 TAB Strange that even though I'm writing a review for TAB, the old Diet Pepsi jingle is coursing through my brain simultaneously."That great Pepsi taste/Diet Pepsi won't go to your waist" Somewhere, I hope there's two retired ad execs in a tattoo parlor, one with a gun to the other's head screaming "I fuckin' told you they'd remember it!" as a giant Diet Pepsi chest tattoo is administered. Oh TAB, the oldest and lamest of punchlines in my comedic reportoire. And yet I had never tried you before the Hot Potato dare. Hopefully "fisting" or "bulimia" are not considered legal dares … the rules of this game seem to be getting murkier and murkier.
I had flirted with the idea of making up a fake TAB review, but a rare wave of integrity washed over me at the 11th hour, so here I am, freshly back from the neighborhood grocery store with a brand new 12-pack of TAB. I kinda like the can these days, but it seems to have the same effect as the last remaining long-sleeved shirt on a clearance rack. There's just something … off about it. The taste? Yup, it's diet cola. Maybe you like diet cola, in which case, maybe you'll like TAB. I loathe diet soda pop and, so, can't stand TAB. Go ahead, take away my sugar-stacked sodas, but substitute 'em with caffeine injections and bottled water … anything but this.
Review by Bradley A. Milton |
