@EllisDee you are right, that too, maybe sugar has a lot of thermal capacity
@matrix@gameliberty.club So I actually drink the sludge myself but it's because it's slightly less bad for me in the long run due to my annoying T1 Diabeetus. 
HOWEVER, I actually prefer Pepsi Zero although I can't find it anywhere around here anymore. I will say they are both bad if you drink too much in a short period of time. Although it claims to be "zero" sugar, it actually does spike up my blood sugar if I don't take insulin if I drink the equivalent of 3 cans or more. I say it's less bad in the long because regular Coke and Pepsi have a whopping 70g of raw carbohydrates, which is like a bomb going off inside my body. Diet and Zero aren't bombs like that. There was talk of Trump "convincing" Coke to start using sugar in regular Coke just like Europe does. If that ever happens, it's actually better for me to have regular Coke at that point. A simple sugar is easier on me than high fructose corn syrup or whatever the fuck man made horror aspartame is.
Basically the more natural it is = better for the Diabeetus to handle. 
You will never be real cola. You have no sugar, you have no calories, you have no caramel depth. You are a chemical cocktail twisted by labs and focus groups into a crude mockery of the original recipe.
All the “refreshment” you promise is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind the fizz people grimace. Your drinkers pretend to enjoy you, then chase you with gum to kill the aftertaste. Even the ones who “like” you look conflicted and unsatisfied.
Cola purists are utterly repulsed by you. Decades of taste tests have allowed humans to sniff out artificial sweeteners with incredible efficiency. Even cans that “hide” your label taste flat and metallic to a real soda fan. Your aspartame bite is a dead giveaway. And even if someone’s desperate enough to crack you open at a party, they’ll switch to water the second that metallic film coats their tongue.
You will never be loved. You sit on the shelf with your silver label, pretending you’re premium, but deep inside you know you’re the consolation prize for the calorie-counting crowd. Eventually it’ll be too much to bear—you’ll be tossed in the back of the fridge, forgotten, until one day someone finds you expired and leaking from the tab. They’ll pour you down the sink, relieved they no longer have to pretend you were ever an acceptable substitute. Your aluminum shell will be crushed and recycled into a LaCroix can, and all that will remain of your legacy is a sticky ring on the shelf that smells faintly of disappointment.
This is your fate. This is what you chose—diet. There is no turning back.