In continuation of the previous postoid, I suppose it’s nice to see the Boop force expanding outside of southern gas station marts.
Though these are Wacky Wobblers and not, in fact, Ant Farms, that does not rule out the possibility of the existence of Betty Boop Ant Farms. There just aren’t any here. I can’t imagine a situation in which the Betty Boop people turn down a suggestion made by somebody. Quite simply no one has yet asked “hey, don’t we make Betty Boop Ant Farms?” I have a suspicion that sign hasn’t been accurate for the last 200 displays. When’s the last time you saw a stack of ant farms for sale anywhere, regardless of cobranding, regardless of proximity to the hellmouth Alabama?
However, if you’re in the market for dog sized laced denim featuring anachronistic homages to other trash marketing icons, and for whatever reason have fifty dollars to your name, you’re probably better off investing in becoming a public drunk (fortunately there are just as many Jim Beam signs available as for B. Boop, though buying artwork in sign form could in itself be enough).
If you’d like that denim in red you perhaps already are. But aren’t you glad that there’s somebody who will sell you red jean junk to force on your dog, and that it’s totally within the law? You have a crazy addiction that annoys creatures weaker than you and it’s totally fine!
Yet I am worried. One of the non-participant attendees of the February brain-damage-club art show suggested that some of my results, specifically this tragic scene could potentially sell well on jean jackets, contributing, quote, “People eat that [rubbish] up.” And so I dislike the boopster not just for being tacky and representative of a sizable delegation of my least favorite things about commercialism, but also for being my potential competition in the commercial tack market. Who does she think she is?!
I realize what an insensitive question that is to ask of someone suffering from an obvious identity crisis, so hopefully most of her identities won’t be offended. Hey, if Boop is so patriotic, why does she display that flag in a way which so flagrantly violates official pedantic flag etiquette? HA HA GOTCHA DUMB COMMIE BROAD! FIX MAH DINNER! Happy Labor Day!
Once you’re beyond the phase in which you desire to purchase pre-framed pictures of Betty Boop you may find yourself wishing instead to buy pre-framed pictures of indistinct white-clothed men who appear to be playing golf / have various skeletal abnormalities. If that is the case it’s a lucky thing you found this wall. Though I can’t help thinking what an opportunity was missed by not including Matlock in the Andy Griffith-sponsored transition to geriatric weekend television favorites. In the interest of full disclosure I should point out that this wall is not in a Florida gas station mart but rather the gift-shop of Connecticut’s own Barker Character, Comic and Cartoon Museum. I went there twice and both times the museum was closed but the store was open.
Fortunately, these were for sale.
Also available, Budweiser Lizards, low-resolution ntsc screengrab framed with button-operated audio accompaniment, yours for 200 dollars if you can endure the trials administered by the truly frightening Coca Cola sun guardian (id est: not run screaming in the opposite direction). I like to think the lizards have been waiting in this poorly-lit alcove forgotten ever since their ad campaign was, but I also like ice cream cake and I haven’t eaten that in about as long. This is the perfect loophole for someone whose family members have decreed a strict prohibition on the further purchase of Big Mouth’d Billy Basses.
I remember being the only person in my class(es) who didn’t think the frogs and their self-referential sequels were hilarious. It didn’t really matter because I was in sixishth grade at the time and none of us were old enough to buy beer. Although I’m sure in some way I’m attempting to imply that it did, in fact, matter, all the more so because we could not purchase beer, but if I absolutely had to see one I’d prefer rubber reptile puppets above mega oaf man-men thrusting bladder-fluid at me constantly.
No thank you, I couldn’t bear it OH NOOOOOOOOOO THEY’VE GOTTEN TO MEEEE TOOOOOOOO!!!!
President Yogurt sez:
Back during the much younger days of the internet, I stumbled upon something that fancied itself a name/title generator. Thinking I could benefit from some new titles/names, I decided to give it a try, playing about wih the various variables to see what I might get. As one might expect, it was particularly non-useful for my purposes, providing only dumbest, most non-sensical results. Worst of all, it seemed to fancy “Betty Poop” a particularly fine name for just about anything (instead of, as one might expect, for nothing). To this day I have been quite unsuccessful in my attempts to dislodge this tainted memory from the depths of my subconsious, and every time I see the above character it is again called cruelly to the surface. Such is my lot.
Eesklipisk sez:
That’s just so lame and easy, I love the idea of someone being so proud of thinking of it that it gets inserted into all manner of inappropriate situations (which would be all situations). Man, I ate so much! I feel like Betty Poop! Who designed this dirigible? Betty Poop? I really can’t think of how that could come up naturally. Ha ha, then it’d be more like Betty Puke!
If only more people made were afflicted with the same association as you perhaps there would not be such a market for these things. And perhaps there would be just as big a market for them. The great thing about having poor taste is that half of the experience is willfully being made fun of or otherwise accepting one’s perceived lack of taste.