Saturday, August 7, 2010

Miss Muffett

We often get mail for the guy who lives at the same street number as us, but one block over. I've never met him but have serious doubts about his judgment. The guy subscribes to The Economist for crying out loud, so there must be something the matter with him. Any time I've tried to read that publication I find myself falling asleep in a pile of drool, face down on a picture of Silvo Berlusconi. I know Madison is full of pointy-headed intellectuals who read publications that make The New Yorker look like Ranger Rick, but reading The Economist extends into pathology. The only known cure is having the mailman deliver your edition to the wrong house a block away.

Right, so I'm feeling a bit defensive about admitting to having a National Geographic gift catalog in the house. I swear, it was addressed to Mr. Reads-the-Economist and misdelivered to us. I do love museum gift catalogs, though -- I like looking at the picture of the Nepalese Travel Jacket and thinking how I would look stepping off the plane in Katmandu, mentally skipping over the fact that the most exotic place I would likely wear the jacket would be the gyro place on State Street. I think the last time somebody Greek worked or even set foot in that place was in the mid 1990s but dang, they make a good gyro, although I might stay away because I don't want to get tzatziki sauce on my good Nepalese jacket. (As an aside -- as if this whole thing weren't an aside -- I know how to spell tzatziki because I used to wait tables at a different Greek restaurant that did not serve gyros but did serve a cheese appetizer that wait staff flamed at the table. I had perpetually singed eyebrows for all of 1997. Opa!)

Idly flipping through the pages of the National Geographic gift catalog that was MISDELIVERED TO OUR HOUSE, I found a remote-controlled tarantula for sale for $49. I like the way the product description emphasizes the educational aspect of this product, as if this tarantula weren't made for one and only one purpose: to scare your sister. But this is not just any remote-controlled tarantula. No, this remote-controlled tarantula is award-winning, as the catalog proclaims. Proclaims it twice, in case you missed it the first time. Just your ordinary every day remote-controlled tarantula would be worth $30, maaaaaybe $35, but this tarantula is award-winning. Only short-sighted skinflints buy cheap remote-controlled tarantulas, because everybody knows they won't last. You get what you pay for in remote-controlled tarantulas, that's for sure. I checked the reviews on for those low-class remote-controlled tarantulas, and one person complained that the "nasty plastic hair" on the cheap tarantula "smelled toxic," and another noted that the motor on the tarantula was too loud and thus fooled nobody. See? I bet those suckers are ruing the day they bought the Kia of remote-controlled tarantulas instead of the Caddy.

Real tarantulas only cost about $25, but I never heard of any real tarantulas winning any awards. God only knows what their hair smells like.

I would also like to know who gives out this award. The National Association of Creepy Toy Manufacturers?  The Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences? The Coalition for Natural-Smelling Tarantula Hair? Please, just let it not be Ranger Rick.

1 comment:

  1. Hilarious! I have to admit that I've considered subscribing to the Economist, not to read, but to have on the coffee table to beef up my intelectual street cred.