There is something nostalgic about Warheads Soda. Not in a bike-riding, sprinkler-running, sleepover-camp kind of way, but more in a repulsive sort of “Remember how I used to think it was acceptable to eat Cool Ranch Doritos crushed over an untoasted bagel for lunch every day?” kind of way.
Forget summer vacation and not paying bills; my favorite childhood memory is the complete indifference I had to dietary carcinogens.
It’s macabre, really, this liquified monstrosity of a malic acid-coated candy. One imagines this being the type of formula kept from an unsuspecting public behind lock and key, not—as is actually happening—being hawked for allowance money at pubertal meccas like Hot Topic.
Despite (or maybe because of) this, Warheads Soda calls me, an adult, to the void. It beckons me to jump off a cliff I shouldn’t be on in the first place, a cliff typically reserved for pre-teens with eyebrow rings.
So now, a can of Warheads Soda lies in wait inside my refrigerator door. Its familiar “Kidz Bop Presents: Faces of Death” logo goggling out at me, daring me to risk it all and consume thirty-five grams of sour sugar in one chug.