Fruit of the Loom Guys Experience Spy Infiltration

Recent evidence has come to light that the Fruit of the Loom Guys-- the renowned mascots for a popular cotton underwear brand-- have been compromised by foreign entities posing among them, in order to obtain highly-classified information on comfort waistbands and non-wedgie fabric production.

Readers may already be familiar with Rory McIntosh (also known as "Apple")-- the popular lead singer of the Fruit Guys group-- and skilled backup men, Concord Jones (called "Purple Grape" to his fans) and Jimmy Niagara (stage name: "Green Grape").

But who is this figure with them, silently harvesting the sweet fruits of their labors?

Leif Romaine, also known as Ignacius Iceburg, Lenny "the Head" Lettuce, and George "Garnish" Wilson is believed to have been a plant in the Fruit Guys band from the very beginning.

Large sums of green sent to Mr. Romaine's bank account suggest that he was in the employ of the Adam & Eve Undergarments Inc., even while appearing with the Fruit Guys. His job, theorists indicate, was to root out the manufacturing strengths of the Fruit of the Loom brand, so it could be duplicated in the Adam & Eve factories at cost.

But Leif's fall from grace has hit the other members of the Fruit Guys hard.
In a candid interview with members of the band, the musicians indicate they feel soured on the whole system now.

"I had no idea something so rotten was going on right under our noses like that," said McIntosh.

"Guess it only takes one bad one to spoil the bunch," added Niagara philosophically.


But the band members insist that because the market is still ripe for their band's niche their music will only grow from this regrettable scandal.

"It all stems from our devotion to comfortable, affordable underwear," states Mr. Concord.

Now, Leif Romaine sits in prison, awaiting trial, in a small maximum security terrarium living on meager sunlight and water.
Lawyers for the accused currently offer no comment. Word on the grapevine is that he plans to plead "Innocent."

King Tut's Royal Image Vizier

Recently, technology has given us all new insights into the life of King Tut-- revealing that ancient Egypt's Golden Boy didn't just sit around putting on eye-makeup, making decrees, and giggling over erotic cartouches like other Boy Kings.

No, young Tutankhamun also suffered from a cleft palate, a club foot, and a good old-fashioned case of malaria.

Now, this comes as a surprise to many of us, who have pretty much pictured him as a Richie Rich in a loincloth, up to his fake beard in gold home accessories and cats.

But that's just thanks to the ancient Egyptian PR and damage control tactics of one very talented Royal Image Vizier.

This is how it all started.

VIZIER: Tut babysweetieboobie, how ya feelin'?...

Pardon?.... "Mired and Foogurts"? What are they-- a new Giza lawfirm or something?

Oh, you mean you're tired from the malaria and from dragging that club foot around... Sorry, kid, it's a little hard to understand you with that cleft palate.

Well, here's the thing, Tutty-baby. Don't you worry about any of that, I've got it all worked out.

See-- yes, soon you're gonna be introduced as the ruler of Egypt, the representative of the gods on Earth...

(A pretty nice living, if I do say so myself, congratulations. I'd like a gig like that myself some day.)

But as we both know, the people of Egypt have some expectations for their living gods. And mumbling and dragging a leg ain't it, ya follow me? You don't want to go down in history as King Gimpy al-Mushmouth.

So here's the dish, Tut-baby. For the clubbed foot. We've developed a new thing. It's a twist on the Royal Litter. But instead of four eunuchs carrying you around on a silk stretcher, we've built this throne with a big hollow platform under it.

And what we do is, we have the four guys inside it, moving you around from underneath. Nobody can see 'em, and it looks like you're gliding around unaided. It'll be really god-like, it'll drive the crowds wild, trust me....

What do we call it?...

Well, we're thinking of calling it the "PharaohRound." Yeah, we're working on the copyright for that now. I'll let you know when it comes through. Anyway, I think you'll like it. Very comfortable. Very regal. It's a good look for you. And nobody'll see that foot.

Okay, so next, there's the cleft palate issue. Since reconstructive maxiofacial surgery won't be invented for a few years yet, and the people need to be able to hear your royal announcements, we've got a thing we'd like to try.

Yeah, just something to get your message to the people without them knowing about your little oral presentation problem.

Now, what we're thinking is, you've already got the guys under the Pharaohround, right?

Well, one of them will memorize your speeches in advance and saythem for you. You, meanwhile, will just move your mouth to the words at the same time as he does. So it will sound like it comes from you...

Yes, it is innovative. We're calling it Lip-Sphinxing, on account of how the Sphinx was known for his wisdom and gift for gab.

Yeah, I like it, too.

So anyway, with the Pharaohround and the Lip-Sphinxing, I think we'll be able to get you through this. You can pose for a few golden statues, we'll prop you up for a few strategically-placed wall paintings... everybody will buy it, no problem. And—

What's that Tut-baby?... Oh, what do you do about groupies?

Well, I'd just keep quiet if I were you. Girls dig the silent type.

Anyway, since you wear more makeup than a tattooed temple dancer, you might not have to worry about that.

We'll cross that aquaduct when we get to it, knowwhatImsayin'?

____________________________
Humorbloggers

Darth Vader Brainstorms Naming the Death Star

The Death Star...

The. Death. Star. ®.

I'm pretty sure Darth Vader didn't brainstorm with anybody on naming ideas first. No consulting with marketing, or Emperor Palpatine, or even running it by Darkside Legal;

Because it never would have gotten final approval.

See, anyone who's worked in business knows how these things go-- particularly when there's a committee involved.

This is how I see it:

Darth Vader is in his Dark Side Conference Room, in a swivel chair, and his right-hand men are taking notes on their Darkberries and Jed-iPhones.

In his icy, resonant voice, Darth Vader announces, "I HAVE CALLED YOU HERE TODAY BECAUSE I HAVE DECIDED; I WILL BUILD MYSELF A STAR. FROM SCRATCH-- NOT THAT FLAT-PACK, ASSEMBLE-IT-YOURSELF STUFF OR ANYTHING...

"AND IT WILL HAVE TRACTOR BEAMS, TO PULL IN AND CONTAIN ANY REBEL SCUM...

"AND INSIDE, IT WILL HAVE TRASH COMPACTORS, WITH SQUIDS IN THEM, TO SQUISH THE REBEL SCUM ONCE WE PULL THEM IN...

"AND IT WILL HAVE A POWERFUL RAY, TO BLOW UP THE REBEL SCUM'S HOME TOWNS, JUST BECAUSE WE ARE EVIL AND THAT IS OUR SCHTICK..."

"AND I WILL CALL THIS COSMIC COLOSSUS OF CHAOS... 'THE DEATH STAR.'"

There is silence in the room. A heavy pause. Then his Marketing Director raises a finger and says: "Are you completely sold on the name?"

"WHAT?" Darth Vader's visor steams up. "WHO ARE YOU TO QUESTION DARTH VADER? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THIS? YOU DO NOT LIKE 'THE DEATH STAR'? YOU DO NOT FEEL IT IS A NAME THAT WILL STRIKE FEAR INTO THE HEARTS OF OUR ENEMIES?"

The Marketing Director looks doubtful. "Going to be hard to trademark. I'll run it by Legal, but I can tell you right now they'll say it's too generically descriptive. Never fly."

Darth Vader pounds a fist on the table. "BUT 'THE DEATH STAR...' IT SAYS IT ALL. IT IS LIKE A STAR. AND PLUS-- YOU KNOW, THE DEATH."

The Marketing Director shrugs, "Look, I don't make the rules. I'm just telling you how Legal goes..."

As the Marketing Director feels invisible fingers close around his throat, he squeaks out, "Er-- but hey, hey, what was that you said earlier: 'Cosmic Colossus of Chaos'?... That had a ring."

"No, no, too wordy," a few others chime in.

"Darthy's Black Planet o' Doom?"

"Nah..."

"Wait, I've got it!" exclaims the Marketing Director, a relieved smile stretching over his face. "Titanic!"

At this, Darth Vader rises from his chair. "IT IS THE DEATH STAR, AND THAT IS ALL I WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT!... I CAN STILL CRUSH YOUR TRACHEA WITH MY MIND, YOU KNOW."

"Question," interrupts the HR Manager, motioning for Lord Vader's attention. "So you're going to be on this Death Star of yours all by yourself then?"

"NO," says Lord Vader, derision dripping from his voice. "I WILL HAVE MINIONS TO DO MY BIDDING. AND MARCH IN PERFECT SQUARES. AND BRING IN MY DRY CLEANING, BECAUSE, YOU KNOW, THIS ARMOR GETS A BIT RIPE AS IT DOES NOT BREATHE." He pauses. "WHY?"

"Well, it's just with a name like 'The Death Star', you won't be able to draw in any decent employees."

"WHAT?! FOOLISH CREATURE!" he booms. "OF COURSE I WILL! I AM LORD VADER! THE FORCE IS STRONG WITH ME!... AND ALSO, I HAVE AN ACCOUNT AT MONSTER.COM."

The HR Manager shakes his head and snickers. "Who's going to apply for a job at a place called 'The Death Star'?"

"WHAT? WELL," Darth sputters, "OTHERS WHO WISH TO JOIN ME IN MY DARK MISSION TO TAKE OVER THE--"

"It sounds like it doesn't offer benefits. Does it offer benefits?"

"THE BENEFIT IS THAT I LET THEM LIVE."

"'Let 'em live'? Let 'em live?! Use that recruiting technique and all we're going to get is a bunch of loonies and degenerates-- backstabbers destined to be more trouble than they're worth," explains the HR Manager.

He continues, "...You can't run a competitive Dark Side operation if you don't retain quality employees. The kind of people you'll get without a comprehensive benefits package are desperate paranoids who'll either spend all of their time lasering each other, or terrified they'll turn up ten minutes late in the morning and have their tracheas crushed. They'll be completely unmotivated. We'll have to have a corporate psychologist just to handle it all."

"THEY WILL SUBMIT TO MY IRON HAND," Vader says.

"Then you won't have any employees left to do your Evil Bidding. Look, you've got to make the place have some appeal, some draw. 'The Death Star' isn't really going to cut it."

"How about 'House of Sith'?" suggests one exec around the table. "Sounds sexy and exclusive."

"Or 'Rebel Scum Elimination Services Inc.? RSES for short?" suggests another. "Efficient and techy."

"I know-- " cries the Marketing Director, "'Dark Side of the Moon'!"

"NO, NO, NO!" shouts Vader. "IT IS 'THE DEATH STAR.' IT IS SIMPLE. IT IS CLEAR. IT IS TO THE POINT. WHY DO YOU PEOPLE INTERFERE SO?"

There is a moment of silence around the table.

Then the Marketing Director says, "You realize, you're going to have to get sign-off from Palpatine and the Sith Board of Directors for this first, don't you?"

"ER..." mumbles Vader. "YES... YES... I FORGOT ABOUT THAT."

"And you just know how Palpatine loves to micromanage," the Marketing Director reminds him. "If you'll recall, Tie-Fighters were saucer-shaped before he got a hold of them."

Vader sighs. "THOSE SAUCERS WERE SO SLEEK, SO STREAMLINED... AND LOOKED NOTHING LIKE MEN'S FASHION ACCESSORIES FOR A DARK SIDE 'BLOW UP THE PLANET' PARTY." He sinks into his chair.

The Marketing Director nods. "Right. We'll pull together a few alternate storyboards and tagline options for you, and get back to you. How's a week from Friday look for you?"

------------------------------------------
Humorbloggers
Humor-blogs

TV Commercial Mascots Fight For Personal Lives

TV commercial mascots everywhere are banding together for an increasingly common problem in their field-- a lack of individualism and personal lives.

Normally, the annual "Television Product Mascot Union Meeting and Expo" brings with it sessions such as:

• Shout About It: The Pros and Cons of Screaming Messaging Until You're Hoarse

• How Much Repetition Is Too Much How Much Repetition Is Too Much How Much Repetition is Too Much

• And What To Do When Consumers Love Your Products, But Loathe You

But at the organization's 2009 show, themed "Can You Hear Us Now?," things took an unexpectedly heated tone.

It began with the opening speech, where the well-known "Can You Hear Me Now?" rep for Verizon Wireless revealed that he was simply called, "Test Man" by the marketing execs who created him.

And that that lack of personal identity-- while good for the brand-- was deeply affecting his social life.

"Yes, it's true. I do feel inner pain when I receive mail to my home reading only 'Test Man.' I think I might have made a terrific 'Steve.' Or maybe a 'Doug.' But in the annals of history, I am only 'Test Man,' defined solely by my job for Verizon.

"What if I finally pop the question to the red-headed cutie of Glade Scented Candles? What will she be? Mrs. Test Man? Will we be the Glade-Testmans? These are important issues to resolve this conference."

Another mascot speaking out about these concerns is television's beloved GEICO Gecko.

"Yes, I've no name beyond 'GEICO Gecko.' I mean, sure, gents have speculated I might be Gary. And I do rather like Gordon... Gordon Gecko-- it has a nice ring, yeah? Aside from that bloke in that movie, Wall Street.

"But I think it's time the world saw I have interests beyond GEICO. I mean, it's very single-minded to think that all I care about is affordable insurance all day, every day. For instance, I'm learning the acoustic guitar.... I enjoy Karaoke Saturdays down the pub...

"It's said I do a fine rendition of 'Mandy.'

"That's not to say I dislike my job. The people are nice. The hours are good. And it keeps me in crisps. All I ask is that you shout, 'Oi, Gordon!" if you see me on the street, would you? I'd really fancy that."

In the past, commercial mascots have not only had names, but elaborate storylines running around their product-centric exploits.

Like Mr. Whipple, TP-obsessed supporter of Charmin Bath Tissue...

Rosie, the Bounty Lady, who knew the power of a quicker-picker-upper paper towel...

And Madge, the Palmolive manicurist, who's love of soft hands made the dishwashing soap famous.

"But, like, in recent years, it seems marketing execs have totally have dispensed with names," explained the Dell Dude, who is now working at the In and Out Burger Drive-Thru Window since getting out of rehab last year.

"Now we have those Charmin Bears doing the cha-cha thing and pooping in the woods. Does anyone know their names? Like, does anyone care? The world has changed, man. It's a total bummer."

Meanwhile, marketing executives from top advertising firms are livid about the perceived "mutiny" of their spokescharacters.

Said Chad Tatthawker from UltraMegaMondoMedia:

"This is an astounding betrayal. We gave them life. We made them what they are today. And now they want more.

"Well, let's just see how far they get without writers and producers and animators bringing them to life in 30-second to two-minutes spots. Let's just see who needs who here...

"Whom...

"Is it 'who' or 'whom'? Ah, hardly matters... I'm in television."

The "Television Product Mascot Union Meeting and Expo" will be running Monday, April 13th-Friday, April 18th.

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Humorbloggers
Humor-blogs

Back-up Girl Takes On Captain Anonymous

"Back-up Girl."

Filling in, at the speed of light, for those originally hired to do certain tasks but who decide they don't actually, really, ever want to do them... but still kinda sorta would like to continue being paid for said tasks, and also get the credit for their success.

That's when she gets called in on the Red Phone.

Back-up Girl is silent, ever-vigilant, invisible-- and has a certain amount of inner-rage.

Yes-- I am Back-up Girl . (Shhh, don't tell anybody.)

As a result, Back-up Girl has had a very interesting array of projects under her utility belt during her lengthy trouble-shooting career-- many of which go well-beyond simple marketing writing.

Today, I will tell you about one such project, which happened a number of years ago. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. (Namely me.) Because Back-up Girl believes in the powers of loyalty, confidentiality... and, you know, a regular paycheck.

We begin our story in the city of BurghTown. A local company, RandomCorp, is about to create a whole new marketing brand. And Back-up Girl has been called in to survey the firm's internal staff.

Her mission? To solicit honest employee opinions about the company’s current marketing efforts.

This is to be done through an easy-to-use online survey, where employees share their feelings and ideas anonymously, in a secure environment.

That way if anyone wants to say, "I think our marketing blows chunks," Back-up Girl is armed with invaluable data ("chunk-blowing marketing"). And the good people of RandomCorp get to retain their jobs.

Harmony reigns in BurghTown.

The survey takes place, the people of BurghTown offer their insights and then, one day, the Red Phone rings. Back-up Girl picks it up.

"Hello-- Back-up Girl here! What seems to be the trouble?"

"Hi, this is Mr. Blank, of RandomCorp." Back-up Girl recognizes the name instantly as the key contact for her client firm.

And that's when Mr. Blank says this real and 100% for-true sentence:

"I need you to give me the names of all the people who filled out the anonymous survey."

OOOF!!

Back-up Girl is hit with an enormous unexpected blow! Recovering her breath, she grounds herself. "Mr. Blank, I'm afraid we hadn’t set the system up to collect that information. Since, you know, the survey was anonymous."

"Oh, okay," Mr. Blank continues, wholly unfazed. "Then just give me their e-mail addresses. We can figure out their names from those."

POW! ZAM! BIF!

Back-up Girl is tossed across the room, her head spinning.

She leaps to her feet. She takes several more deep breaths. And she picks up the Red Phone once more.

"Mr. Blank, I don't know how to tell you this, but the system you approved wasn't programmed to capture that data, either. As it was… you know… an anonymous survey."

Mr. Blank goes silent with confusion.

Back-up Girl perseveres. "The anonymous survey was anonymous so your colleagues would feel comfortable sharing their opinions and so you would get honest answers. If you knew who they were, then the survey wouldn't be anonymous anymore. It would be... er... Nonymous."

"Oh." Mr. Blank considers this a moment. "Well, I just think there are a number of people who didn't respond to the survey. And we want to get as many people as possible. So I need to know who's missing and remind them."

So Back-up Girl assures him she would send a second blanket e-mail to everyone at RandomCorp telling them the deadline for the survey would be extended. That would get the maximum number of respondents.

Mr. Blank was saved!

But wait! Something is now in Back-up Girl's email Inbox!

Why, it's many of the fine people of RandomCorp. And one after one, they wonder why they’re being asked to fill out this anonymous survey now-- again-- when they already had submitted it.

Did Back-up Girl not receive their anonymous survey?

Shouldn't Back-up Girl make sure she checked their name off The List…? Off the List of the Non-names of the People Who Filled Out the Survey Anonymously?

Back-up Girl grabs the bottle of Excedrin from her desk and chews two tablets thoughtfully. Captain Anonymous has been an admirable foe...

And she surely hasn't seen the last of him.

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Back-up Girl says people who vote for Of Cabbages and Kings at Humor-blogs are super.

Making a Silk Purse from a Panda's Kung-Fu-Sensitive Auditory Organ

Now you may or may not know that my Real Job-- if we peer out past the field o' Cabbages-- is writing marketing content for businesses. And I choose not to blog about it because:

1.) I like my job and want to keep things separate and

2.) Most of it involves me sitting in front of a computer for ten hours a day. This would not only make a lousy blog post, but a very poorly-rated episode of, say, "24."

Imagine, following me as I save clients from improper grammar and unsubstantiated product claims...

Join me as I process content for corporate legal review, including adding circles and arrows, and a paragraph on the back of each one, explaining what each one is to get their approval...

In fact, now that I think about it, the only things that would be even remotely similar to "24" would be:

• The short deadlines
• All the typing and frowning at the computer screen
• Me pulling a Chloe and occasionally telling one of my coworkers, "Go away, I'm busy."

We don't even get to say "Keep me posted" very often... Though I think I'll try working that in more.

Anyway, so I don't really talk about my Real Job-- you know, except for those several big paragraphs above. But a recent incident gave me a chuckle which I thought I would share with you today.

Background is, when I'm tasked to write a web site or script, sometimes I don't receive much to work with from the client.

Sometimes I get very little information regarding their companies, their goals, or their products. And sometimes what I do get is the general equivalent of scribbles on a cocktail napkin.

There are some really great clients, mind you. A lot who are really helpful and have everything prepped that I could possibly need to work from. And I do appreciate it. But just as often, I'm doing detective work, online research, asking questions, and generally pulling sentences out of the air.

If Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ever chose to offer a Professional Writing tract, those students would undoubtedly do very well in my field...

"Accio, Mission Statement!" they would shout. And poof! There would be a nicely-written "About Us" section to add to the beta site.

Well, I had a dream about my work the other night. And I dreamt that I had web site copy to write for a large corporation and the only documentation I had to work from was...

The script for Kung-Fu Panda.

You know-- that new cartoon where Jack Black channels the career of Chris Farley and does the voiceover for an inept, mystic, martial-arts-oriented Chinese bear?

Yup, that's the one.

And in the bizarre world that is my sleeping brain, I didn't even recall thinking it was odd. I DID, however, think:

"Hm-- I have to get this darned web site written in a day, now I have to parse something intelligent out of this Kung Fu Panda script, and I haven't even had time to see the film!...

I wonder if there are any particular sections they expect me to focus on?"

I woke up with the images of cutting and pasting panda-centric action scenes into a Word doc.

Well, naturally, when I got to work, I was feeling a bit better about the day ahead as a whole. I mean, I had some actual sales brochures to leverage for the site I had to write, as well as a decent online database. And it was entirely void of pandas-- giant, red or lesser.

So I know what you're going to ask. You're going to ask now: did you get it done in time? And how did the content turn out?

Well.. er...

I'll keep you posted.

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I hear the pandas watch 24 AND Bruce Lee films over at Humor-blogs.

Spamming with the Stars

Jack Bauer emailed me. Yep, he took time out of his busy 24-hour-working-day of saving the country from terrorists, head-butting baddies, and being tortured-- where every second counts-- to send little ol' me an important message about...

Male enhancement.

What a guy! I mean where, in his jam-packed schedule, would he even get the time to devote to this sort of public service? To care about the, er, little people out there?

I guess maybe in the eight minutes of commercial breaks each episode. Presumably when he also pees.

You'd just think this sort of online support could be delegated to a trusted friend at CTU, or something. Like Chloe. But not our Jack. Nope, it's so like him, isn't it? He just has to do everything himself.

Well, right as I was wondering how my purchasing male enhancement products from dodgy, semi-anonymous companies online could contribute to the greater good of America, and I considered delving beyond the mere subject line... get this:

Writer Jean Shepherd (A Christmas Story) emailed me, too! Which really impressed me, since not only didn't I envision him as being particularly tech-savvy, but he's also been dead for several years. I mean, now, I know the Internet is far-reaching, but this was absolutely astounding!

And what had our dear departed Mr. Shepherd come all the way from beyond the grave to say? What wisdom did he have to impart? His life's philosophy? The need to smoke fewer cigars? To share writing tips? Why, he came and created an email account to spread the word about...

Male enhancement!

I was starting to spot a trend.

Heh. It makes you sorta wonder what's in the spammers' minds, doesn't it? I mean, as far as marketing goes, perhaps we really are all self-absorbed enough to believe a famous person not only has our private email address but is going to take the time to send us a personalized note out of the blue.

But are we really out-of-touch enough to open and respond to email from fictional characters and dead celebs?

Maybe it's the spam equivalent of crank yanking. The email equivalent of calling and asking if Seymour Butz is there. The spammers are all at their computer terminals snickering and saying, "Let's see how they respond to... Bruce Wayne!"

And then they get this influx of payments from guys using their DC Comics special Dark Knight collector's edition Visa cards or something.

I don't know how it works, really.

And I guess I'll never find out, because my lack of response must have cut off my connection with the spirit world. Yes, indeedy, ol' Jean Shepherd never emailed me again. It's a shame, too, because I had a ton of questions about the writing process and--

Oh, wait: Charlotte Bronte just sent me a note! And it looks like she has an important message for me about timeshares in Nigeria.

I really hate to sidetrack her-- I mean, I don't get a lot of vacation time for a trip to Nigeria-- but while I have her attention, maybe I can ask her just a few questions about Jane Eyre...

What do you think? :)

------------------------------------------------------------

I wonder if Jack Bauer ever sends email to the folks at Humor-blogs?

Nobody Expects the Shack o' Inquisition

There are two things I have begun to believe:

1.) That in-between voiceover gigs as Darth Vader, James Earl Jones works for U.S. intelligence. (Come on—Sneakers? Hunt for Red October? Clear and Present Danger? It's so obvious!) I suspect his second-in-command is Gene Hackman.

And:

2.) These intelligence agencies field information gathered through skillfully-trained interrogators, as employed by Radio Shack

See-- a few years ago all I’d wanted was a tidy, little micro-cassette recorder. A simple model so I could conduct a couple of interviews for my Real Job.

So I’d stopped by Radio Shack, and the helpful Radio Shack Guy (shouldn’t they have a hip, funny, self-aware name like the GeekSquad people? Hmm… Radioheads?... Shackies?... )

(The Shack Pack?...)

Okay, so the helpful Shack-Packer aided me in my selection, and then led me up to the counter. At this point, I was happy with the ease of the transaction….

And that’s when the high-level interrogation began.

What was my name? he wanted to know....

And would I spell that that for him?

And how about the ol’ zip code?

Next, street address? Phone number with area code first, please?

Oh, and what’s my shoe size? Any birthmarks or noticeable tattoos?

Okay, it wasn’t quite that bad. (I don't have any tattoos, and my shoe size is average for my height.) But it all got keyed into their system.

I also realized I couldn’t see where my cassette recorder had gone, anymore. It had been tucked somewhere out of view, possibly as leverage for the information they were trying to wring from me.

I was pretty sure in a minute or so, I’d be shoved into a wooden chair with a spotlight shining fiercely into my eyes. And a shadowy figure with a German accent would say:

"Zo… Vat do you plan to do vis zat tape recorder, uh? You are interested in ze listenink in, are you, ja? Making vis ze schnoooopink, Fraulein Thorson?-- Eef zat eez even your real name?! Eez eet? … Eez eet safe?"

Actually, I mentioned that it seemed to be a heckuva lot of information to have to give just for a micro-cassette player. (I even planned to pay cash).

But the Shack-Packer just shrugged, my recorder reappearing from captivity, now in a plastic bag, as he rang up my bill. As if: “Yeah, yeah, ‘nobody expects the Radio Shack Inquisition.’ Tell it to somebody who cares-- and don’t trip over the electroshock treatment cables and dental drills on the way past the manager's office.”

Of course, as a marketer myself, I know it's all just general consumer data. Stuff that's probably siloed in a database that's never going to amount to much except possibly help the Shack-Packers collect girls' phone numbers for potential dates.

I wish them good luck with that.

But as I gathered my package and headed to the door, I could have sworn I heard someone muttering in a deep, familiar bass voice, "Hmm... shoe size, eight-and-a-half, medium..."

“James Earl Jones?” But by the time I turned, he was gone.

Typical.

And a shame, too. I would have liked to ask what he and Hackman did about 9/11... And also the deal with Star Wars Episode I-III. I mean, what the heck did Lucas do to that franchise, anyway?


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Radio Shack has undoubtedly also gotten all the pertinent data about Humor-blogs.