When nation-states break down—and according to the Mayan prophecies they will by 2012… so any day now—the international companies will become how we define ourselves. Coke supporters will be about more than the cavities. Chipotle legions will chase more than double-of-everything, three-pound burritos. Prius drivers will believe in more than gas efficiency, Uber rides, and accidently running over people in the Prius’ electric mode.
The Coke-Pepsi wars will consume much of the first corporate nation-state years, which will be interesting because Coke’s mascot is a giant, easy-going polar bear and Pepsi’s is a red, white, and blue circle… thing. Uh, what exactly is Pepsi’s logo supposed to be? Is it a beach ball? The new one looks like a yin yang sign that’s had too much to drink.
This is why Pepsi is doomed. No one can figure out why they should fight for a beach ball or how increased awareness of beach sports is supposed to help the average Pepsian pay rent. Everyone can get behind a polar bear though. Polar bears are awesome.
Coke-Pepsi will be the first war, but not the last, as identical products will either destroy each other or merge. Chipotle versus Qdoba will be next, and considering Chipotle’s corporate mascot is a free-range, locally-grown, organic Mexican, and Qdoba’s is a white college student who undercooks rice, you know who wins there.
The Starbuck’s Empire will be untouchable, a jittery place where everything is done twice as fast and where conversations are practically unintelligible. Everyone is dehydrated all of the time, and everyone has to go to the bathroom all of the time. Besides those two things, the only significant drawback of Starbuck’s Empire is that it rains three hundred and forty-five days of the year and the other eleven days a giant siren comes on shore, lulls people to sleep, and then eats them. Not a good weather pattern in other words.
As far as beer goes, well, don’t go to Budweiser Land. Ever. Not even for a fun weekend. You go to Budweiser Land one day, the next you’re a seventy-year-old alcoholic sitting on the front porch with a twelve-gauge waiting for the next greenie from Whole Foods to ask where the organic farmer’s market is.
General Mills and Kellogg’s will form one massive breakfast conglomerate where everyone is happy but also incredibly sad, mainly because they haven’t eaten a well-rounded meal for sixty-five years and their children are all AC/DC, a new acronym for a child that has gone absolutely ape shit.