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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 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 ...
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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 September 1, 2003
Volume 50Dear commune:
How come we donât have no national holidays for stuff thatâs happened while I was alive? Was the past so great weâve really got to be celebrating that junk all the time? Gimmie a break. I donât even like the president, what am I supposed to do on Presidentâs Day? Go to work by myself? Fat chance. We should have a "Remember When the Cubs Won the Pennant?" day or a "Joey Knocked Up That Hot Blonde Who Works Down at the Bottling Plant" day. Thatâd be fun. Iâd vote for it, if I voted. But if I thought I was filling out a rebate for batteries and then it turned out I was voting on accident, then forget that! Because shame on you guys for tricking me. Damn. So pass it on.
Yours,
Jack Hargraves Hellâs Belt, NV
Dear Jack:
Wow, itâs rare that the commune receives a letter with that level of thought, or motor oil, put into it. We thank you for taking the time to dig a piece of scrap paper out of your trunk and writing to us. And we think youâll be pleased to know that we here at the commune celebrate holidays for any conceivable reason, including "Lil Duncan Negative Prego Test Day" and "Griswald Dreck Says Itâs Bastille Day Day." It doesnât take much to get us out of the office and into a dry martini, letâs just say that. Or a keg filched from some uppity needlepoint magazineâs office party, whatever it takes. So youâre in good company Jack, as long as you donât...
º Last Column: Volume 49 º more columns
Dear commune: How come we donât have no national holidays for stuff thatâs happened while I was alive? Was the past so great weâve really got to be celebrating that junk all the time? Gimmie a break. I donât even like the president, what am I supposed to do on Presidentâs Day? Go to work by myself? Fat chance. We should have a "Remember When the Cubs Won the Pennant?" day or a "Joey Knocked Up That Hot Blonde Who Works Down at the Bottling Plant" day. Thatâd be fun. Iâd vote for it, if I voted. But if I thought I was filling out a rebate for batteries and then it turned out I was voting on accident, then forget that! Because shame on you guys for tricking me. Damn. So pass it on. Yours, Jack Hargraves Hellâs Belt, NVDear Jack:
Wow, itâs rare that the commune receives a letter with that level of thought, or motor oil, put into it. We thank you for taking the time to dig a piece of scrap paper out of your trunk and writing to us. And we think youâll be pleased to know that we here at the commune celebrate holidays for any conceivable reason, including "Lil Duncan Negative Prego Test Day" and "Griswald Dreck Says Itâs Bastille Day Day." It doesnât take much to get us out of the office and into a dry martini, letâs just say that. Or a keg filched from some uppity needlepoint magazineâs office party, whatever it takes. So youâre in good company Jack, as long as you donât ever show up here or write us again. Weâll be sure to add "Remember When the Cubs Didnât Suck Day" and "Joeyâs Fucked Now Day" to our office calendar.
the commune Editorâs Note: the commune is not responsible for any of the many creative ways your lover left you, we were just humming that song in the elevator and it appeared to strike a chord. So please, give the commune a break, Jake.º Last Column: Volume 49º more columns
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|  February 18, 2002
The Lucky BreakHey, Shorty, go easy on that Red Man, wouldja? Thass all I got left, and you know how I like me a good chaw after supper. Toss it over t'here. Thanks, Shorty. Hey, you know what that reminds me of? That night with the talent scout down at the ol' Smilin' Dog Saloon. Was you there that night? That was one for the books, Shorty, I tell you what.
You know that ol' gal, what's her name, somethin' kinda Frenchian, started singin' a couple nights a week there 'bout two years back? Neeter... Neeter Faye. Neeter Faye Waterboux. Yeah, Neeter Faye Waterboux, you remember, don'tcha, Shorty? Sure you do.
Anyway, she'd been singin' there at the Smilin' Dog, you know, that bar ol' Roy Toe runs, down there at the Cherokee Ho-tel downtown, and she'd been bringin' in some pretty good crowds, I guess. Ol' Roy was about as happy as a fat tick on a weasel with all the bidness he was gettin', so when she wanted to bring in a feller she knew from up there in Raleigh to try to give the place a little more pumblicity, why, he was all for it. What he didn't know was that Neeter Faye was hopin' this ol' boy, Luther Waldrip was his name, was gon' be her ticket to Hollywood or Las Vegas or one o' them places. She wanted to be a star, you know?
Well, see what happened was Neeter Faye had it all planned. She wanted Roy to put on this big ol' extravagranzal for the night Luther was gon' be there, and then she was gon' be the headliner and make her big day-bew and...
º Last Column: Call of the Bugle Boy º more columns
Hey, Shorty, go easy on that Red Man, wouldja? Thass all I got left, and you know how I like me a good chaw after supper. Toss it over t'here. Thanks, Shorty. Hey, you know what that reminds me of? That night with the talent scout down at the ol' Smilin' Dog Saloon. Was you there that night? That was one for the books, Shorty, I tell you what.
You know that ol' gal, what's her name, somethin' kinda Frenchian, started singin' a couple nights a week there 'bout two years back? Neeter... Neeter Faye. Neeter Faye Waterboux. Yeah, Neeter Faye Waterboux, you remember, don'tcha, Shorty? Sure you do.
Anyway, she'd been singin' there at the Smilin' Dog, you know, that bar ol' Roy Toe runs, down there at the Cherokee Ho-tel downtown, and she'd been bringin' in some pretty good crowds, I guess. Ol' Roy was about as happy as a fat tick on a weasel with all the bidness he was gettin', so when she wanted to bring in a feller she knew from up there in Raleigh to try to give the place a little more pumblicity, why, he was all for it. What he didn't know was that Neeter Faye was hopin' this ol' boy, Luther Waldrip was his name, was gon' be her ticket to Hollywood or Las Vegas or one o' them places. She wanted to be a star, you know?
Well, see what happened was Neeter Faye had it all planned. She wanted Roy to put on this big ol' extravagranzal for the night Luther was gon' be there, and then she was gon' be the headliner and make her big day-bew and become a star. So she lined up a few other folks to go on ahead o' her -- like that square-dancin' couple, Johnny and Earline Ashton, and Jimmy Wayne Markel, the juggler.
Now see, the problem started when ol' Jimmy Wayne heared about this feller out west somewheres that was a-jugglin' chainsaws. He hadn't never juggled no chainsaws hisself before, but he figgered jugglin's jugglin', so he was fixin' to give it a try. And he wanted to do it special-like, on account o' Neeter Faye's big night and that ol' boy Luther bein' there.
Anyway, that night, there's ol' Luther sittin' right there in the front row, and Jimmy Wayne comes out with a chainsaw, a bowlin' ball and a pack o' Red Man, and he starts to juggle all three of 'em at oncet. But here's the kicker, Shorty -- that chainsaw was a-goin'! And here's Jimmy Wayne, just a-tossin' it in the air like it ain't nothin'. Well, ol' Luther's eyes like to bug out when he seen that. Then, on top o' that, Jimmy Wayne pulls out a pinch from the Red Man pack whilst he's a-jugglin' it, and sticks it in his cheek!
Thass prob'ly where he made his mistake. See, the chainsaw then come down the wrong way, and instead o' him flippin' it back up in the air, that thing went and sliced off half o' Jimmy Wayne's forearm. I mean, you could see his meat and ever-thin'. Ol' Luther didn't know if that was part o' th' act or what, 'cause Jimmy Wayne just kept on a-jugglin' all them things like a billy-be-damn. With one hand! 'Course it weren't too long afore all hell broke loose, seein' as how Jimmy Wayne's hand landed in Neeter Faye's cousin Wanda's lap, and she started in t' screamin', and then blood started spurtin' outta Jimmy Wayne's arm stump an' gettin' all over ever-body in the front two rows, and then he finally passed out from losin' all that blood. Them folks up front was just lucky that ol' chainsaw just put a big hole in the stage, 'stead o' chewin' up a few more folks afore they could get it turned off. I ain't lyin', Shorty, I was there, and I seen it. You could ask anybody.
Well, the upshot o' all that was that Luther never did get to see Neeter Faye sing that night, what with all them folks gettin' sick and passin' out an' all. But last I heared, ol' Jimmy Wayne done all right by hisself. He's out there in Californey now, calls hisself Jay Dubya, th' One-Armed Juggler. I guess he uses one o' them fake hands, whaddaya call 'em, a prosthetutic, and he starts in jugglin' with that, then slips it off an' starts tossin' it in the air along with all his other props.
Neeter Faye, now, she's still singin' a couple nights a week down at the ol' Smilin' Dog. You know what we oughta do, Shorty? We oughta go down there one o' these nights and give her a big hand. º Last Column: Call of the Bugle Boyº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Upon being stopped by the Customs Officer during my trip to America, he asked: 'Have you anything to declare?' I burst forward, telling him, 'Only my genius!' I was promptly beaten to a piteous pulp and subjected to a humiliating search. Needless to say, they found my weed.”
-Wildman OscarFortune 500 CookieLove is a relative term, but even that nugget won't save your ass if you pork your cousin. Stay away from salty snacks this week, even if it means tunneling underground. Try wearing your watch on the other armâmaybe that's your problem. This week's lucky names: Alexia. Ephyn. Scatman. Toolio.
Try again later.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Sinning to Win | | 2. | The Dalai Lama: Gay Gay Gay? | | 3. | Uncle Macho's Lincoln Logs | | 4. | The History of Slob Literature | | 5. | Gain 15 Pounds for Winter | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Violet Tiara 2/28/2005 QuadrophoniaLove is a many-splendored thing
with tentacles.
"Ding-dong, the witch has snacks,
that Rax hires blacks
and Jack hates jacks.
Which old witch?
Fool, how many witches you know?
Shiiiit."
Felt manacles felt fantastical
when I was bound
to the brownie hound
(a giant cartoon dog
with a love for fudge,
not my dirty neighbor who mooned the judge).
To judge the moon is to prune your doom,
its mood is construed as rude
by those who've measured its glows.
The hose grows a nose when I close
my eyes to a slit but peek a bit
and the world lies in blurs the size
of the space on my face
where the air escapes.
Seeping sleep...
Love is a many-splendored thing
with tentacles.
"Ding-dong, the witch has snacks,
that Rax hires blacks
and Jack hates jacks.
Which old witch?
Fool, how many witches you know?
Shiiiit."
Felt manacles felt fantastical
when I was bound
to the brownie hound
(a giant cartoon dog
with a love for fudge,
not my dirty neighbor who mooned the judge).
To judge the moon is to prune your doom,
its mood is construed as rude
by those who've measured its glows.
The hose grows a nose when I close
my eyes to a slit but peek a bit
and the world lies in blurs the size
of the space on my face
where the air escapes.
Seeping sleep hisses out of your pores
while little brother pisses on lists of chores
animal crackers crack under the weight
of a mailman waiting for Annabelle's date.
Joy, joy, the Christmas bear
flew into a rage and pulled out his hair,
Dancing Clancey's pants were fancy
enough that the cops took an interest in him
and made him down a fifth of gin
before they made him spin spin spin!
Like a sprinkler of vomit
a comet of bile
shot from poor Clancey's face-part while
the cops ran for cover
and Eldaway's mother
opened an umbrella just in time
and I ate a lime just to make it rhyme.   |