The Least Successful Man In The World
I know the story of the least successful man in the world. I'm going to tell you his story, so you'll know it too.
The least successful man in the world was born of Eskimos in northern Alaska where the temperatures can drop to seventy five degrees below zero in the summer. He saw that there was an abundance of snow and decided to capitalize on this by making his fortune selling snow cones to the people in his home town.
The of his home town was Frozen Solid Watermelon. By remarkable coincidence this was also the of his sister.
The least successful man in the world made a crucial marketing error. He attempted to sell his snow cones in the dead of the coldest winter. He also didn't add any flavoring to the snow. He also neglected to buy cones to put the snow in. He would walk up to people in the freezing cold streets of Frozen Solid Watermelon, pick up a handful of snow, and try to sell it as a snow cone.
He didn't sell a single one of his snow cones. This made him very sad. So sad, that he would stand in the streets clutching snow, at the end of a long day of not selling snow cones and cry desperately out loud
"Why doesn't anybody want to buy any snow cones? Icy cold, fresh from snow, snow cones. Doesn't anybody want to buy a snow cone?"
After several months of this his sister, Frozen Solid Watermelon, confronted him and said
"You idiot. Why don't you sell something hot? Nobody wants to buy snow cones here. IT'S TOO COLD!"
He was very embarrassed and devastated by his sister's words. But he saw the wisdom in them. He developed a new strategy for success. He decided that he would sell hot cocoa and become a rich man doing so. But he was too embarrassed to remain in Frozen Solid Watermelon because of his recent snow cone-related fiasco. So he packed all of his belongings and moved as far away as he could.
He ended up in a medium sized village located eight miles north of the equator. The of the village was Burst Into Flames Anus. Coincidentally, this was also the of his travel agent.
In the village of Burst Into Flames Anus the temperature never dropped below one hundred and thirty degrees. Although one week in August is so hot, that it actually seems cold. During this week, all the residents of Burst Into Flames Anus put on sweaters and wool underwear and sit around at home singing songs about Hawaii and apartment renovation.
The least successful man in the world arrived in the village in December. He stole a cart from a local supermarket, gathered aluminum cans from alleys and landfills, put sea water in each one of them, mixed in some hot cocoa mix, and set the whole cart on fire, until the cans glowed red, and the liquid inside boiled out the top.
He doused the flaming cart with a fire extinguisher he had borrowed from an apartment building, setting off the alarm, which caused the two hundred thirteen residents to immediately vacate, most of whom leapt to their deaths out of their apartment windows.
The least successful man in the world walked up and down the streets of Burst Into Flames Anus with his cart shouting
"Hot cocoa here! Piping hot cocoa! It'll Warm you right up!"
On this particular day it was one hundred and sixty eight degrees outside. No one wanted to buy his hot cocoa and he received several third degree burns holding up the cans to show them to people.
At the end of a week, he sat on a curb weeping. He had spent all of his money on the cocoa mix, He had no more matches to keep his product warm. He was devastated. He cried out loud
"Why doesn't anybody want to buy my hot cocoa?!"
As fate would have it, the least successful man in the world happened to be sitting on the curb in front of the Burst Into Flames Anus Police Station. The police force of Burst Into Flames Anus were a patriotic bunch. They loved their country more than they loved their wives; but not quite as much as they loved beer. They were also a very unsympathetic group of people.
When they overheard the least successful man in the world say
"Why doesn't anybody want to buy my hot cocoa?!"
They were enraged. It just so happened that in their native language, this was the most insulting thing that anyone could say. It would be impossible to give an exact translation; but it was similar to saying
"Living in this country is worse than rubbing donkey shit all over your body, and then rubbing camel shit all over the donkey shit, and then washing it off, and then rubbing more camel shit on you, but concentrating more on the face this time, and then having an asexual baboon spit coconut rind on your mother's face."
And so the police force of Burst Into Flames Anus were so incensed by his misfortunate comment that they came outside, and took turns bludgeoning him to death. After he was dead sixteen times, they went back into the station and resumed their beer drinking.
And so the least Successful man in the world lay dead in the streets of Burst Into Flames Anus. His travel agent, Burst Into Flames Anus, came to identify the body, and then packaged the remains and put them in the mail back to Frozen Solid Watermelon.
Unfortunately the remains never arrived, because they accidentally fell out of the plane and landed in the Bermuda Triangle. There they were eaten by the Lochness Monster and Bigfoot, both of whom happened to be vacationing there at the time. The Bermuda Triangle is where all of those kinds of people go to vacation.
This has been the story of the least successful man in the world.
The House of Small Things in Piedmont
The first thing that happened when I arrived at the house of SMALL things in Piedmont was a discussion of whether or not I could play the Euchalalee. I said that I wasn't sure what a Euchalalee was and they told me it was like a SMALL guitar. Later that evening I found the Eucalalee and it was, indeed, SMALL.
As I sat figuring how to play it, I noticed on the other side of the room was a very SMALL upright piano. The piano almost came up to my knee and was proportioned to a regular piano even SMALLer than the euchalalee was to a guitar.
I began to suspect that this house might contain SMALL versions of all musical instruments. But what happened next proved to me that I was in a house full of SMALLer versions of many kinds of objects.
On the SMALL table next to me was the SMALLest French/English dictionary I had ever seen. It was so SMALL that I could fit the entire thing into my mouth. I opened up the dictionary and coincidentally the page I opened to was the one that had the word mouth on it.
So I did put the whole dictionary in my mouth to prove my theory that I could and to not test karma.
I walked around the house showing people what I had done. Everyone was pleased with my accomplishment. I was especially pleased that I had the entire French language on the tip of my tongue.
The house in Piedmont was on a hill overlooking the entire San Francisco Bay area. From the windows, San Francisco seemed to be very SMALL. I knew that San Francisco was bigger than that. I figured it was just anoher effect of being in the House of SMALL Things in Piedmont.
I, The Consumer
I ordered a sandwich at the coffee shop
An hour went by and I still hadn't received it yet.
My stomach rumbled as if to remind me.
I asked the counter man about it and he assured me that he hadn't forgotten.
The bread was still in the oven,
Two days passed.
I was becoming quite hungry.
The counter man admitted that it might have slipped his mind.
>quot;What had slipped his mind" I asked.
"The sandwich you ordered" he answered.
It had slipped my mind too.
We agreed that I should get the sandwich soon.
There was such a resolution to our agreement that we didn't think about
it again for a week.
By this time I was famished.
It was the stomach pains which caused me to say to the counter man
"Say, what about that sandwich."
He said "Oh yeah, your sandwich.
I'll put three of my best people on it."
And so he did,
and six days later,
the sandwich was delivered to my table.
Apparently it had been ready for a day and a half,
but some things had come up that they needed to take care of.
They apologized for the delay,
and gave me a free Diet-Coke for my patience.
By this time,
my body was so horribly emaciated,
that the Coke flowed down the new craters in my skin,
like Niagara Falls just met the Grand Canyon
at the screening of a new artsy film.
This was my Doug Knott Metaphor.
I requested that the sandwich be liquified,
and then fed to me intravenously.
Three weeks later,
they complied with this request.
But by this time
I had permanent brian damage,
scurvy,
and had lost the use of my legs and arms.
Needless to say this was reflected in their tip.
I dictated a letter to the management.
People were scolded,
New policies were developed.
It is good to be a consumer activist.