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Coke to Introduce New Pepsi-Flavored Coke August 5, 2002 |
New York, NY COURTESY COCA-COLA C Beating them at their own game: Pepsi Coke
The apparent coincidence of the two launches is a familiar trick in the ruthless cola wars, in which the business worldâs two most famous and petty rivals are forever scheming to one-up and stink-finger each other. Pepsi is hoping that its own blind stab in the dark, Pepsi Blue, a berry-flavored cola described as âwhat it would taste like if fruit could scream,â will be the aorta-spurting death blow it has been hoping ...
s Pepsiâs heavily marketed new nasty blue cola starts hitting store shelves this week, Coke is putting the finishing touches on its own new soda: Pepsi Coke. The new cola, subject of heated rumors for months and developed under the code name Cokesi, is a Pepsi-flavored version of its Coca-Cola Classic brand, and will appear in regional markets in August. The apparent coincidence of the two launches is a familiar trick in the ruthless cola wars, in which the business worldâs two most famous and petty rivals are forever scheming to one-up and stink-finger each other. Pepsi is hoping that its own blind stab in the dark, Pepsi Blue, a berry-flavored cola described as âwhat it would taste like if fruit could scream,â will be the aorta-spurting death blow it has been hoping to deal to rival Coke for decades. Naturally, Coke wants its hunk of the spotlight as well, and has little interest in âbeing stomped into asshole powder,â by rival Pepsi, as the industry jargon goes. With the release of new Pepsi Coke, Coca-Cola hopes to hit Pepsi right where it lives, namely in producing Pepsi-flavored sodas for the national market. Cokeâs tactics are not new in the industry. The last time Pepsi tried to re-invent the wheel by making it a different color, Coke responded quicker than the producers of the 1988 comedy Vice Versa. Pepsiâs Crystal Pepsi, a clear cola that tasted like a robot had pissed on a box of Nerds candy, was quickly one-upped in 1992 with Tab Invisible from Coke, a move that confused consumers and sent them back to drinking water. Hoping to not only match Pepsi, but match them twice, Coke is also hedging its bets by releasing its own new berry-flavored blue drink, Fanta Berry, ensuring that Pepsi Blue wonât be lonely during its short slide into pop-culture trivia obscurity. Stan Villanowski, a Coke spokesman and terrific liar, denied that Fanta Berry is being launched in response to Pepsi Blue. âPssssh. Who told you that? What an imagination. Fanta is the No. 1 fruit-flavored soft drink in the world,â he said. âPlus, it comes in those cool cascading dispensers that make it look like Fanta is already being digested. Fanta Berry is a logical extension for the Fanta brand, bringing balance to the Fanta Univerise.â Besides, the drink will also be more of a cobalt blue rather than the âdirty antifreeze blueâ of Pepsiâs new cola, he added. Fanta, sold in over 70 flavors at failing fast-food chains in over 188 countries, was relaunched this spring as a national brand in the U.S. and is sold in four flavors: orange, strawberry, grapple and pineappleberry. Pepsi appears to give less than two shits about the new Coke brand. âIt seems our idea âblueâ them away,â said a Pepsi spokesman, Harvey Pearsons, pausing expectantly for a laugh that never came. If weâre going to have to choke down blue Fanta when the fifteen year-old vegetable behind the counter puts it in our Icee cup on accident, then will we at least have the consolation of seeing how they work in a blue Fantana â a new member of the fruit rock group created for Fantaâs ad campaign? âThere is a Fantana that represents the four major flavors of the Fanta brand,â Mr. Villanowski said. âTheyâre not the only ones on the island of Fantana, however, so it wouldnât surprise me if a berry Fanta eventually joined the Fantanas here in the U.S. for their New Yearâs jam with the Cokeanistas and TABBA,â Villanowski continued, getting a paranoid look in his eye. âIâm buying up all the tickets I can so I can scalp them when the time of the concert grows nigh. Then, with that money I can finally quit this lousy job and move to New Zealand, where the Fantanas would never think to look. And Iâm bringing lots of bottled water.â Mr. Villanowski continued much like this for about three-quarters of an hour, cutting patterns into his tie with a pair of scissors as the commune news gradually inched its way closer and closer to the door. the commune news is available in three languages: English, Shouted English, and Pig Latin. Ramrod Hurley is the communeâs resident expert on cola flavors and can name off every place in the city that sells Mr. Pibb.
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Paris Hilton responds to Katrina tragedy with awkward giggle
 Pope Swears God Will Punish Drug Dealers With Poor-Quality Shit
Enron lawsuit settled for 3,000,000 ohms of free energy
 Nation's Three Remaining Liberals Turn to Humor to Survive |
Conservative Woman Found he White House, always on the search for rare species of human beings or close approximations, unearthed an impressive find last week: A female conservative. Defying usual stereotypes, the so-called right-wing woman is apparently not a career politician or from the deep rural South. In fact, shes completed higher education and appears to be not at all an idiot of any sort—though field-testing leaves the possibility open. And, perhaps most startling of all, the administration found the rare species in the most unlikeliest of places—within its own ranks. The alleged female Republican is Harriet Miers, White House attorney and personal lawyer to the Bush clan for years. Born and raised in Dallas, a small state in the country of Texas, Miers earned several accolades for her legal work and previous appointments by Texas governor George W. Bush, no relation to the current president. Though she lacks any bench experience, discounting bus stops, Miers is a respected lawyer, despite being personal attorney to the president and the White House counsel. Fox Disappointed by Desperate Alien Prison Escape Ratings he new television season barely underway, Fox executives are already lamenting the low ratings for their most calculated new show of the season, Desperate Alien Prison Escape. We dont understand it, lamented stunned network executive Roger Bacon. This show capitalized on every hot trend currently on TV. We even had swearing. It should have been the biggest hit of all time. Fuck. Foxs latest ratings hopeful follows the travails of Juk, a member of a secret alien invasion conspiracy who intentionally gets arrested for sleeping with a bored suburban housewife in order to help his cousin escape from jail, using a detailed map he had tattooed on his scrotum, which due to his alien anatomy is located where a human beings eyelids would be. Bob Barker Ceases to Exist After Retiring From Television Tree Bark Face Turns Out to Be Likeness of Jesus Lookalike Vance Waxman |
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 July 3, 2012
I Sing the Body EroticAh, my sweet Nancy. Another year, another anniversary, and our love endures. Why does it last? Is it because ours is a love meant for the ages, without judgment or fear of reprisal, a shared connection between two people who are soulmates? Yes, a smidge. Mostly it continues to grow stronger because we never let ourselves lapse into staleness.
As you know, Nancy, I am not simply a heart that never stops loving and a mind that never stops obsessing over our love. I am also a penis. I am a testicle. Two testicles, in fact. I am a body, the throbbing impulses of a man. And you are more than love to me. You are the rounded hips, the supple breasts, the plush lips, the honeyed cave hole of a woman. We satisfy each other's bodies as we do our eternal longing for companionship. Yes, Nancy, like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, we express our love with constant humping.
The years pass, Nancy, but our physical love continues to bring us closer. No matter how many times we do the nasty, my darling, I never tired of the act, and I know you feel the same. For no matter how we may copulate in familiar ways, when things grow too familiar and comfortable for us, we always choose to raunchy it up with a little romantic experimentation. Your leg here, our backs bent this day, dangle these here and lick themâour imaginations are limitless when it comes to our storied love-making. Even if we were blithering retards, dear Nancy, we still have that dirty Japanese...
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Ah, my sweet Nancy. Another year, another anniversary, and our love endures. Why does it last? Is it because ours is a love meant for the ages, without judgment or fear of reprisal, a shared connection between two people who are soulmates? Yes, a smidge. Mostly it continues to grow stronger because we never let ourselves lapse into staleness.
As you know, Nancy, I am not simply a heart that never stops loving and a mind that never stops obsessing over our love. I am also a penis. I am a testicle. Two testicles, in fact. I am a body, the throbbing impulses of a man. And you are more than love to me. You are the rounded hips, the supple breasts, the plush lips, the honeyed cave hole of a woman. We satisfy each other's bodies as we do our eternal longing for companionship. Yes, Nancy, like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, we express our love with constant humping.
The years pass, Nancy, but our physical love continues to bring us closer. No matter how many times we do the nasty, my darling, I never tired of the act, and I know you feel the same. For no matter how we may copulate in familiar ways, when things grow too familiar and comfortable for us, we always choose to raunchy it up with a little romantic experimentation. Your leg here, our backs bent this day, dangle these here and lick themâour imaginations are limitless when it comes to our storied love-making. Even if we were blithering retards, dear Nancy, we still have that dirty Japanese comic book with all the pictures of weird positions to try.
What a treasure the fables positions of the Comic Sutra has been to us. We've tried all of them, I believe, Nancy, some of them in other rooms of the house. Some say there are only 103 positions, but you know what I say to thatâdo them twice. And then do them underwater. There is no spice for a relationship like an aquatic sexual adventure, and as long as our neighbors leave their gate unlocked, we will continue to follow our inner Neptune and Neptilla.
Sometimes, dear Nancy, what we hide is more exciting than what we reveal. A sheer negligee may give a breathtaking hint of the beauty of your naked body, inspiring more excitement and ecstasy than I have ever known. Just as the small football helmet on my wang does the same for you. Sometimes, for an added touch of sensuality, we may play our own erotic game of Blind Man's Bluff, feeling our way to each other's bodies in the dark. At least once we remove the furniture, there's no way I want my dick in a sling again, but that probably goes without saying.
What does not go without saying is that I always prefer your naked body in the light. Do not think my talk of concealing your goodies or making love in the dark means I'm ashamed of your body. Though both of us have aged, Nancy, I find you just as sexy as you were ten years ago, on the sliding scale that we've both aged and, sure, you're not as hot as you used to be. Your sister has your body from ten years ago, but I would not sleep with her Nancy, since I love only you. I may think of her to inspire my erection, but I will make love to you with that erection, Nancy, and almost all the time I'm picturing your head on that body. That could not possibly be cheating.
No matter if you have gained a little weight, if your thighs now rub together in a disconcerting way, and if your breasts do not rise like fluffy couch pillows as they used to. If you have pancake boobs now, it's all the better for me to lay on top of you and cram my love inside. You complain about your cottage cheese buttocks, but I say those indentations are the dozens of dimples from the many wrinkly smiles your ass gives me whenever I look at it.
It's for our erotic life together, and no other, that I keep all those pornographic magazines in my workshed. I don't know why you're getting so bent out of shape, Nancyâyou should only be bent out of shape for our coupling. The magazine may be called Chicks With Dicks, but the reason I have those is obvious: A chick with a dick is still a chick. I don't need chicks with vaginas. That's why I have you, my love. º Last Column: Suicide is Too Good For Youº more columns
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|  May 26, 2003
From Lute to Guitar: A Guitar PrimerRecently a famous musician friend of mine who will remain anonymous, his first name Beck, asked me, "Yo, Griswaldâthe guitar. What the dillio?" From these utterances I constructed a crude sentence asking me the history of the guitar, and it's a good one. For centuries no instrument has been strummed more by drunken frat boys to woo underage poontang to a house party. It is America's instrument.
The basic design came from an instrument in the Dark Ages. The Dark Ages were so called namely because pretending you were smart would get your lights punched out by the unenlightened masses everywhereâit was like our modern-day Washington D.C., though the tie had yet to be created.
The original design is believed to be the creation of Johann Crunch, who later went on to invent a cereal while serving in the military. Crunch had kids that would not shut up, yet he found by pulling his wife's hair taut and plucking on it to make sounds he could lull them to sleep, and keep his wife in line. All this went in the crapper, however, when Crunch's wife died of a self-inflicted arrow wound. Not wanting to lose his ace in the hole with the kids, Crunch put her head on the end of a broom and tied the hair to the other end. This allowed him to create complicated chords with his left hand, like Gmaj7.
Upon his death, the guys who killed him made off with the strange instrument, which they called a lute, because they were uneducated and couldn't spell...
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Recently a famous musician friend of mine who will remain anonymous, his first name Beck, asked me, "Yo, Griswaldâthe guitar. What the dillio?" From these utterances I constructed a crude sentence asking me the history of the guitar, and it's a good one. For centuries no instrument has been strummed more by drunken frat boys to woo underage poontang to a house party. It is America's instrument.
The basic design came from an instrument in the Dark Ages. The Dark Ages were so called namely because pretending you were smart would get your lights punched out by the unenlightened masses everywhereâit was like our modern-day Washington D.C., though the tie had yet to be created.
The original design is believed to be the creation of Johann Crunch, who later went on to invent a cereal while serving in the military. Crunch had kids that would not shut up, yet he found by pulling his wife's hair taut and plucking on it to make sounds he could lull them to sleep, and keep his wife in line. All this went in the crapper, however, when Crunch's wife died of a self-inflicted arrow wound. Not wanting to lose his ace in the hole with the kids, Crunch put her head on the end of a broom and tied the hair to the other end. This allowed him to create complicated chords with his left hand, like Gmaj7.
Upon his death, the guys who killed him made off with the strange instrument, which they called a lute, because they were uneducated and couldn't spell "loot" correctly. As one became more proficient with the lute, they formed the world's first modern band, though of course they could never find a reliable bass player.
The lute was mass-produced by monks, and the first design change was to start making it out of wood rather than maiden's skulls, a more cost-effective manner of production, and to use nylon and silk for the strings, for a more sensual plucking style.
The Dark Ages gave way to the Middle Ages, then a brief period called the So-So Ages, often unmentioned in history and a lot like our 1970s. As all this progressed, the lute became England's most popular instrument, and was also imported to Europe where it helped create primitive Goth Tech bands in Germany. By the time America had its independence from England and its natives, the lute had been extended and transformed into the guitar, so called just because lute sounded stupid. A modern descendant of the original Guitar family claims his six-times great-grandfather (though friends say he was only half as great as built up) is the one to have created the first guitar, because his long arms would get cramped trying to play "Love to Thee Maidens" on the lute and his frustrated picking style resulted in the frequent breaking of strings.
By the early twentieth century, the refinement process for steel had become so fluid they could make aluminum foil and guitar strings. Since they already made the strings, guitar players went ahead and decided to try putting steel strings on the guitar. Though they hurt like hell to play, the twangy-twang sound allowed the creation of country-western music, which is often referred to as "strike two" against steel strings.
In 1951, extremely bored with the Ozzie-&-Harriet world around him, musician Freddy Fender attempted to create the world's first electric guitar. It didn't necessarily sound like a good idea, but was part of Fender's ongoing attempt to make an electric everything. Though his electric shoes caused calluses and toe rot and his electric water balloons killed instantly, Fender had apparently found his niche and lodged himself quickly inside it with the electric guitar. He made a fortune selling pickups and amplifiers alone. He also opened the door to Peter Frampton and other musicians who couldn't play a regular guitar to any degree of interest.
Today, you'll find an unplayed guitar in nearly every closet across this great nation, and it's no secret why. I put them there. º Last Column: Colonel Gandhi's Chickenº more columns
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Milestones1990: Red Bagel's dark vision of the future presented in lecture form at a local college predicts a war in Iraq, though he incorrectly predicts the date as 2002. Unless⌠well, we'll wait and see, won't we?Now HiringBartender. Mix all variety of drinks, serve beers with a quick smile and friendly expression. Listening a must, flipping bottles and spinning like in Cocktail a plus. Must know when to cut off Ramrod Hurleyâimmediatelyâand when to cut off Red Bagelânever, if you like your job.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | The Worldâs Rustiest Chastity Belt | | 2. | Pictures of My Grandchildren in Their Underwear | | 3. | Uncle Machoâs Stiff Summer Sausage | | 4. | How Pornography Works in Your Community | | 5. | Video Game Reviews: The Sims: Paternity Suit | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Albert Forrest Hyne 1/20/2003 The Tell-Tale Cell PhoneTRUE! I am shitting bricks like some kind of gigantic house-building robot, but does that make me crazy? Fuck you if you say I'm crazy! Fuck you and all of your crazy-saying friends! Fuck you right in the antelope! Yeah, I'm crazy like the bionic man was crazy. I can see through walls, motherfucker! You come and get some of this, I'll hear your eyelashes rub together when you reach for the car door! I'll drop a safe on your ass, and I'm not talking about some little file folder box with a lock on it, I mean one of those huge goddamned gun safes you could fit a Samoan in! Still think I'm crazy? Step a little to the left, motherfucker!
I don't know why I did it, okay? People do some fucked-up shit after snorting a pound of coke. I knew a guy once who tried to paint a house...
TRUE! I am shitting bricks like some kind of gigantic house-building robot, but does that make me crazy? Fuck you if you say I'm crazy! Fuck you and all of your crazy-saying friends! Fuck you right in the antelope! Yeah, I'm crazy like the bionic man was crazy. I can see through walls, motherfucker! You come and get some of this, I'll hear your eyelashes rub together when you reach for the car door! I'll drop a safe on your ass, and I'm not talking about some little file folder box with a lock on it, I mean one of those huge goddamned gun safes you could fit a Samoan in! Still think I'm crazy? Step a little to the left, motherfucker!
I don't know why I did it, okay? People do some fucked-up shit after snorting a pound of coke. I knew a guy once who tried to paint a house with his dick, I'm just sayin' it gives you some strange ideas. It's true, I never had a problem with Ernesto. He was always okay by me. But tonight he showed up and he had the ringer on his goddamned cell phone playing "Somewhere Out There" and that thing was ringing like every two SECONDS. At first I figured people would eventually stop calling him but then his bitch of a girlfriend kept calling every two minutes to see if he loved her yet and that thing drove me out of my mind like in a Ferrari.
Finally I got pissed and asked him why he didn't put the thing on vibrate before I had to club him to death with a jack handle, but he said he couldn't because he had a can of Red Bull in his pocket and he didn't want the thing to get shook up and jizz all over his new pants. This seemed fair enough, but still that phone was DRIVING ME FUCKING CRAZY and I asked him if he could change the ringer to something else, like something by the Baha Boys or Shaggy or whatever, anything really. But he was a prick and wouldn't change it so I had to club him to death with a jack handle.
Would you still think me crazy if I told you how cunningly I disposed of the body? If you looked in the dictionary to check and make sure cunningly was really a word, and it turned out it was, what would you think then? A madman would have attempted to dispose of the body in some crazy way, like shooting it out of a cannon or trying to inflate it with helium so it would float away. Or putting fake cardboard ears on the head and saying "My dog got hit by a car!" But not I, who is not mad. I buried that novelty-ringing fucker in the bathroom. And if anyone questions the uneven tile floor in there, I will tell them I have moles. The animal kind.
Just then there came a knock at the door, and it was Terrance and his brother Marcus. At first I told them to fuck off, because Marcus is the dick who never returned my Shirelles tape, but then I realized how that might look so I invited them in. We hung out for a while talking about thong underwears and that was cool, but Marcus was going on so long my ears started to ring. Then after a while I realized it wasn't my ears at all, there was a faint ringing sound in the air, impossible to locate or ignore. That's when it hit me. THE PHONE!
Terrance scrunched up his nose when he heard it too.
"Hey man, is Ernesto here? That sounds like his goddamned phone. I hate that fuckin' thing."
"No!" I told him. "And why are you asking such stupid fucking questions? Damn is you stupid. If Ernesto was here, why wouldn't he be out here with us? What, you think he's hiding in the bathroom or something? Shit. If Ernesto was here, I'd beat his ass to death with a jack handle, that's how not here he is."
I had covered my tracks deftly but still, the phone rang on. Again and AGAIN. That stupid bitch girlfriend! Couldn't she take a hint that he was dead? By now it was becoming impossible to ignore or deny it, Ernesto's annoying goddamn phone was in my apartment somewhere! At first I had Terrence and Marcus convinced that it was just me humming "Somewhere Out There," but then Marcus asked how come I could hum and drink beer at the same time, was I some kind of ventriloqueer or something?
SHIT!! They KNEW! My eyes darted around the room for something else to blame the ringing on as it grew louder and louder. In an instant it was deafening! My head was pounding as Terrence and Marcus laughed and talked about Barbershop. Were they fucking with me?? They had to know, and now they were fucking with me! Those pricks!
"Alright you cocksuckers!" I shouted. "I confess!"
The both looked at me with genuine puzzlement. Hmm.
"I, uh⌠haven't seen Barbershop yet."
"Well, shit dog," smiled Terrence. "Get your coat man, we goin'."   |
