It all started out innocently enough. My car was taking me for a lovely drive down to Matt’s Bar to cram an original Jucy Lucy into my mouth with some friends. As my car traveled down Cedar Ave (Minnesota blog!), it was inevitable that my car and I would cross Lake Street. And there, my dear friends, is where I saw the resurrection of a caveman!
Fine, let me explain in detail. There is a company called HomeVestors that purchases what they call “ugly houses.” At some cocaine fueled meeting, HomeVestors decided that people buying houses wasn’t a very interesting or new concept. People have been buying houses for a relatively short period of time.
But who, they asked themselves, has more experience than mankind? Their answer, cavemankind. Specifically, Ug the Caveman.
Do you understand what I am telling to you? HomeVestors was counting on enough inbred hicks, with an extra foot where their brains should be, to sell their houses on account of a cartoon caveman mascot.
Cartoons do have their place in sales. Kids are young, and therefore very stupid. Kids don’t have enough smarts to resist cavemen that throw sweetened breakfast pebbles at them. Adults should be in a better state, mentally.
After a while, HomeVestors started downplaying poor Ug. The caveman that wanted to buy your house now stood to the side of giant billboards, not even mentioned by name. He was the guest at the party that nobody invited. The slogan of “Ug Buys Ugly Houses” changed to “We Buy Ugly Houses,” and the horrible nightmare was over.
Or so I though, until I traveled down Cedar Ave. And, behold, a caveman rolled back the stone and was transformed. Transformed into an anthropomorphic bell in a cowboy hat holding a whip.
Bell Buys saw what was broken, and decided to fix it. The cartoon wasn’t the problem, it was the time period! Cavemen were in the past. Walking and talking bells with cowboy hats were certainly in the future. Isaac Asimov only wished that he had such a clear view of things to come.
Unfortunately, I was late to my Jucy Lucy meeting so I couldn’t hop out of my car and lay praise on the caveman resurrected. Surely, it is a miracle. But one question yet remains. Are we to become masters over the bells, or will the bells put us in our place? I think the people at Bell Buys know, and I think we should be very scared.
2007 has ended, and people with an obsessive-compulsive disorder have taken time away from counting the freckles on the back of my neck to make lists about everything under and above the sun. Lists of record albums seem to be a favorite. A good way to show your superiority to the population is to alienate them with your musical tastes. M.I.A.’s album wasn’t as good as you think it was. And now, I have become superior.
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