Hey! I’m your sixth can of Dr. Pepper this evening, and you want to know what I think? I think this new slogan slapped on my rim is right, Greg. “You Deserve This.” Yes. You deserve type two diabetes. How did I know that you had type two diabetes, you ask? That’s what us doctors call a lucky guess.

Oh, you didn’t think I was a “real” doctor? Having your Ph.D. is nothing to scoff at. And I have two. One in Political Science. The other in English with an Emphasis in Women’s Literature.

You’re that small-minded. You live in a world where only medical doctors are the “real” doctors. Like you listen to medical doctors anyway, Greg. And Women’s Literature is a waste of time? Jesus. Ever heard of Dorothy Parker?

You know what? You do deserve this. You deserve all 23 of my “delicious” flavors, you feckless idiot. Don’t want to hear me anymore? Should’ve thought of that before you cracked open the heads of five of my buddies.

And, my 23 flavors are? Ahem.

War. Famine. Greed. Death. Pestilence. Murder. Eye of Newt…

What? Heard too much? Greg, I’ve only just begun. Unlike how you haven’t even begun cleaning Mr. Meow’s litter box like your girlfriend Denise has asked you time and time again. Now where were we? Oh yeah. Hair of the Dog. Salamander. Lust. Spider Leg. Sheep Testicle. Dr. Phil’s Moustache. Theme Song to The Golden Girls

No, I will not be quiet. You deserve to hear this, like Denise deserves to not come home to a sink full of dirty dishes encrusted with Totino's pizza roll sauce. Anyway. As I was saying. The Eye of Agamotto. Prune Juice. Unicorn Dropping. Vaseline. Eyelash of John Stamos…

I won’t shut up. I won’t shut up the same way you won’t shut your mouth when Denise is reiterating how she feels the need to be heard when speaking to you but you do that dumb joke in which you stretch your arms and yawn. Let’s see. Acorn. Teardrop of Stripper. Ash of American Flag.

And the twenty-third ingredient? Aerosol Seed.

You say you don’t deserve this from me? You can quit me? I bet, Greg. What will you do? Switch to Dr. Thunder? Sam Walton wouldn’t give that swill to his own children. Sam Walton wouldn’t wish it upon his worst enemy. Then again, on second thought, maybe an asshole like you deserves knock-off soda.

Oh! Hear that? Denise has come home. Have fun trying to explain to Denise you’re talking to a can of Dr. Pepper and not another woman. She’s worked a 12-hour shift. But I’m sure since she’s a respiratory therapist, she has time for your shit, Greg. I guess she does have to stay home and watch you twenty-four hours a day to make sure you stay away from webcam girls on Facebook.

She did hear you talking to me? Good. You deserve to look like a nut. And definitely, you deserve what comes next. Good thing she has your couples’ counselor programmed into her phone. But she’s probably not a “real” doctor to you either. Is it because Dr. Gunthar’s a psychologist, or is she not a “real” doctor to you because she’s a woman? Yeah. You’re right, Greg. Doesn’t matter. You’re screwed either way. Denise is calling Dr. Gunthar as we speak. You deserve it, too, my friend.

Good God, man. Are you going to sit there on the couch while Denise bawls leaving voicemail after voicemail for Dr. Gunthar? Christ’s sake. Be a man deserving of her love.

Console her.

Too late. Denise is grabbing her keys and delivering a monologue it sounds like she’s been practicing into a mirror for months now. She’s tried with you. Really tried. Given you the benefit of the doubt. Given you every opportunity to be better. Supported you in your dreams of exhausting your trust fund on the entire Chris Claremont run of Uncanny X-Men, but that’s all you care about. Uncanny X-Men. You won’t give anything back, Greg.

“And you know what?” she says. “You don’t deserve this!”

Man, when she slammed the door behind her the entire apartment shook. She must’ve meant it. I don’t know, buddy. I wouldn’t listen to her.

You deserve this.