and the Coca-Cola cost more than the rum. Havana was one hell of a place!” Hank said. “I’ll tell you what I could do. I could write a pamphlet about the history of the island. It doesn’t have to be very long… 25 to 30 pages would do it.” His idea was to test the waters for public interest and then later add it to his book Seawater One. Writing is a passion surpassed only by his love for telling stories. It is true that Captain Hank had visited Cuba prior to the Revolution, but back then he was interested more in the beauty of the Latino girls than the history or politics of the country. “You don’t have to be Greek to appreciate Greek history,” Hank once said. “History is not owned solely by historians. It is a part of everyone’s heritage.” And so it was that he started to write about Cuba. When asked about why he wasn’t footnoting his work, he replied that the pamphlet, which grew into a book over 600 pages long, was a book for the people. “I’m not writing this to be a history book or an academic paper. I’m writing this book, so that by knowing Cuba’s past, people would understand it’s present.” He added that unless you lived it, you got it from somewhere else anyway, and footnoting just identifies where it came from. Aside from having been a ship’s captain and harbor pilot, Captain Hank was a high school math and science teacher and was once awarded the status of “Teacher of the Month” by the Connecticut State Board of Education. He has done extensive graduate work, was a union leader and the attendance officer at a vocational technical school. He was also an officer in the Naval Reserve and an officer in the U.S. Army for a total of over 40 years. He once said that “Life is to be lived,” and he certainly has. Active with Military Intelligence he returned to Europe, and when I asked what he did there, he jokingly said that if he had told me he would have to kill me. The Exciting Story of Cuba has the exhilaration of a novel. It is packed full of interesting details and, with the normalizing of the United States and Cuba, it belongs on everyone’s bookshelf, or at least in the bathroom if that’s where you do your reading. Captain Hank is not someone you can hold down and after having read a Proof Copy I know that it will be universally received as the book to go to, if you want to know anything about Cuba! Excerpts from a conversation with Chief Warrant Officer Peter Rommel, USA Retired, Military Intelligence Corps, Winter of 2014.

Journalist Tony Horwitz describes its laser show as an unfortunate mix of Coca-Cola, the Beatles, the Atlanta Braves, and Elvis sining "Dixie," followed by the "Battle Hymn of the Republic." Television ads end with the inclusive slogan, "Stone Mountain: A Different Day for Everyone." Eventually the desire for everyone's dollar may accomplish what the physical elements cannot: eradicating Stone Mountain as a Confederate-KKK Shrine.

His Information presets had very little to tell him during his rural detour, except the occasional comment about the type of tree sliding by or when the road was constructed, and the rush of exposition in the airport comes as a shock, especially on such little sleep. Ken quickly learns, and completely fails to absorb, a great deal about the politicking involved in the airport’s initial construction and the decision on its location, as well as which airlines serve it and since when and to which connections, and its place in various ranking schemes (official associations, user-generated, statistically based), while bypassing reams on the sourcing of materials, the architecture firm, and the history of the land below it. Along the way, ads—flat and projected, still and animated—crowd his vision, all of them translated and most of them annotated by his Information: he learns that the company trying to sell him whiskey is a subsidiary of Coca-Cola (not surprising, since they are part of the corporate government that owns this airport) and sees the annual statement summary for a firm offering wealth management. Not having any wealth to speak of, he ignores both the ad and the background Information discrediting it.

And the historical corrective goes even further, as the energetic and material foundations of modern civilization go back into the five decades before the beginning of World War I and, to a surprisingly high degree, to a single decade, the 1880s. That decade saw the invention and patenting, and in many cases also the successful commercial introduction, of so many processes, converters, and materials indispensable for modern civilization that their aggregate makes the decade’s record unprecedented, and most likely unrepeatable. Bicycles, cash registers, vending machines, punch cards, adding machines, ballpoint pens, revolving doors, and antiperspirants (and Coca Cola and the Wall Street Journal) could be dismissed as the decade’s minor inventions and innovations.

A TERRIFYING new “legal high” has hit our streets. Methylcarbonol, known by the street name “wiz”, is a clear liquid that causes cancers, liver problems, and brain disease, and is more toxic than ecstasy and cocaine. Addiction can occur after just one drink, and addicts will go to any lengths to get their next fix – even letting their kids go hungry or beating up their partners to obtain money. Casual users can go into blind RAGES when they’re high, and police have reported a huge increase in crime where the drug is being used. Worst of all, drinks companies are adding “wiz” to fizzy drinks and advertising them to kids like they’re plain Coca-Cola. Two or three teenagers die from it EVERY WEEK overdosing on a binge, and another TEN from having accidents caused by reckless driving. “Wiz” is a public menace – when will the Home Secretary think of the children and make this dangerous substance Class A?

Then, trying to snap himself out of it, he said, “Fuck Coca-Cola.” “Yeah, Sprite for life, fuckers,” I added, not knowing then what I know now: that Coca-Cola and Sprite were made by the same damn company.