The tastiness of a soft drink decreases in direct porportion to the number of adjectives in its name.
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Sprite
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Good
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Vanilla Coke
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Not So Good
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Diet Pepsi Blue
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Bad
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Old Fashioned Sodium-free Kiwi Strawberry Cream Fanta
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Ah, no
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Speaking of which, here’s a great name for a blog: “Interview With a Vamp’s Ire”.
No, wait! Wait! You didn’t use it, did you? I just realized that that’s a completely stupid name for a blog! Oh no, you did? You already used it? You already named your blog “Interview With a Vamp’s Ire” and registered interviewwithavampsire.com and publicized the whole thing on BlogSnob? Ah geeze, I’m sorry. Man, it seemed really funny when I thought it up.
I have a great idea for a reality show: American Idle. Each episode will showcase 10 real Americans sitting around inertly, eating Bugles, and watching tv. Viewers can call up and vote for one of the contestants, and whomever receives the most votes has to go outside and run around the block a few times.
Give me a call, FOX: I’ll let this one go for a song.
Hey CNN, here’s some news for you: your Crossfire show is duller than televised chess! You got a couple of right-wingers and a couple of left-wingers “discussing” the most polarizing topics imaginable, so that no one, over the course of the hour, says anything other than what you’d expect. James Carville thinks we’re not doing enough to combat greenhouse gasses?! And Robert Novak thinks that the evidence for global warming is inconclusive?! Oh my stars and garters, who could have guessed?!!
Fortunately, I got your fix right here. Three simple steps:
Moderator: Hello, and welcome to Rapid-Fire! Gentlemen, if you’re ready we’ll start the clock and begin. Drilling in Alaska!
Conservative: Yes!
Liberal: No!
Moderator: Guns!
Conservative: Good!
Liberal: Bad!
Moderator: Taxes!
Liberal: Increase!
Conservative: Abolish!
Moderator: Iraq!
Liberal: Restraint!
Conservative: Attack!
Moderator: Middle-East Conflict!
Conservative: Israel!
Liberal: Palestine!
Moderator: Worst president ever!
Liberal: Bush!
Conservative: Clinton!
Moderator: Finest president in history!
Conservative: Bush!
Liberal: Clinton!
Moderator: Each other!
Liberal: Jackass!
Conservative: Cretin!
Moderator: Time! This has been Rapid-Fire!
There’s a show worth watchin’.
Here’s a couple of million-dollar ideas, free for the using.
Supermarket Karaoke What do they play over the sound system at the grocery store? Brown-eyed Girl. My Heart Will Go On. Crazy. Desperado. In essence, the guys at the local Safeway are playing “The Best of the Karaoke Standards, Volume I”. Well why not just make it official by putting a small stage and some spotlights in the produce section? Hell, they already have that intercom in place, so, really, this would require very little additional equipment. And between songs the bagboy / DJ could make requests for more cashiers and price checks on Triskets. It’s a win-win-win scheme, really — well, until someone sings “Bust a Move,” I guess.
Latchkey Kitty Soap Operas Like many cats in America, my Louie is a Latchkey Kitty — my wife and I leave him alone from nine to five every day while we’re away at work. We read somewhere that cats like the sound of voices when left alone, so we leave NPR on all day. (I don’t know if he really cares, but I do know that he’s now much better versed in the Middle East conflict and the Catholic priesthood scandal than either of us.) But what would be really great is if someone would make Kitty Cat Soap Operas: Hour-long dramas that intertwine a number of cat-related plotlines. And since cats are creatures of simple needs, you wouldn’t even need a script writer, you could just depict cats doing the seven things that cats do. In one of the stories you could show a cat slowly creeping up on a bird over the course of the hour and making the kill in the triumphant finale; in a second you could show a cat playing with some tinfoil; a third could just be shots of a cat sleeping on a radiator. Best of all, since cats crave routine and are devoid of memory, you could just show the same episode each and every day. You could even have a racier nighttime version with a “mating” subplot that unfixed cats could watch after their people have gone to bed. Line up some cat food and kitty litter advertisers and you’ve got yourself a show! (Although the ads might only be effective on those cats who do the household shopping, which I suspect isn’t very many. Hmm. This idea may have a flaw.)
You a should give me a lot of money, because I have an absolutely fabulous idea for a business. Now, I know the heyday of Venture Capital is pretty much over, but you should nonetheless invest heavily in this scheme. Why? Because unlike the multitude of hare-brained, half-baked, poorly-thought-out ideas that swarmed yesteryear like stray cats on a dumpster full of albacore, this particular idea absolutely cannot fail!
It’s called: Crap2Storage.com. See? You love it already.
Ask yourself: what’s the typical lifecycle of Crap in the United States? (And you know what I mean by Crap: Yoga videos, bread makers, double matted art prints of cheetahs, musical picture frames … all that stuff that you see on tv or glimpse on a website or spot in a catalog or find in the checkout lane of a supermarket and, without thinking, buy.) Well, I’ll tell you what happens to this stuff. It arrives at your home, and you set it on a kitchen counter, and then a month later you put it in a drawer or closet, and then seventeen years later you haul it off to a storage unit. And why shouldn’t you? It’s the American way.
But what a hassle — not to mention a waste of space! Unpacking the UPS boxes from Amazon.com is a chore, and taking carload after carload of Crap to your storage unit can really eat away at your valuable time. That’s where Crap2Storage.com comes in. Instead of buying that battery-operated self-cleaning litter box directly from the retailer, you will instead place the order with me. I’ll then order the item on your behalf, unpack it when it arrives, and drive it directly to your storage unit! No muss, no fuss! Then I’ll send you an email letting you know that your brand new six-pack of passionfruit-scented candles are right where they were eventually going to wind up anyhow: at U-Stor. And I’ll do it all for a mere $12 per transaction.
Plus, I’ll also set up a sister company called Crap2Charity.com for those bleeding-heart types. It will work exactly the same way, except I will take the Crap to local thrift stores.
Please make million-dollar checks out to “Matthew Baldwin.” That’s “Matthew” with two-Ts.
I am fascinated by the psychology of movie theater soda sales. At the core of the issue is one single, indisputable fact: movie theaters want you to pay as much as possible for your soda. I don’t mean “they want you to pay as much as possible per ounce,” oh no, I mean they want the total sum of moolah you fork over to be as great as possible. Because, frankly, they don’t give a flying yodel how much soda you receive in return for your cash. These guys pay, like, thirteen cents per cubic kilometer of soda syrup, and they could probably give it away for free and still make a profit. It’s of little concern to them whether you get 8 oz. or 128 oz., as long as your total expenditure is as large as possible.
So a crack team of movie theater psychologists figured out the absolute maximum amount of money an average person will pay for soda, an amount that is currently somewhere around $6.00 or so. Then they figured out how much soda the person would have to receive in return for this outlay to feel like they had made a justifiable purchase, and that worked out to be somewhere in the neighborhood of 52 ounces. And with that they established their “Jumbo” — 52 oz. of soda for six bucks.
Of course nobody in their right mind would actually desire 52 oz. of soda without some sort of coercion, so here’s what they did. The made the “Large” 32 oz, and priced it at $5.50, and made the Medium 24 oz. and priced it at $5.00, and made the “Small” 12 oz. and priced it at $4.50. So you’re standing there in line and you’re thinking “Jeeze, all I really want is 12 oz. of soda, but for only $1.50 more I can get the Jumbo which contains over four times the volume of the Small!! I’d be a complete mooncalf not to jump at that deal!”
Now I’ve noticed that some local theaters have taken the next step in this process by eliminating the “Small” altogether, and instead calling the 12 oz soda “Child” — never mind that no child should ever ingest 12 oz. of Surge in less than a fortnight. So if the phony economics don’t talk you out of buying the smallest drink, you will also have to overcome the shame of ordering yourself a “Child-size Mr. Pibb”. I think they should just run with this idea and rename all the sizes with derogatory names. Twelve oz. could be the “Asshole,” 24 oz. could be the “Dipshit”, 32 oz. could be the “Skinflint Pansyboy Who Can Only Drink 32 Oz. of Cola” and 52 oz. could be a “Large”. It’s gonna happen sooner or later, so they may as well get it over with.
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Incidentally, if you’re an aspiring but frustrated comic book writer in search of inspiration, here’s some great ideas I have for for some new superhero titles:
Chindogu is the art of creating almost useless objects. That is, an invention that at first seems like a great idea, but, upon further reflection, reveals itself as more trouble than it’s worth. For examples, check out the Internation Chindogu Society, where you can find such speciments as the backscratcher’s t-shirt and the portable crosswalk.
Here’s one I just came up with: a tiny toilet roll dispenser, about an 1.5″ across, and paper rolls of a corresponding size. This would be mounted next to your sink. Then, after shaving, a gentleman can tear off tiny 1″ x 1″ squares of tissue to apply to his various cuts and nicks.
If the idea of chindogu appeals to you, I simply cannot recommend 101 Unuseless Japanese Inventions : The Art of Chindogu too highly.