Well, at least I think I’m funny.

I’m not sure if you’ve recently seen the news that P. Diddy has recently decided to record an album with a can of Diet Pepsi. I know rappers love collaborating with each other, and usually it turns out pretty good, but I fail to see how allowing a can of Diet Pepsi to record with P. Diddy enhances hip-hop, or really any musical genre at all.

Things in the studio reportedly heated up when Diet Pepsi started making crazy demands like “Hey asshole, it better be a nice, cool, 40 degrees in here at all times” and “if that fucker Diet Coke shows up, tell him his ass is capped!”

I was never really big into rap fueds or anything, but this can’t be good. I have a feeling the more hardcore RC Cola might take some lyrical swings at his more hyped counterpart with a West Coast producer. We don’t need another Tupac situation. I can almost see it now, Diet Pepsi can on the street, crushed, and holes leaking sweet brown lifeforce.

There’s also a rumor going around about a possible album coming out called “The Clincal Group.” Insider sources report this is most likely a collaboration between Dr. Dre and Dr. Pepper, who went to medical school together. Dre has hung up his gloves as far as his gangster days are concerned, but it doesn’t mean the fire won’t be fueled…Dr. Pepper has always just been kind of a bad ass.

Some lyrics have been released early for the FCC’s approval, though they’re almost certainly going to have to be re-written with tamer themes and expressions for radio broadcast:

Puffy: Wha - yee, yee, yeah, ya, yeah!
Diet Pepsi: Puff-dawg in the house, yee, yeah, yee, yeah
Puffy: D-P in the house! Hey, wha? Hey! Wha?
Diet Pepsi: Aw yeeeah muthafuckas, when you’re gettin’ kinda thirsty but don’t wanna be fat, Diet Pepsi in da house!/
Puffy: Diet Pepsi - ALL THAT!
Diet Pepsi: Puffy drinks it hard, no ice, muthafucka!
Puffy: I like it when the bubbles fuckin’ burn like a mutha!
Diet Pepsi: Now we gonna show ya how the hardcore playas ball, we’ll fuckin’ break it down, it’s a soda roll-call!
Puffy: Diet Coke!
DP: Fucks his mom!
Puffy: Diet Sprite!
DP: Fucks his dad!
Puffy: Sierra fuckin’ Mist!
DP: Gayest drink I ever had!
Puffy: Dr. Pepper!
DP: Dr. Pussy!
Puffy: Mr. Pibb!
DP: Mr. Fucker!
Puffy: Pepsi-Cola!
DP: He’s my brother but I hate that muthafucka!
Puffy: That’s all the sodas I can name, but I’m sure there’s fuckin’ more
DP: But instead of fuckin’ drinkin’ ‘em just dump ‘em on the floor!
Puffy: If you want the diet soda with tha hard-core stare
DP: Just drink a Diet Pepsi like ya just don’t care!

There’s more but its really just more of the same - insulting other soda brands sexual orientation and using the F word profusely. Sierra Mist has responded to the lyrics:

“Thith ith an outrage! I can’t believe Diet Pepsi could be soooo not fabulous. Bye-ie!”

Pepsi is a little outraged as well because of the hatred spewed about its own products. They demanded a public statement to which Diet Pepsi responded by driving by Pepsi-Cola headquarters with his middle finger out the window in Puffy’s infamous Diet Pepsi truck. Puffy couldn’t be reached for comment.

Personally I’m just worried about what this means for the genre, for the music world as a whole. The last thing we need is musicians killing each other - well that’s not true. I’d love for musicians to kill each other provided they aren’t any good. You know what? Rap on Diet Pepsi. I hope you bring Kevin Federline down with you.

Dear Mexican Guy,

Hey, how’s it going buddy? Listen, if you need anything like soap or a towel, you let me know. I can run down to Duane Reade and pick some toiletries up for you. I’ll even pick up the tab…well, maybe you can sling a few tacos my way or something, that’d be nice, but still it’s a good deal. The reason I offer is because a few times I’ve walked into the rather small bathroom to find you bathing yourself in the sink.

I’m not sure exactly what prompts you to do this, yet there you are, splashing water up your shirt and pant legs, and, more conventionally, on your face, neck, and hands. Do you not have a shower at home you could use? Is it broken? I bet you pee in the shower. Oh no, I hope you don’t pee in our sink. I don’t even want to think about that. What exactly are you doing in an office building that requires you to sweat and smell so bad that you have to take a shower anyway?

Another thing, I’d like to request you stop all the splashing. You really do make a mess of the place. I mean after you’re through it looks like the bathroom experienced it’s own little Nor’easter. Also the water is kinda…gray. How do you get so dirty? Especially under your shirt and pant legs? I just don’t get you man. I wish I did.

I also wish I knew why it is you go into the bathroom stall and yank off about 25 yards of toilet paper to dry off with. That stuff is total garbage - 1-ply, PLEASE! - I wouldn’t wipe my a- oh, I guess I would. But still. It’s gotta get stuck to you in tiny little pieces when you use it to dry off.

Maybe it’s just your upbringing though. Don’t be ashamed of it, but certainly you should do your best to rise above your miserably taught bathing skills:

Is that your brother in there with you? It is isn’t it? Man you were a cute kid…what happened to you? No, I’m not joking. I know people say that a lot and mean it as a joke, but I am dead serious. You’re all fat now, your clothes are dirty - you bathe in a sink for God’s sake! What you need is a gym membership. You could lose those extra pounds, and then shower when you’re done working out.

Well, I better get back to work. I can’t just sit here and write letters all day!

Hoping you’ll find a less obtrusive way to clean yourself,

Andy

p.s. Please stop peeing in the “shower,” I can’t stress this enough.

Saturday night always creeps up on you, kind of like a shower on an Italian. It doesn’t happen everyday but when it does, its pretty darn nice.

This Saturday I found myself playing Ultimate, followed by nearly 3 hours of doing laundry (that’s four full washing machines and most of the clothes I own). After dinner I grabbed my laptop to surf the net while watching Anchorman when I stumbled across something very disturbing.

Maybe I’m a little vain, but I decided to do a Google image search for my own name. That’s when I ran across this little tidbit of info:

That’s right. I’m dead. Apparently, not only was I born exactly 97 years before my parents told me, but I actually died the year before either of my parents were born.

Naturally I was rather astounded but then I realized that I am, in fact, now the coolest man ali…ever to have lived.

Instead of being 25, I’m actually 122! Is there a reason Willard Scott hasn’t walked his fat ass to my door to congratulate me? How come there aren’t scientists studying me, figuring out how I can still be so active (and handsome…and kind of nerdy, and an arrogant jerk)? Maybe I’ve lived my life in dog years and just have no recollection of the first 97 years because I have alzheimer’s.*

I’m a little disappointed in my parents too. Bossing me around when I was a “kid.” What a joke. I should be scolding them for lying to an elder.

I also don’t know any “Bessie L.” It kind of seems like the name of a cow. I don’t remember having a pet cow. A cow did step on my toe once on my Uncle’s farm. I guess everyone mistook my shrieks in pain for shrieks of joy as I had finally rekindled a relationship with another holstein similar to the one I had with Bessie L. I wonder if the L is just a misprint and it actually stands for Lykens:

Grave chiseler 1: Well Bessie finally died after being a widow from poor old Andy.

Grave chiseler 2: Yep! Kinda weird to call a cow-bride a widow but…whatever. What’s amazing is the damn thing lived self-sufficiently for 24 years after Andy died! But, now its time to add her to the ol’ grave-stone.

Grave chiseler 1: Yeah…oh, that’s real nice work you doin’ there. Real nice. Oh yeah, just like that.

Grave chiseler 2: Thanks! Its nice to be appreciated. You work so hard, you know. After college I was like “What am I gonna do with myself now?” Then it just dawned on me, to get my Master’s in grave chiselin’! Best 3 years I ever spent.

Grave chiseler 1: You went to school? I just bought a hammer and a chisel.

Grave chiseler 2: …really? Cause I have like 7 thousand dollars in student loans to pay back…

Grave chiseler 1: Umm…did you….did you just put the L after her name?

Grave chiseler 2: Yeah, Bessie Lyke - oh shit.

Grave chiseler 1: Oh man, if you screw this up, its your ass! The boss said any more mistakes and our chiselin’ days are over!

Grave chiseler 2: No to worry my simpleton friend. In school they taught as a little trick for a situation as sticky as this one. (he chisels the period).

Grave chiseler 1: BA-ZING! You are a GENIUS! You rob the corpse while I get ready for some necrophili-action!

I’m also no longer worried about the early stages of my thinning hair. I mean damn I’m 122, I should be a cueball right now, buried in the earth with worms inching their way up and down my rib-cage (which tickles like I wouldn’t believe and makes hilarious Xylaphone noises!).

Also, to those who attended my funeral I’d like to say thank you. I hope it was a decent party and that the buffet was satisfying but not tacky or overdone.

My final thought about all this is a little bit complex. I wonder if that tombstone is actually history because I will have altered the past sometime in the future. In other words, if I meet a crazy scientist who invents a capacitor for flux (sometime in the future) and I go back in time but then it breaks (sometime in the past) - I’d be totally stuck there (in the past). So I’d have to make up a reasonable birthday and just live my life out normally (in the past) - dying before my parents are even born (in the FUTURE!). It’d be weird. But if I had to make a movie out of it I’d call it: “Future, Past, Past, Past…FUTURE!”

*…what?