The Great Flavour Divide - A Hypothesis on Nonsense

Oi, do me a solid quickly.

Pick 3 colours.

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Don’t think about it too long, it’s not life altering…or is it?

Got them? Good, hang 5.

I have a theory.

Unfortunately, due to me being what Milena calls a tight arse (I call frugal) we are yet to have a wedding, so after 15 years this means the only aisles we have walked down together are the romantic aisles of Coles and Woolies.

Way back when – we actually did go out. We’d go into town, go to da club (only indie clubs so it was more city slick than doof-doof sick), go to house parties, and get proper written off…me more so than Milena.

But what this unintentionally led to was the birth of a theory I have now had for many a moon, many an observation, and many a purchase.

As we would walk down the aisles, feverishly searching for the sports drink section like a newborn calf blindly searching for the teat, our hands would never meet…

I would have a blue bolt in my hands, Milena an orange ice.

Every time.

Interesting I thought

…once I could cognitively think again after smashing down said Gatorade, a shit load of Maccas, and having a nap.

The same thing would happen with confectionaries, with additional parties involved, adding to the theory.

As I would be moonlighting as an Oligarch in Beau’s parents’ pool room, demanding rent from my hotel laden properties along the fanciest strips money could buy on a Monopoly board, the theory would arise again.

Me, a staunch supporter of one side of the flavour divide, would never get into an argument over who gets what lolly, because Milena and Beau would be reaching for the other side of the divide…in lolly terms.

Interesting, I thought

…as I was collecting another $1000 from my Vine Street 5-star accommodation.

I decided then and there that I had to do some research…just 10 years, a mortgage, 3 kids, and bunch of other questionable decisions later.

I started with the kids.

I sat the 6-year-old and the 2-year-old down at the table, and laid out an entire party bag of snake lollies. I made sure to spread them out so there were no groups of one colour, and intently watched on to see if the if the results did indeed match the hypothesis.

The results were immediate.

I slept on the couch the next two nights.

Apparently giving a 6-year-old and a 2-year-old a bunch of lollies before bed and trying to pass it off as research isn’t a great idea, and I was quite rightly labelled a fucking idiot.

I had to go deeper.

I ran my theory past some colleagues of mine. At first, a common thread with my colleagues arose, they labelled me a fucking idiot…until they thought about, and they all came to the same conclusion – they belonged to one side of the great flavour divide.

That would lead to a cascade effect. The colleagues would then in turn tell the lads around site the same theory, and the same results would pop up.

“That fucking idiot said what dumb thing now? Huh…wait…”

Interesting, I thought

…as I was really wondering why so many people thought I was a fucking idiot.

To further expedite my theory up the totem pole, I ran it past world renowned (and if he’s not yet, he will be after this shout out, such is the reach of Coffee Otis) life and business coach Gio Silanesu.

Such is the reach of this theory, it landed on the shores of an island in Italy, where the great man is based, with the biggest compliment an in-depth scientific analysis of a study of this magnitude could bring…

”Wait, what? Say it again? Hmmmmm”

Writes it on a pad, leans back in chair, and ponders

That lean back was the just reward for the abundance of 30 minutes of research I had performed to date for this earth-shattering realisation.

I had to go deeper.

What I uncovered was exactly what I had been on about.

A Scandinavian study in the late 1900’s showed that flat pack designs weren’t being invested in due to the ease of construction, or how quickly they could cause a divorce. It was the branding. As mentioned, due to the reach of Coffee Otis, I will refrain from naming a certain Scandinavian flat pack empire, due to me not wanting a sponsorship of the flat pack variety.

However, if you were to do your own research, I’m sure you will notice a certain colour palette. This study concluded that the empire in question could use this palette to appeal to both sides of the divide.

The colour choice was very intentional, they were playing for both sides of the war, and were showing no mercy to either party.

It turns out Magnus Carlsen wasn’t the first chess master from that neck of the woods (I failed geography FYI).

A Japanese bio-hazard investigation in 1964 came to the same conclusion using mice and viruses to show the same results. They would paint each mouse, in what I’m sure was animal friendly paint, one of the 6 colours primary colours in question, and observe as certain viruses displayed a positive chromotaxis – we use real scientific terms around here – towards mice of a particular shade.

No mice were harmed during this study.

I think.

The whole study was in Japanese, and I very much flunked that in Year 9. One thing I did piece together however – this was the third go round for this exact testing, and mice sales in Japan skyrocketed in 1964…coincidence, I’m sure.

A smoko shop visit in the posh suburb of Dandenong South led to maybe the most concrete results.

After witnessing two burly tradesmen collect their sports drinks from the fridge, I ran my theory past them.

“Fuck you might be onto something there ay, ya little fuckwit…2 dimmies thanks love.”

The studies were complete…or at least that’s how I pictured they would have gone.

Close enough is good enough for me.

Circling back to the colours in question.

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You can tell me your answer now. What three did you pick?

That’s exactly what I thought.

From not hearing you, the studies have been proven correct.

In this world of endless possibilities, when it comes to flavours of colour, people belong in one of two tribes.

Red, Blue & Purple.

Yellow, Orange & Green.

It’s ok that your mouth is agape. It’s what I do.

So please, do me a favour.

Continue the cascade.

Ask the people.

Correlate the results.

Post them somewhere I don’t have to see them.

The common thread – that of me being a fucking idiot – will eventually be dispelled completely.

Somewhere within a Monastery in India, the damn Dalai Lama himself will be peacefully sipping a Fierce Grape Gatorade, judging all you green, yellow and orange loving swine.