The call had come on a Tuesday. Pepsico (tm), the real deal, wanted you, you, to shoot their next ad campaign. The brief was vague – “something impactful, something…memorable” – but the pay was anything but. It was enough to keep your studio afloat for months, and you’d be a fool to say no.

The day of the shoot arrived, buzzing with nervous energy. You fussed over lighting, angles, making sure everything was perfect. Then, the studio shook. The ground vibrated, a low rumble echoing through the space. Before you could even process what was happening, the door flew open, hinges groaning in protest.

Standing there, larger than life, was Pepsi-Woman.

You choked. Your brain short-circuited. She was…real. And her stomach? It was a grotesque, gravity-defying sphere, a massive, shimmering testament to the soft drink it likely contained. It jutted out impossibly far, a stark contrast to her otherwise slim, hourglass figure. It looked like they'd simply glued a giant beach ball to her torso.

And she was burping. Loudly. Each belch was a resonant echo, a bubbly, almost wet sound that filled the studio.

She didn't speak, of course. Everyone knew Pepsi-Woman was mute. She simply gestured towards herself, a silent prompt to get to work.

You swallowed, forcing your professional instincts to kick in. “Right, uh…let’s get you positioned,” you stuttered, gesturing towards the backdrop.

The shoot was…an experience. Every click of the shutter was accompanied by a symphony of gurgles, rumbles, and churns emanating from her prodigious Pepsi-gut. It was like listening to a washing machine full of rocks, only the rocks were carbonated and smelled faintly of caramel.

You tried to focus on the lighting, the composition, anything other than the sheer, unbelievable size of her midsection. But every movement she made, every shift in her posture, sent ripples across the surface of her belly, a silent, mesmerizing display.

Hours crawled by. Finally, the last shot was taken. Pepsi-Woman, still silent, reached for the bottle of Pepsi she’d been holding as a prop. In one smooth movement, she tilted her head back and drained it, the bottle emptying with a loud glug.

You watched, transfixed, as her already massive stomach visibly expanded, pushing the fabric of her costume taut. She let out a soft, satisfied sigh, a ripple of movement traveling across the surface of her Pepsi-packed belly.

Then, she turned and, with a final, earth-shaking burp, walked out of the studio, leaving you in stunned silence, the scent of sugar and carbonation lingering in the air. You knew one thing for sure: you’d never look at a can of Pepsi the same way again. And you were pretty sure your studio was never going to be the same again either.