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Season 10, Week 23
Jul. 5th, 2017 07:01 amTopics: Backing the wrong horse
Bannister effect
Lethargy
Some inventers change the world, such as Thomas Edison and the commercial lightbulb. Other inventors change nothing but are still remembered, like “Crazy Uncle Larry,” creator of the Flatulence Deodorizer Pad, whose experiments were not always confined to his garage workshop. And then there was Leopold Abernathy, whose efforts resulted in the Promptimorph.
The Promptimorph was a 19th century device, useful to writers with assignments they didn’t like. Bad case of writer’s block? The Promptimorph was your savior. Resembling a meat grinder, the unhappy author could simply put the offending request into the chute, crank the handle, and voila! A new topic would appear out the front.
Some assembly was required, of course. The desperate writer would need to paste together the resulting scraps of ground paper, but the effort was always worth it. Stymied by “Lethargy”? Try “halt grey” or “lager thy.” Who wouldn’t be inspired by “gar el thy”? “Bannister Effect” produced such gems as “crabs fifteen ten,” clearly the distress call of a foundering fishing boat assaulted by angry crustaceans.
Lewis Carroll was an early user, giving the Promptimorph his highest praise: “O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” T.S. Eliot denied using the Promptimorph for “The Waste Land” for years, until Hallmark Cards released a letter commissioning a jingle about “a delta swan” for a birthday card. These were exciting times for the literary community.
The Promptimorph
Courtesy of the Leopold Abernathy Museum
Unfortunately, the Promptimorph was a commercial failure despite its usefulness. It was briefly revived in the 1930s as experimental “chance writing.” Whole novels were ground up, spit out, and reassembled. James Joyce used it for “Finnegan’s Wake,” but the Promptimorph was soon forgotten until LJ Idol burst onto the scene, with its inhuman demand for weekly topic-related entries.
Since the Promptimorph was not specifically banned, one writer was unscrupulous enough to turn to this long-forgotten invention for assistance. Fortunately, a crack team of literary investigators was able to discover only one instance of Promptimorph-enhanced writing (“PEW”), resulting in the expulsion of the author.
The PEW team has announced that LJ Idol is again Promptimorph-free. The following entry is included for historical purposes only.
* * *
Week 23
Promptimorphs:
The cab king wren goth shore
Cab fifteens rent
Rag ethyl
Cab Fifteen’s rent was due, and its driver was desperate. Sure, being a taxi driver was a glamorous and rewarding job, but Jake Bannister was feeling the effect of those damn fly-by-night Uber jockeys. Even his ex-wife had gleefully admitted to taking Lyft to their divorce hearings. “That’s our marriage in a nutshell,” Jake had thought at the time. “No damn loyalty.”
Ragin’ “Rag” Ethyl, his supervisor, was not known for her patience, and her job was on the line as well. She needed all the cabbies to clear their accounts. The pressure was on – more fares, or lose Cab Fifteen.
Even the Cab King, Wren Gothshore, was calling it quits. Maybe it was time for Jake to move on. But what could he do?
Returning home later that evening, Jake saw the mess his life had become. Dishes were everywhere, nothing was clean, and he hadn’t done his laundry in weeks, which the fares were beginning to notice. Sitting on the couch, he drained his last beer and threw the crumpled can on the floor, narrowly missing the greasy box from his breakfast pizza. “Don’t care,” he thought, “wife’s gonna get the house in a few months anyway.”
Only one place ever felt like home to Jake – his garage. He loved his workbench, with each tool in its place. Staggering out to the garage, Jake suddenly realized his future – he would become an inventor! Of what, he didn’t know, but even in his beer haze, he knew he could do better than the farting Fanny Bank or the Fat Magnet, which removed fat from food with a wave of its electronic wand.
Next morning, Jake quit work and headed to the garage to tap his true genius. He felt exuberant and knew that success was just an idea away. “This’ll be easy,” he thought. “I’ve got the tools, and now I’ve got the time.”
Three days later, his confidence gave way to doubt when the mailman brought a pile of bills. “I wish someone had given me a swift kick in the ass!” he thought.
This moment of despair finally unleashed his creativity. “That’s it!” he thought, “a mechanical ass-kicker for dumb ideas!” And so was born the Kick In The Butt. The design took only a few minutes. “It even exercises your arms!” thought Jake. “Who wouldn’t want one?”
The Kick In The Butt
It took several days of hard work to build a prototype, but now he was ready for the next step. He was a little fuzzy on how to sell the Kick In The Butt to the hordes of waiting customers, but he knew enough to make an appointment with Margaret Anderson, a patent attorney.
The meeting lasted five minutes. A patent had already been issued to another mechanical wizard.
Down, but not yet out, Jake drove home to try again. However, it was lunch time and he was hungry for a consolation meal. Then it hit him – “what if I could cook while driving?”
Bob’s Burger Shack would go down in history as the place Jake sketched the Tailpipe Smoker on a napkin. It would not only use the heat from a car’s tailpipe to cook, but the Smoker would give food that special exhaust-fumes flavor.
The Tailpipe Smoker
After seeing the prototype, Ms. Anderson had more bad news. “Don’t ever come back!”
But Jake was not discouraged. His fertile mind even found ideas just by looking around the kitchen. There were Bread Gloves, which conveniently made his hands into a sandwich, followed shortly by the Anti-Eating Face Mask
* * * * *
The Flatulence Deodorizer Pad
The Fanny Bank
The Fat Magnet
The Baby Mop
Bannister effect
Lethargy
THE PROMPTIMORPH
Some inventers change the world, such as Thomas Edison and the commercial lightbulb. Other inventors change nothing but are still remembered, like “Crazy Uncle Larry,” creator of the Flatulence Deodorizer Pad, whose experiments were not always confined to his garage workshop. And then there was Leopold Abernathy, whose efforts resulted in the Promptimorph.
The Promptimorph was a 19th century device, useful to writers with assignments they didn’t like. Bad case of writer’s block? The Promptimorph was your savior. Resembling a meat grinder, the unhappy author could simply put the offending request into the chute, crank the handle, and voila! A new topic would appear out the front.
Some assembly was required, of course. The desperate writer would need to paste together the resulting scraps of ground paper, but the effort was always worth it. Stymied by “Lethargy”? Try “halt grey” or “lager thy.” Who wouldn’t be inspired by “gar el thy”? “Bannister Effect” produced such gems as “crabs fifteen ten,” clearly the distress call of a foundering fishing boat assaulted by angry crustaceans.
Lewis Carroll was an early user, giving the Promptimorph his highest praise: “O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” T.S. Eliot denied using the Promptimorph for “The Waste Land” for years, until Hallmark Cards released a letter commissioning a jingle about “a delta swan” for a birthday card. These were exciting times for the literary community.
The Promptimorph
Courtesy of the Leopold Abernathy Museum
Unfortunately, the Promptimorph was a commercial failure despite its usefulness. It was briefly revived in the 1930s as experimental “chance writing.” Whole novels were ground up, spit out, and reassembled. James Joyce used it for “Finnegan’s Wake,” but the Promptimorph was soon forgotten until LJ Idol burst onto the scene, with its inhuman demand for weekly topic-related entries.
Since the Promptimorph was not specifically banned, one writer was unscrupulous enough to turn to this long-forgotten invention for assistance. Fortunately, a crack team of literary investigators was able to discover only one instance of Promptimorph-enhanced writing (“PEW”), resulting in the expulsion of the author.
The PEW team has announced that LJ Idol is again Promptimorph-free. The following entry is included for historical purposes only.
* * *
Week 23
Promptimorphs:
The cab king wren goth shore
Cab fifteens rent
Rag ethyl
The Inventor
Cab Fifteen’s rent was due, and its driver was desperate. Sure, being a taxi driver was a glamorous and rewarding job, but Jake Bannister was feeling the effect of those damn fly-by-night Uber jockeys. Even his ex-wife had gleefully admitted to taking Lyft to their divorce hearings. “That’s our marriage in a nutshell,” Jake had thought at the time. “No damn loyalty.”
Ragin’ “Rag” Ethyl, his supervisor, was not known for her patience, and her job was on the line as well. She needed all the cabbies to clear their accounts. The pressure was on – more fares, or lose Cab Fifteen.
Even the Cab King, Wren Gothshore, was calling it quits. Maybe it was time for Jake to move on. But what could he do?
Returning home later that evening, Jake saw the mess his life had become. Dishes were everywhere, nothing was clean, and he hadn’t done his laundry in weeks, which the fares were beginning to notice. Sitting on the couch, he drained his last beer and threw the crumpled can on the floor, narrowly missing the greasy box from his breakfast pizza. “Don’t care,” he thought, “wife’s gonna get the house in a few months anyway.”
Only one place ever felt like home to Jake – his garage. He loved his workbench, with each tool in its place. Staggering out to the garage, Jake suddenly realized his future – he would become an inventor! Of what, he didn’t know, but even in his beer haze, he knew he could do better than the farting Fanny Bank or the Fat Magnet, which removed fat from food with a wave of its electronic wand.
Next morning, Jake quit work and headed to the garage to tap his true genius. He felt exuberant and knew that success was just an idea away. “This’ll be easy,” he thought. “I’ve got the tools, and now I’ve got the time.”
Three days later, his confidence gave way to doubt when the mailman brought a pile of bills. “I wish someone had given me a swift kick in the ass!” he thought.
This moment of despair finally unleashed his creativity. “That’s it!” he thought, “a mechanical ass-kicker for dumb ideas!” And so was born the Kick In The Butt. The design took only a few minutes. “It even exercises your arms!” thought Jake. “Who wouldn’t want one?”
The Kick In The Butt
It took several days of hard work to build a prototype, but now he was ready for the next step. He was a little fuzzy on how to sell the Kick In The Butt to the hordes of waiting customers, but he knew enough to make an appointment with Margaret Anderson, a patent attorney.
The meeting lasted five minutes. A patent had already been issued to another mechanical wizard.
Down, but not yet out, Jake drove home to try again. However, it was lunch time and he was hungry for a consolation meal. Then it hit him – “what if I could cook while driving?”
Bob’s Burger Shack would go down in history as the place Jake sketched the Tailpipe Smoker on a napkin. It would not only use the heat from a car’s tailpipe to cook, but the Smoker would give food that special exhaust-fumes flavor.
The Tailpipe Smoker
After seeing the prototype, Ms. Anderson had more bad news. “Don’t ever come back!”
But Jake was not discouraged. His fertile mind even found ideas just by looking around the kitchen. There were Bread Gloves, which conveniently made his hands into a sandwich, followed shortly by the Anti-Eating Face Mask
Bread Gloves Anti-Eating Face Mask
Unfortunately, with more inventions came more failures, until Ms. Anderson finally obtained a restraining order. Luckily for her, after creating both sourdough and raisin bread gloves, Jake was finally out of ideas. Not even a lukewarm beer cooled by his car’s A/C (a companion to the Tailpipe Smoker) helped.
“Maybe I should reconsider all this,” he thought. “I hope Cab Fifteen’s still available.” But his old supervisor wouldn’t take his calls.
Other than inventing, Jake’s only skill was driving. He had just one choice: join the enemy. He spruced up his old car and signed with Uber. “This is low,” he thought, as he picked up his first customer.
Lisa Bacher was young, fresh-faced, and enthusiastic. “Take me to 367 Main Street,” she said. Jake recognized the address immediately. “Isn’t that the office of Margaret Anderson, the patent attorney?” he asked. “I can only take you within 500 feet.”
“How did you know?” said Lisa. “I have a great idea that’ll make millions.”
“I’ve done some inventing myself,” said Jake. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s a computer program to help overcome writer’s block,” replied Lisa. “You just type in your topic and it reorganizes the letters to give you a new prompt. I call it the Topicator. It can’t miss!”
Jake couldn’t help himself. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard, and I’ve invented a lot of ‘em!”
Through his rear-view mirror, Jake could see that Lisa was crestfallen. “Look,” he said, “buy me a cup of coffee and we’ll talk about it.”
For over an hour at the Cuppa Joe Café, he told Lisa everything about his projects and his life as an inventor.
Lisa paid close attention. Finally, she said “You’re a master of failure! I bet lots of people would pay for your advice.”
Jake had one last idea, whether fueled by caffeine or Lisa’s smile, he didn’t care. “Look,” he said. “I know bad inventions and you know computers. Let’s create some kind of advice service.”
“Failure.com!” Lisa said. “An online site for inventors – we could offer evaluations and discouraging advice. Who doesn’t need a kick in the rear to crush their dreams? My parents taught me well.”
Six months later, Failure.com was up and running. Inventors could submit their ideas and receive honest evaluations from Jake. No one went away encouraged. The open comments section was a big hit with the reddit crowd [“what the #@$% is that piece of &%#?”]. Failure.com was not for the faint of heart.
In another nine months, the web site expanded into Life Coaching and Lisa’s parents were hired as experts for the “Listen to Your Parents!” premium package. “What did we tell you? We said you were just a screw up!” seemed to hit many nerves.
On its second anniversary, Failure.com went from niche internet start-up to a public corporation worth millions.
Fame followed fortune, and Failure.com was featured in Newsweek: “The Success of Failure.” Not to be outdone, Time led with “Judge Me,” an article on how Failure.com managed to profit from internet criticism, which had been free and abundant.
Even their private lives were now scrutinized. People ran an article on the budding romance between Jake and Anna.
Success did not change Jake or Anna. He still liked to invent new products, including the baby mop, and from time to time, he would call his old cab company and drive Anna around town in Cab Fifteen. One time, he parked right in front of Ms. Anderson’s office and offered Anna a smokey Tailpipe Burger with a ring on top. It was his best idea ever.
Unfortunately, with more inventions came more failures, until Ms. Anderson finally obtained a restraining order. Luckily for her, after creating both sourdough and raisin bread gloves, Jake was finally out of ideas. Not even a lukewarm beer cooled by his car’s A/C (a companion to the Tailpipe Smoker) helped.
“Maybe I should reconsider all this,” he thought. “I hope Cab Fifteen’s still available.” But his old supervisor wouldn’t take his calls.
Other than inventing, Jake’s only skill was driving. He had just one choice: join the enemy. He spruced up his old car and signed with Uber. “This is low,” he thought, as he picked up his first customer.
Lisa Bacher was young, fresh-faced, and enthusiastic. “Take me to 367 Main Street,” she said. Jake recognized the address immediately. “Isn’t that the office of Margaret Anderson, the patent attorney?” he asked. “I can only take you within 500 feet.”
“How did you know?” said Lisa. “I have a great idea that’ll make millions.”
“I’ve done some inventing myself,” said Jake. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s a computer program to help overcome writer’s block,” replied Lisa. “You just type in your topic and it reorganizes the letters to give you a new prompt. I call it the Topicator. It can’t miss!”
Jake couldn’t help himself. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard, and I’ve invented a lot of ‘em!”
Through his rear-view mirror, Jake could see that Lisa was crestfallen. “Look,” he said, “buy me a cup of coffee and we’ll talk about it.”
For over an hour at the Cuppa Joe Café, he told Lisa everything about his projects and his life as an inventor.
Lisa paid close attention. Finally, she said “You’re a master of failure! I bet lots of people would pay for your advice.”
Jake had one last idea, whether fueled by caffeine or Lisa’s smile, he didn’t care. “Look,” he said. “I know bad inventions and you know computers. Let’s create some kind of advice service.”
“Failure.com!” Lisa said. “An online site for inventors – we could offer evaluations and discouraging advice. Who doesn’t need a kick in the rear to crush their dreams? My parents taught me well.”
Six months later, Failure.com was up and running. Inventors could submit their ideas and receive honest evaluations from Jake. No one went away encouraged. The open comments section was a big hit with the reddit crowd [“what the #@$% is that piece of &%#?”]. Failure.com was not for the faint of heart.
In another nine months, the web site expanded into Life Coaching and Lisa’s parents were hired as experts for the “Listen to Your Parents!” premium package. “What did we tell you? We said you were just a screw up!” seemed to hit many nerves.
On its second anniversary, Failure.com went from niche internet start-up to a public corporation worth millions.
Fame followed fortune, and Failure.com was featured in Newsweek: “The Success of Failure.” Not to be outdone, Time led with “Judge Me,” an article on how Failure.com managed to profit from internet criticism, which had been free and abundant.
Even their private lives were now scrutinized. People ran an article on the budding romance between Jake and Anna.
Success did not change Jake or Anna. He still liked to invent new products, including the baby mop, and from time to time, he would call his old cab company and drive Anna around town in Cab Fifteen. One time, he parked right in front of Ms. Anderson’s office and offered Anna a smokey Tailpipe Burger with a ring on top. It was his best idea ever.
dEhn Te
* * * * *
The Flatulence Deodorizer Pad
The Fanny Bank
The Fat Magnet
The Baby Mop
