s Pepsi’s 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 world’s 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 “what it would taste like if fruit could scream,� 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 “being stomped into asshole powder,� 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.

Coke’s 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. Pepsi’s 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 won’t 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. “Pssssh. Who told you that? What an imagination. Fanta is the No. 1 fruit-flavored soft drink in the world,� he said. “Plus, 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.� Besides, the drink will also be more of a cobalt blue rather than the “dirty antifreeze blue� of Pepsi’s 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. “It seems our idea ‘blue’ them away,� said a Pepsi spokesman, Harvey Pearsons, pausing expectantly for a laugh that never came.

If we’re 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 — a new member of the fruit rock group created for Fanta’s ad campaign?

“There is a Fantana that represents the four major flavors of the Fanta brand,� Mr. Villanowski said. “They’re not the only ones on the island of Fantana, however, so it wouldn’t surprise me if a berry Fanta eventually joined the Fantanas here in the U.S. for their New Year’s jam with the Cokeanistas and TABBA,� Villanowski continued, getting a paranoid look in his eye. “I’m 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 I’m bringing lots of bottled water.� 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.

ew infrared images from NASA's Mars Odyssey orbiter featuring the long-debated formation known as the "Face on Mars" have sent shockwaves through the shut-in and conspiracy geek communities. Anxious and unbathed web surfers who expected the infrared pictures to provide new revelations about the features voiced their disappointment, saying the new images are bullshit because they don't show any kind of recognizable face at all, just a couple of bumps in the dirt.

NASA claims this is because there never was a face, stupid, only a trick of light and shadow fueled by desperate weirdoes who haven't worked in years. Fans of the face contend that it was only the lack of "night-vision" imagery that failed to expose the Sphinxlike visage they have come to know and love. NASA responded with a patronizing smile and a hand gesture indicating "okaaay."

The debate over the Face has simmered for the last twenty-five years, since NASA's Viking orbiters transmitted pictures of the Cydonia region that appeared to show a half-shadowed, helmeted face staring up from the planet's surface like some kind of cross between Kermit the Frog and Han Solo. Since then, additional formations have been identified as the "Alien Conspiracy Pyramid," "the Mounds of Xena" and so forth — and fans of the Face have argued that the formations showed evidence of a vast Martian civilization populated by breathtaking huge-breasted women incapable of resisting the charms of virginal 30 year-old earth men.

In the past five years, sharper imagery from NASA's Mars Global Surveyor orbiter popped a big-ol' hole in that over-inflated fantasy balloon, confirming the mainstream view that the Face and the other formations were nothing more than a whole lot of wind-eroded dirt, much like everything else on Mars. But die-hard fans of the Face refused to give up hope, disregarding the newer photos as hoaxes and propaganda, and confusing everyone in their apartment buildings by going as "The Face" for Halloween.

The new Mars Odyssey images are unique in that they were taken using infrared light, unlike the visible light used for the Viking and Global Surveyor images of Cydonias. This allowed for day or night photography unhindered by shadows. Many fans of the Face, however, took issue with NASA's methodology.

"We got gypped," griped Thomas Reinhold of Jackson, Miss. "They totally lead us to believe they were going to be doing some nighttime infrared imagery, not just daytime. What if the face only comes out at night? Didn't think of that, did you, NASA?"

"He said what?" questioned Tony Rice, a member of the Arizona State University imaging team that worked with NASA on the project. "Jesus. Thanks to AOL, every kind of mook can get on the net now."

The Arizona State imaging research team denied any unique features belonging to the mesas that make up the Face. "What do we have to do, draw you people a map?" Rice questioned. "Oh, wait, that's right. We already did that. Morons."

No stranger to being called morons, the Face fans press on with their hunt for the truth.

"Those white-coated government lackeys over at NASA can conspiratize all they want, but we know the truth," boasted Elmer Noonan of Vine Grove, KY. "We've seen the pictures. The first picture, anyway. All the other ones after that were bullshit. A total governmental cover-up, straight out of the handbook. If it hadn't been for that Libertarian dude working at NASA back in '76, we never would have got to see that original image of the face. I bet those NASA guys have been kicking themselves every day since they released that thing. Ha. Jerks."

"We're putting new stuff out there every day for the public to look at," Rice said while playing with a hole in the bottom of his shoe. "I don't know what their problem is. Oh, right. The conspiracy. I almost forgot. Well, you're going to have to excuse me while I conspire to drive my shitty little Tercel over to Arby's and eat a roast beef sandwich for lunch."

You know me, good people—I am not one to bitch and moan. No, wait, I'm confusing myself with my wife Arvelyn, which explains the odd choice of high heels this morning. I am one to bitch and moan. So let's get cracking, shall we?

I have had one of those ugly perspective-changing experiences this week. I decided that it is time for me to move out on my own, away from treasured friends Lee and Camembert, away from the free rent of the apartment, off to live by myself at long last. I've never had my own house, all to myself, without a wife, family, anything of that nature. I started to think it might be a lot of fun, like camping out.

With that as my ambition, I said good-bye to Camembert and Lee, packed my troubles (and unmentionables) in my ol' kit bag and moved out to find a house. Fortunately, I have thousands of dollars left over from my investment in jumpsuits in the '70s, so money is no object. But I would advise all of you out there, money or not, to buy the house in the future before leaving your current residence. Did you know they never let you move in the same day? They have all sorts of inefficient background checks and nonsense like that, and they wait for your check to clear, which I admit is a good business practice. But don't talk to me about good business practices when your living in between the commune offices and Denny's for a good long time.

Though I wouldn't say I had misgivings about the house I bought, I probably rushed in a little quick. There were some problems with the roof, mainly it being absent from the house, and the windows and doors were also missing. Which was no real problem, I can buy new windows and doors, or learn to make friends with the animals and vagrants sharing the house with me. But the most unexpected part of it all was that I moved into an "urban" neighborhood. That's right, a %100 "urban" neighborhood, in the suburbs.

Can I say "black"? Just to quit playing coy. You got to at least give me "black." In my lifetime I've been through five or six words I get used to using and then can't use anymore, you've got to sympathize. So I'll just say "black."

Yes, this neighborhood was like something out of Roots. Not the Roots I saw, really, I mean there were no slaves and everyone basically worked as middle-management and had lovely homes and dressed very modern—but they were all black. Except for the Hispanics and Asians, but sometimes I could squint my eyes and confuse them for white people, so I'm just focusing on the black people in the neighborhood right now.

Don't get me wrong, friends—I love black people. At least the idea of black people. And I tried to get along with everyone, I surely did. The first Thursday night a bunch of my neighbors were having some sort of "big black jam" in their backyard and I, trying to be friendly, joined them immediately. For a while everyone just studied me curiously and smiled with feigned politeness, but eventually one racist—I don't think it's going out on a limb to say racist—came over and asked me to leave; that I wasn't "family," and his backyard jam was strictly limited to "family" only.

And as much as I hate stereotypes, these people get awful loud when they're watching their "black shows," like ER. They were so busy screaming at me to get away from their window before they called the cops that I couldn't even hear the diagnosis on the fat kid, though I guessed diabetes. Once I get my TV I'll be able to watch in the peace and quiet of my own white home.

So now people are moving out of the neighborhood. I mean, it's only one family, and they claim their house was sold before they moved in when I challenged them with it, but it's enough so I can take a hint. Maybe one day the Rok Fingers of the world and the… uh… well, you know, black people… maybe one day we'll sit down together at a table and share a mutually agreed-upon non-ethnic food. But until that day, I'm going back to live with Camembert and Lee. My white brothers.

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