The Twinkie, Camera-phone, Cannabis, Corporate, Costume Crisis

If you see the Mayor of NYC (politically aware, insert name here______,) presenting a medal to the,Apollo Global Management and C. Dean Metropoulos and Company you might feel confused. I’m here to straighten out the story for you.

The new Twinkie saved the day, but the roots of this perfect storm go back two decades.

Years ago, the out-of-towner toured the city taking pictures of the sights with an ancient device that was called by the primitives – a camera. The tourist wanted to have pictures that showed him in front of Rockefeller Center or the Empire State Building. The standard practice was to first ask a friendly local to take their picture then second, go to the local stores to buy a replacement for the camera that the friendly local pocketed while the out-of-towner was posing in front of Rockefeller Center or the Empire State Building. These local stores had a wide selection of moderately priced cameras that had been meticulously restored to new condition after being stolen from out-of-towners weeks before.

Phone selfies put a dent into this lucrative trade. The city was losing money in the important non-violent crime sector of the municipal economy. They passed a law that required people who wanted to drink a lot of soda to buy two over-priced mediums instead of one large, but that only partially filled the revenue gap.

Then one day, an out-of-work camera snatcher inadvertently stole a costume. There’s some argument over whether the costume was the Statue of Liberty, Snoopy, or Kato Kaelin, (a famous fellow in the 90s, but no one can recall why.) The struggling replacement camera stores (where he habitually sold his goods,) had no need for the costume, and it was a cold day, so he wore it home.

“Look, Daddy,” said the child of an out-of-towner, “it’s the Statue of Liberty, Snoopy, or that weird guy that’s famous for something!”

“It surely is,” said the out-of-towner father. “Would you mind if I take a picture of you with my daughter?”

The out-of-work camera thief gave the out-of-towner the finger, but as the costume hand-coverings were mittens, it looked like a cheery wave. The picture was shot before the thief could utter his customary, “F__K O_F!” (Not sure if I needed to blank that third letter.)

“Here’s five dollars and my thanks for making my daughter’s trip so memorable,” said the out-of-towner so politely that he was clearly from Utah.

And so a new industry began – one that helped the city maintain a certain degree of equilibrium until the election of 2012. It was then that the non-violent crime sector of the municipal economy took another serious blow – pot became legal in Colorado and Washington State.

The legal growing costs in Aspen dropped so far below the illegal growing costs in the Bronx, that the local dealers ignored the mayor’s “Buy Local” campaign and ordered their product from out-of-towners.

The local growers, still dealing with the temporary cessation of the availability of (yes, you guessed it,) Twinkies, girded up their birkenstocks and searched the city to find someone to pay for their pain.

With blood in their eyes, (from anger or smoke - not sure,) they hunted for out-of-towners.

“Look, Daddy,” said the daughter of an out-of-towner, “It’s the ghost of Jerry Garcia!”

And hence, a new segment of non-violent criminals moved into the costumed picture racket.

Unfortunately, there is not a happy ending here. The public thorough-fares became glutted with bulky Blues (both from Blue’s Clues and from Rio,) in visually-impairing, and identity-obscuring Dacron. Out-of-work actors – though they didn’t carry cards from Non-Violent Criminals local 22, donned costumes as well. Out-of-towners feared for their lives as waves of animated characters stampeded over street people and Hari Krishnas to get to them. To add to the confusion, Disney lawyers hired members of Violent Criminals local 16 to mug and maul any costumed racketeer they found in Dumbo, Peter Pan, or Snow White costumes.

Colorful, creepy, caustic, cataclysmic, crudity ensued - in short – a riot that threatened not only the downtown, but all tourism in the greater metropolitan area.

Several members of a flash mob, who thought it might be fun to show up outside the Today Show window in Buzz Lightyear costumes, were beaten mercilessly by at least three different factions.

A single golden snack cake was all it took to calm everything down.

And so, a grateful mayor toasts Apollo Global Management and C. Dean Metropoulos and Company with a 16 ounce soda in each hand. If Twinkies (now fortified with quaaludes and a sprinkling of  Bronx’s finest herb) had not returned, the city, as we have known it, might be nothing but a distant and drug-hazed memory.

Today's video is truly - Just Plain Stupid.

Marmalade On Trial



May 9, 2013

 

It's been a hard week working with the ghost of Jim Henson on the screenplay for Dead Muppet Society Part Two, The Revenge of Fozzie, Walka Walka Walka.

By the way, Elvis says, "Hey."  He's real happy about Twinkies coming back.

I feel like a neglectful parent, but I'm going to have to give you something I wrote back in 2002.  I think I might have eaten too much fruitcake at the time...



Dangerous Intro

What, exactly is the attraction of marmalade? Pieces of orange peel floating in goo. Would plastic or metal filings become delectable if we could just find an appropriate sugary suspension?

 

Lawsuit-proof disclaimer

Personally, I’ve always been fond of Marmalade. My policy has always been to never put down a food product that not only represents such a strong tradition but also has potentially intimidating lawyers representing it. Unfortunately, not all people have a podium from which they might express their views (misguided as they might be). While I have no desire to risk the ill will (lawsuit) of the marmalade industry as a whole, I feel it incumbent upon me to represent the views of the minority. As much as I enjoy marmalade, I still recall asking my mother long ago, “what are these stringy bits?”

Actual Irresponsible Column

Years ago, that great gourmand, Andy Griffith, espoused the philosophy that anything is “good” if accompanied by the proper salted cracker. (It does make you think twice about the quality of Aunt Bea’s cooking)

It’s this sort of thinking, along with Bill Cosby’s assertion that there’s always room for cold gelatinous compounds that, in my opinion, perpetuates marmalade in our society. But how does such a thing get started?

Origins are a fuzzy thing, but I’m willing to guess it went something like this. Sir Francis Drake returns to England after another successful pirating of a Spanish galleon. Among the purloined stores was a supply of oranges. By the time they reach England the oranges have gone bad and the ship’s cook throws them out. An adventurous domestic with missing teeth and uncontrollable red hair (they always look that way in the movies) salvages them from the trash heap and takes them home. She tries one and though it’s rotting, it’s still several degrees better than any food served in England.

Recognizing that these little orange globes are the only things with “taste” she will ever encounter, she preserves every scrap in any way she can think of. Dutifully, recording her recipe (she also invented fruitcake but I think others have dealt sufficiently that treat) she foists it on succeeding generations who in the rush of nostalgia and tradition ignore its overall lack of edibility.

In the final analysis it’s all Sir Francis Drake’s fault. (I was going to blame Sir Walter Raleigh but I figured the tobacco industry has had it pretty rough lately, and he wasn’t known for taking too many Spanish galleons. As a matter of fact, he was pretty much a wimp when it came to ship to ship combat in general. He’d just sit there smoking his pipe and passing the crumpets to Pocahontas.)

Sir Francis Drake, on the other hand, was enthusiastic in arts of murder, mayhem and plunder. The kingdom of Spain pressured Queen Liz 1 to turn him over on countless occasions and to this day, he is banned from all the fashionable Iberian beaches and the Generalisimo Francisco Franco mausoleum gift-shop. Of course Sir Francis has been dead for nearly 400 years so is incapable of obtaining the perfect tan and can haunt the gift-shop whenever he wishes.

It’s just as well that Sir Francis has passed, for if he were alive today he would be subject to the capricious vagaries that is the American Civil Court System. No Dead queen with an inch and a half of cake makeup could protect him from a power so potent that it can take a murderer and make him give up his Heisman trophy.

“Sir Francis, do you know why you have been called before this court?”

“Well, I spent several years being a pirate. I killed countless Spanish sailors and quite a number of aboriginal people in the bargain. I made pirating fashionable and respectable among the lower strata of English nobility, which ushered in nearly three centuries of murder, mayhem and plunder. (It also did quite a number on the hawking and jousting industries) I also started a number of salacious rumors about Queen Elizabeth which led eventually to tabloid television.”

Gasps and cries of “tabloid television!” echo throughout the courtroom.

“We’ll discuss the tabloid television charge at a later date. You’re here to answer for marmalade.”

“What’s marmalade?”

“A breakfast spread popular with English grandparents and Paddington Bear.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Try some.” The bailiff, who is actually an aspiring actor, hands Sir Frances a slice of toast with marmalade. He bows to the audience watching on court TV.

“Hmm – a bit of flavor here. Like any good Englishman, I’m not used to that. I like the toasted bread idea. I do have one question though.”

“Yes, Sir Francis?”

Sir Francis appears as if he’s not certain he wants an answer. “Just what are these stringy bits?”

Basketball, BWG, but no Little Debbie Twinkie

It’s the NCAA tournament time and though I really don’t care, I’ll look for anything to exploit. Of course writing a blog is much easier if I have something already written that I can, “repurpose” here. I search through the archives to see if I’ve ever written something about the tournament.

I have!

I’m very excited – mostly because I’m lazy, and who wants to use up all those hard-earned junk-food fueled calories in coming up with something new. I prepare to cut and paste the article, A Spouse’s Guide to March Madness.

“Nope,” say the beneficent SOBs at Go Figure Reads dot com (gofigurereads.com)

“What-a-ya-mean, No?” I ask, both miffed and pleased that I got a chance to use that Brooklyn accent obligatory whenever you say the phrase ‘what-a-ya-mean’ but entirely inappropriate otherwise (except in Brooklyn by Brooklyners… Brooklynites?...Brooklyafers… dose guys.)

“It’s taken,” say the Go Figure Reads muckety-mucks (also an appropriate word to use a Brooklyn accent with… also appropriate with which to use a Brooklyn accent? Who made these stupid grammatical rules about prepositions, anyway?)

Was I saying something? Oh yeah, they tell me that A Spouse’s Guide to March Madness is taken. “You sold it?” I asked with my hand out in an expectant manner.

Instead of money, I get a smug, negative, and non-negotiable shake of the head. “It will appear in an anthology from BWG, Once Around the Sun.”

BWG – Bethlehem Writer’s Group.

http://bethlehemwritersgroup.com/

It’s a group of the most hateful type of people in the world – people who write better than I do. One of their leaders must have owed someone at Go Figure Reads a favor, and they included my essay, Christmas Single Holiday in their Christmas anthology, A Christmas Sampler, a few years ago.

“Sampler won an award, and it’s your best selling book,” the muckety-muck tells me. “Having A Spouse’s Guide to March Madness in Once Around will be great exposure.”

“You mean good exposure for Go Figure Reads!” I snap back in a far less clever or even biting way than I intended. I should have made some comment on what anatomically he liked exposing, and to who, but you never think of such comments until afterwards.

Life is so unfair.

The muckety-muck just smiles, and I get nothing – as in, no money in my hand, and no article to flesh out this blog post.

That’s when I decided to go commercial. The blog’s too new to sell any advertising, but I figured I could seed the… (what do you seed, anyway – the field? the waters? What is that supposed to mean? ) with a little promotional promotion – a demo for all those deep pocket types that will happily fill my hand with cash, and my cupboards with junk food.

Today’s post is brought to you by:

Little Debbie makes great snack cakes that taste consistently good because in addition to the unpronounceable stuff, they are made out of mostly sugar and fat – mmmmmm – good! There’s nothing like that teeth-stinging feeling of sugar crystals bonding to your enamel when you bite into a Little Debbie cake. You can eat three, or sometimes even four before you start to feel sick to your stomach!

Try this trick – eat a box of Little Debbie oatmeal cakes right before you go in to have your blood tested. It’s a great way to con a health clinic out of free insulin, or maybe even a heart bypass!

And you’re supporting America when you buy Little Debbie. I don’t know where they’re made, but even if they’re made North Korea, Iran, or… France, you can be sure that Little Debbie is sending campaign money to senators and congress-people in order to keep their darling baked and processed sugary fat balls on the market.

Surely, at this point in my presentation, the fine folks at McKee Foods are pricking up their collective ears. “This is REAL marketing!” says Little Debbie, now 62. (She’s looking svelte after losing 125 pounds thanks largely to a leg amputation due to gangrene during her last diabetic coma.)

That’s right, Little Debbie, and I’m just getting started! Send me your sweet and fat advertising money and I’ll do a little work (or get others to do work if they’re cheap) to help you produce your own webcast, much like Headley and the Rug (and Cral) that had such a wonderful run on public access TV in the summer of 2002. I’ll even ask the stars of Headley and the Rug (that I haven’t borrowed money from) to be celebrity guests on your show - The Little Deb Web!

Look – I’ve even written you a theme song! (with apologies to Leslie Bricusse, Anthony Newley, Willie Wonka, and the ghost of Sammy Davis Jr.)

The Little Deb Web

 

Who can make your fat rise?
Like Winnie of the Poo
As if you swallowed Tigger, long with Kanga and her Roo?

The Little Deb – In her Little Deb Web
In the Little Deb Web your triglycerides go wild
And then your brain becomes goo


Who can make your glucose
Replace most of your blood
Till your red cells and your white cells form a candy cane flood?
The Little Deb – In her Little Deb Web
In the Little Deb Web you won’t find no fruits and veggies
She don’t believe in that crud.


The Little Deb makes all those tiny cakes

From ingredients obscurious
Reading them you would be curious
(If they) hadn’t rendered you delirious.

(rinse and repeat)

On the first show, Little Debbie could talk about her acquisition of Drake’s Cakes, the makers of Devil Dogs – my FAVORITE snack food! (after Pop Tarts, and Doritos… and whatever those free mints are they leave on the counter at the Lighthouse Diner… and maybe some other stuff I can’t remember right now.)

But why just the Drakes brand? Why not all Hostess snack cakes?

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/01/30/twinkies-deal-hostess-bidder_n_2586715.html

I did some research and it seems like the leading suitor for Twinkies et al is the same company that makes Pabst Beer. PBR and Twinkies – sounds like a recipe for a coma right there. Do we want our fellow junk-food obsessed Americans pre-mortally embalmed by this dangerous combination?

I say NO! (largely because I’m hoping for money from McKee Foods, but if anyone else offers to pay me, I’m flexible on this point.) Little Debbie is the obvious lair from which to raise the Twinkie Frankenstein from the depths of bankrupt oblivion.

Rise! Rise!

How can Little Deb Bake

All those cakes from Drake

A feat that’s hardly rinky-dinky?

She barely even lifts her pinky

(spoken) Hey Hostess!

She’s the girl to bring back Twinkie!

That oughta bring the money rolling in. I sure hope Little Debbie doesn’t pay me in Cosmic Brownies – I don’t need the flashbacks.

Oh, and my pick for the tournament? Go with the Great Danes. They have a high number next to their name (15) which must mean they are really strong, and they’re facing some team named Duke in the first round.

Duke kind of sounds like a name for a Great Dane.