Apparently this item is being test marketed in California. What the hell? This needs to be TEST marketed? You can’t look at this incredible confection and understand implicitly that it is either manna from some fast food heaven or a sinful delight conjured up from the deepest corners of QSR hell and regardless of its origins it is luscious and scrumptious and deserves to be in my tummy NOW?! What’s your problem, Carl? Make it, serve it and sell it! Because I sure as crap can’t be bothered to go out and buy my own Pop Tarts and ice cream and make it my own self, now can I? ‘Course not, that would be ludicrous.
Archive for April, 2013
I got a yo yo for my eleventh birthday.
One of the Duncan Yo Yo Masters was at the Kwik Pik down the street the following weekend but I couldn’t go. As a consequence, I could never get the damn thing to work. Walk the dog? Around the world? Rock the baby? Hell no. They might as well have given me a puck on a string. Which is, come to think it, what I asked for in the first place.
Yeah, okay, I was an odd kid.
Who: The pinhead who says “Virginny ham” in the radio ad.
Why: It’s for some sub shop and he’s talking about how his subs are so fresh and how the ingredients are so special and he throws this out – Vir-ginny ham – like this Southern jargon is gonna hip you to how awesome and regional the product is. For about two seconds I gave him the benefit of the doubt and thought perhaps it was a brand name but nope. It’s Virginia ham, dipwad. Virginny makes it sound like he’s not just eating that ham – or worse, he’s got a veeeeery special relationship with the pig. Look, I don’t speak yokel and I don’t think some toddler-tongue dialectical variation makes your product sound charming.
How I justify it: I went to school and got a decent education so I don’t need to speak down to people or, conversely, be spoken down to. Plus, we don’t live in an episode of The Beverly Hillbillies, well doggie.
Dr. Phil says that no matter how flat you make a pancake there are still two sides to it. Of course, he’s a notorious tool but even a broken clock is right twice a day. And so, for the other side of the story, here’s a look at what a really crappy guy the drummer for KISS was.
“The time not to become a father is 18 years before a war.” – E. B. White
Better not take any chances and not have sex at all, just in case. At least, that’s the excuse I’ve been using.
Happy Earth Day Week!
If you want to show the planet some love, we at THE FLEHMEN RESPONSE will be having our annual Earth Day Bonfire this coming Saturday at 8pm (EST). Looks to be a big one this year, so we’ve cut down a few redwoods to light up the night, which should make it pretty damn spectacular. And, hey, since we’re celebrating Earth Day and all, if you have any old batteries or broken thermometers or anything you can’t recycle like that, bring ’em along and we’ll toss them on the bonfire. That should make for some pretty awesome fireworks!
Earth Day: The one day of the year we can love Mother Nature like Oedipus did his mom!
At my 13th birthday party, this Australian kid from my rhythmic gymnastics class stood up and – hmm? What? Yes, I took rhythmic gymnastics when I was in 7th grade. So what? You don’t have enough ammunition to make fun of me already? Anyway, this Aussie kid stands up and raises his glass of Hawaiian Punch and says, “Here’s to Sparky. He’s a keeper!” Well, the rest of us just stared at him. Not that it wasn’t completely odd that a junior high school kid would make a toast, but we all stared because, due to his accent, we all misunderstood him and thought he said, “He’s a kipper.” (For the record, I was not at that time, nor have I been at any moment since, either a male salmon shortly after the spawning season or a herring that had been split, salted, and smoked.) We thought the doofus from Down Under was crazy eight bonkers and all us kids started calling him “The Kipper” in really bad Australian accents. He left school a year later and went back to Melbourne.
And now … that kid … is none other than … actor Russell Crowe.
Sparky MacMillan is an annoying, whiny manchild.
Really? Someone thought this was a good idea?
Back in fifth grade, my best friend and I went in halfsies on what we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was going to be the coolest thing ever in our young lives – a monster! But not just any monster, no – a life-size monster that obeys your every whim and comes when you command!
We ordered it out of the back of a comic book. I think it was $1.50, so we each put seventy-five cents in an envelope and mailed it off. It said wait six to eight weeks, but of course we’d come home every day after school and immediately look in the mailbox. We did this for two months. Finally, it arrived.
Now, understand. We weren’t stupid. Gullible, perhaps. Naive, definitely. We knew the illustration of Frankenstein’s Monster in the comic, arms outstretched in that familiar B-movie gait, was not what we were going to get in the post. No, obviously had this mail-order firm somehow been able to mass produce actual hulking, shambling, resurrected-from-the-dead monsters, then every single schoolboy would have one, especially at the price of a buck-fifty. We got that concept pretty clearly. Besides, dead or alive or undead, the whole human slave thing was pretty clear to us as far as morality went. No, we saw that ad and thought it could be a robot or a radio-controlled mechanical man or maybe just a costume that would be so mind-bogglingly awesomely cool that we would scare the ever-lovin’ bejeezus outta every classmate at J.Y. Joyner Elementary.
So when we opened the mailbox and saw the package – heh, package is being too generous – large envelope, well, we were more than a little disappointed. (Of course, logically, had we suspected something as huge as an automaton, why were we looking in a mailbox every day rather than expecting a massive van to drive up with a special delivery crate we had to sign for? Good question. And one our 10-year-old brains did not entertain even for a second.)
We took the envelope inside and opened it to find – a poster of Frankenstein’s Monster (the same picture as the comic book ad). Instructions were included on how you could put it on a string in a dark room (so no one would notice the string) and call forth your monster then pull the string and have the poster slide down another string. “Obey your every whim!” As long as the whim was to slide on a string when pulled and look like crap, effectively fooling no one.
I can’t remember what we did with the poster. I know no strings were involved, no commands given, no friends astonished (good word “astonish” – always seem to be amply used in those comic book ads, although I can honestly say I don’t think I ever saw any of my friends in elementary school actually astonished for any reason. Amazed, sure. Surprised, yes. Agog – once during Webelos. But never astonished.) I suspect the thing hung in one of our closets for a few months until it ended up thrown in a garbage can along with the many expectations of youth.
The point of all this is that I WAS NOT ALONE. And so, CRACKED lists the 12 COMIC BOOK ADS THAT TAUGHT US HOW TO BE CYNICAL. My monster isn’t listed but other, more familiar ads, are. Maybe you too waited by a mailbox for one of these.
Thanks to everyone who voted!
If I win I’ll buy all you guys a brownie* at Trivia Night!
*fine print: I did say “a” brownie – so depending on how many folks voted we’ll have to split the brownie into that many pieces, so actual brownie portion will be determined by a direct ratio of voters to brownie, as in 323 voters to one brownie means 323 individual brownie pieces, pieces to be determined by voter presence and placement of piece in relationship to brownie – i.e. corner piece, edge piece, interior piece to be determined by time of arrival of voter, thus “first come, first served” will be in play and no substitutions or whining about missed brownie piece such as “Edge piece? What the hell?! I wanted a moist inner piece!” will be allowed, tolerated or indulged.