The following is a Neatorama Shop Story, a narrative starring the products carried in this blog's very own online store.
Zurich, 1916. A foggy and bleak afternoon. Gazing upon an empty absinthe-scented glass, Jacques postulated…was the glass like the universe? Is there ever any there there?
Jacques makes mountains of nothing and would have droned on until dawn had not the vacant-eyed Swiss barmaid draped over my left knee roused herself and interjected with an uncharacteristic swell of a work ethic, “Will zair be anysing else tonight?”
Predictably, Jacques replied, “Nothing.”
Said the waitress, “When I desire nothing, I have one of zese.”
From the pocket of her dingy fondue-smeared apron, she produced a diminutive, elegant tin and held it before us. It was a befitting black, the absence of color. She sensuously slid back the lid to reveal “Nihilist Flavorless Mints.” Insubstantiality distilled to its essence, suspended in a delicate cocktail of maltodextrine and corn syrup, they tasted like nothing, and left us wanting more. They were the concrete manifestation of our nonexistence, with a hint of the sweet aftertaste of oblivion. Did these mints exist at all? If a mint that tastes like nothing is sucked in the forest…
What a paradox, so Seinfeldian, though we knew it not by that name at that time. It would have been the perfect gift for all of our friends, had we any other than ourselves. The unsettlingly uncharacteristic look of completion in Jacques’ eyes said it all: no longer would we exchange empty boxes at Christmas.
The story above is written by the dynamic duo Drs. Ernest and Convalescence Bidet-Wellville (hey, I didn't name 'em) of the University of Self-Conscious Consumerism in Olde Busytowne, Connecticut. I suspect they write cover stories for the CIA, so if I'm inexplicably missing the next few days, you know what happened.