Archive for February, 2011

Porcelain Figurine Conceptualizer and Producer

February 22, 2011

Fits the decor of any room or patio.

I have often been accused of over-fondness for taxidermy, for treating taxidermy as though it is the only noble art form in the modern-day Americas and to this I say, “Poppycake!”  Taxidermy just happens to also be a sacred art form, something that is sadly forgotten in our godless culture, so if I seem to imbue it with undue weight, perhaps the role of taxidermy in our memorial rites should be remembered and re-examined.  Have we all forgotten why we have trophy rooms?  Why we turn our pet ferrets into luxurious winter coats?  Or have we become so disconnected from the skinning and preserving since all that is necessary these days is to call up your local furrier the instant your beloved elderly dachshund sighs its last, kibble-y breath?

Enough about that, though.  What I really mean to write about is my favorite of the secular arts– painted porcelain molds.  I always give my closest friends identical porcelain figurines to those adorning my own mantles and display shelving, so that I will not feel too disoriented on the off-chance that I someday find myself drinking in another’s library.  (I also bring a small briefcase of figurines with me wherever I go, so that Mr. Polly can set them up around me whenever I stop to repose.  It is good to have a retinue of your own things to provide soothing surroundings– I find that it helps the mind to more efficiently process business propositions, deals, etc.)  Yes, it was a good day indeed when the Chinese invented porcelain.

Have you ever examined your grandmammy’s porcelain collection, however?  When I think back to my childhood in the bayou, and the Sunday afternoons I’d spend sprawled on the rug in my grandmammy’s kitchen, I recall only the most crude figurines taking part in my epic re-enactments of Supreme Court hearings.  Ladies in long dresses, teddy bears in stocking caps, children wearing clogs.  Nothing nearly so chic as the porcelain figures of today.

And why is that, you may ask?  I bet the brighter amongst you have already guessed at the answer– because I started the firm that produces the highest quality, most beautiful and visually stimulating porcelain figurines that you see around you today.  So you happen to have an underwater icescape of a walrus and narwhal battle?  Why, yes– I remember the night I spent sketching that one up.  What about a family of down and out hobo peaches waiting for a train?  In my home, I have a model train set up to steam cheerily past them.  And one of my personal favorites is the tabletop Underworld, complete with electronic capabilities to light up both the fires, and the ghostly faces of the dead as they slurp from the Lethe.  What I like most about it, I think, is the set of movable souls that I made sure came included.

Do you have a favorite of my porcelain creations?

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Energy Bar Manufacturer

February 14, 2011

Can you tell which part is filler?

Just one aspect of being at the helm of an international fitness corporation is developing a myriad of tie-in products to aid your paeons in more properly adhering to your regime, and thus achieving a greater degree of personal health/victory.  I began simply enough– with adsorbent sweatrags and undergarments, but I soon realized that all people trying to lose weight want to do is eat.  The only problem is– how do you eat and lose weight at the same time?  It’s impossible, and the Sturgeon General had just put the kibosh on my branded throat ticklers, so encouraging folks to eat as much of their favorite foods as they wanted was also an idea on the outs.

“What to do?” I asked Rupert Everett, III, my personal drinking monkey at the time as he downed a scotch and soda and gesticulated healf-heartedly for a stogie.  “Rupie Evie, that’s already been done, and by that hypocrite the Sturgeon General himself.  The next thing I know, I’ll have him coming after me for copyright infringement.  Smoking is solely the province of the medical profession, and buddy, do they have a lock on that market.”  (Fun fact!  9 out of 10 surgeons have controlling shares in tobacco plantations.)  So Rupert Everett, III and I chummily poured ourselves a few more drams of the malty liquor, toasted his dear old mother, Ruby Everett III, lord rest her soul, and beat back our collective woes as we rejected the boundaries of sleep.

The next morning I awoke, as was often the case in those days, under a familiar damp and comforting cardboard box– the former home of a Maytag appliance of similarly boxy proportions.  Then the answer hit me.  It was so obvious, it was trapping my breath in a little wet circle above my face.  Who ever said that the only thing you could eat was food?  Who needs a cookie, when you can have a vanilla-flavored simulacrum?  Who wants a delectable bowl of bran, when there’s grit aplenty that won’t go straight to your hips?  And with just as earthy a flavor?

I started out simply– with bars.  No, not the “local watering hole” variety– the kind that are more commonly associated with gold.  Long hunks of… whatever, really.  And did we ever put the whatever in those.  And did whoever ever lose weight!  A few even wound up on IV drips for up to a week, followed by liquid diets and life-transforming loss of weight as a result of my energy bars.  It was a great success not just for me, but for the field of dietetics.  The sea-change I effected in the nutritional psyche can’t be underestimated.

So the next time you and your drinking monkey are out on the town, raise your glasses to me, and Rupert Everett III, lord rest his sweet simian soul.

Frog-o-Gram, Ma’am!

February 7, 2011

Not always, though mostly, delivered by children.

It was many a year ago that I matriculated at Yale University with an eye towards a PhD in mathematics, and lord knows, if the Soviets hadn’t launched that damned Sputnik, I would never have discovered the principles of global positioning, and would never have launched one of my few failed ventures– the Frog-O-Gram.  What can I say?  It was the late 1950s, and I thought, “If Tupperware can catch on, there’s no way this will fail!”  To tell the truth, I am still perplexed as to how this did not work out.  Especially considering the catchy television ads we took out in all major metropolitan areas.  We negotiated a very fair deal with Cozy Cole for the rights to music, hired Herbert Klynn (later of of Alvin and the Chipmunks production fame), and instead of a thriving Frog-O-Gram business, what we wound up with was the hottest commercial to ever hit the airwaves.  Though the catchphrase has lost the sheen accorded newly-birthed idioms, I’m sure you can all chime in at the appropriate moment, in the appropriate meter, when you hear this little number played:

You see– just one of my many contributions to the cultural zeitgeist.  That urge to playfully scream, “Frog-O-Gram, Ma’am!”

I suppose part of the reason that Frog-O-Grams themselves were less popular than my commercial was due in part to the fact that the electrical pulses sent to the special orientation nodes inserted into their brains by my secretly launched satellite (the second in space, though I let NASA claim that they got there next, bless them) tended to not only disrupt electrolytes, but also to malfunction and resulted in many lost missives.  Believe me, my mail room staff lost many a night of sleep over the thought of the droves of young lovers whose marriage proposals had been lost in the swamps of New Jersey, the jungles of West Texas, and the snows of Bakersfield.  The families who, for weeks (sometimes months) were unaware of their sons and daughters deaths in the clandestine bitters wars of Angostura and Peychaud.  (Side note, despite not functioning as an operational company for the 8 years prior, we continued to hold the government contract on death notice delivery until the second year of the Vietnam conflict.  I definitely urge any of you out there contemplating such a partnership– take the government contract.  We received steady checks, despite our abysmal performance record.)  There was only so much we could do, even with all the best brains on the project.  In fact, it was the genius of Jeannie-Fayelene Bakker, my personal bodyguard, with her dual degrees in Amphibian Neuropathy and Astronomical Engineering who finally developed the breakthrough membrane technology that would have really made the business feasible, but ahhh, at that point it was all for naught.  The national speed limits had been raised to ungodly heights that just dared any frog to try to cross, and the wetlands were being drained for fancy new community colleges, technical schools, and Basque chain restaurants.  Even if our customer base hadn’t deserted us, the world had shifted beneath us, and a highly specialized alternative to the postal service was now merely the province of drinkers and dreamers.

Still.  I often think about those heady days of 1957, take another swig of scotch, and dream, dream, dream.