Powdered Hefner
The only excuse I can offer for this exchange between me, my pal Mike Ridgaway (themadhatter26), and his girlfriend Vangie is that Ridgaway and I were watching a marathon of IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA. Which might account for the utter, utter awfulness that followed in this conversation on the streets of Baltimore.
ME: Man, it's getting cold. I should finally bury my cat before the ground freezes again.
RIDGAWAY: You mean... your cat that died in... when was it?
ME: January, yeah. The end of January!
RIDGAWAY: Nice. Nice. Wait, if you haven't buried it yet...
ME: Oh, she's still in the freezer.
RIDGAWAY: What?
ME: Hey, funny story: so we have three freezers in our house, since we need to store food for me, Mom, my grandmother, and my stepfather, Gordon. So while Henchgirl and I were on tour, Gordon was given the task of putting the various foodstuffs away, and somehow, between all of us, we managed to accrue several packs of hamburger buns. Buns that needed freezing if they were going to last. And apparently, Gordon ran out of room in the two other freezers that we're actually using to store food. So when Henchgirl and I return to DC, I decide to head down to the basement to visit poor Selina. And I open up the freezer to find the dead cat topped with several dozen hamburger buns.
RIDGAWAY: Okay, remind me never to eat a hamburger at your place.
ME: They're still there! Still on the cat in the freezer!
VANGIE: Wait, why is she in the freezer? You didn't actually explain that part.
ME: Well, when she died, the ground was frozen, so we put her in there until it thawed out. We did the same thing with our short-lived bunny rabbit, Henry Higgins. Of course, when we finally did take him out, my sister-in-law accidentally dropped him. That "konk!" sound still makes us smile.
RIDGAWAY: So... why exactly haven't you buried the cat yet? Like, at any point this past year?
ME: I just never got around to it! Hell, I still haven't scattered Dad's ashes yet. It's been two years. At least. And all that time, he's just been sitting there on that shelf, next to Mom's old stained glass cutting tools and Dad's own last bottle of Seagram's gin.
RIDGAWAY: Where were you going to scatter them?
ME: I was planning on dumping them out alongside the gin along the Potomac River. Dad used to take me to go sailing at this marina in Alexandria. My brother Edd knows how to sail, so he was going to take me out, and we'd find a hidden spot somewhere to dump them out quickly before anybody catches us, since it's illegal, right? But Edd's rarely here, so I have a bit more of an excuse. But he's still there. Still on that shelf. It creeps Mom out to no end, let me tell you. She never wanted to share a roof with him ever again, and certainly not like this.
RIDGAWAY: Well, you know what you could do. You could always sell the ashes to the Chinese as powdered tiger dong. You know, as an aphrodisiac. The Chinese love their powdered tiger dong.
VANGIE: Well, if that's when you're going for, you wouldn't even need to lie. I mean, your father was a Hefner, after all...
RIDGAWAY: Exactly! You could sell Powdered Hefner! Made from an actual Hefner!
ME: My god, it's brilliant!
RIDGAWAY: It is!!!
VANGIE: I mean, you always said he was a ladies' man, with a huge track record...
ME: It's true, he had over sixty-six serious relationships...
RIDGAWAY: It would have his potency! Like, a bit of the family lineage of Hefner sexual dynamos! You could put, like, his exploits right on the bottle!
ME: Plus! Plus! He was a world-class oboist. You know how the Chinese care about their classical music.
RIDGAWAY: Right! Exactly! Eat his heart, gain his power! And his various other bits! I mean, people put, like, locks of hair and other shit in... like, tea or whatever, and get their power that way! ALSO! Instead of the guy who's buying the powdered tiger dong, he'll buy Powdered Hefner! You're saving a TIGER!
ME: It's the moral thing to do.
RIDGAWAY: Think about it: we can start whole a line. I mean, you're a Hefner!
ME: Mm-hm! An actual Hefner!
RIDGAWAY: And so you... have leavings. I'm not even saying those types of leavings, but...
ME: Well, wait, wait, I'm losing my hair anyway, so what I have left might as well be put to good use.
RIDGAWAY: And even when it runs out, you have fingernails, you have toenails, we can grind those down into powder, it's still Powdered Hefner! We start with your Dad as the seed product! Now, we might have to fudge some stuff on the bottle because your Dad had more sexual adventures than you...
ME: It's true.
RIDGAWAY: But, y'know, we can call you, "New Hefner!" And he's "Hefner Classic!"
ME: HAHAHAHAHAHA! And when... and when Hugh dies... I stage a heist...
RIDGAWAY: Yes! Yes! Because we cannot let that shit get on the market! That would kill our market share!
ME: Because honestly, he could do it himself!
RIDGAWAY: Yeah!
ME: I could see Hugh selling himself off in powdered form!
RIDGAWAY: Yeah!
ME: We have to get the jump on that!
RIDGAWAY: I mean, they don't need to ingest your Dad's ashes. Okay, they probably would, but y'know, make little poultices, or something! Having Powdered Hefner around your neck would give you an air of virility! I just dig people who wear pieces of other people around their necks.
ME: (wheezing with laugher)
RIDGAWAY: I'm telling you, you can't just dump this gold mine into a river.
ME: Well, I'd just be polluting anyway.
RIDGAWAY: Dude, that is a major problem on some mountains. All the phosphorus from the dead people totally changes the ecosystem.
ME: Well, there you go.
RIDGAWAY: And you're saving a tiger.
ME: I am!
RIDGAWAY: Maybe multiple tigers! If we could displace the powdered-tiger-dong market, we will be international eco-heroes!
ME: And all because I sold my father's ashes as aphrodisiac to the Chinese.
VANGIE: Who's to say your father wouldn't have wanted that?
ME: It'd be a fitting tribute. A fitting tribute.
RIDGAWAY: I want a piece.
ME: What, of my Dad's ashes?
RIDGAWAY: No, no, of the profit.
ME: Oh, gotcha.
RIDGAWAY: I don't want a piece of your Dad's ashes. That's just sick.
When I told Henchgirl about this, she said, "Why bother, when you could just consume the ashes and take all the power for yourself? BY THESE HEFNERS COMBINED...!"
ME: Man, it's getting cold. I should finally bury my cat before the ground freezes again.
RIDGAWAY: You mean... your cat that died in... when was it?
ME: January, yeah. The end of January!
RIDGAWAY: Nice. Nice. Wait, if you haven't buried it yet...
ME: Oh, she's still in the freezer.
RIDGAWAY: What?
ME: Hey, funny story: so we have three freezers in our house, since we need to store food for me, Mom, my grandmother, and my stepfather, Gordon. So while Henchgirl and I were on tour, Gordon was given the task of putting the various foodstuffs away, and somehow, between all of us, we managed to accrue several packs of hamburger buns. Buns that needed freezing if they were going to last. And apparently, Gordon ran out of room in the two other freezers that we're actually using to store food. So when Henchgirl and I return to DC, I decide to head down to the basement to visit poor Selina. And I open up the freezer to find the dead cat topped with several dozen hamburger buns.
RIDGAWAY: Okay, remind me never to eat a hamburger at your place.
ME: They're still there! Still on the cat in the freezer!
VANGIE: Wait, why is she in the freezer? You didn't actually explain that part.
ME: Well, when she died, the ground was frozen, so we put her in there until it thawed out. We did the same thing with our short-lived bunny rabbit, Henry Higgins. Of course, when we finally did take him out, my sister-in-law accidentally dropped him. That "konk!" sound still makes us smile.
RIDGAWAY: So... why exactly haven't you buried the cat yet? Like, at any point this past year?
ME: I just never got around to it! Hell, I still haven't scattered Dad's ashes yet. It's been two years. At least. And all that time, he's just been sitting there on that shelf, next to Mom's old stained glass cutting tools and Dad's own last bottle of Seagram's gin.
RIDGAWAY: Where were you going to scatter them?
ME: I was planning on dumping them out alongside the gin along the Potomac River. Dad used to take me to go sailing at this marina in Alexandria. My brother Edd knows how to sail, so he was going to take me out, and we'd find a hidden spot somewhere to dump them out quickly before anybody catches us, since it's illegal, right? But Edd's rarely here, so I have a bit more of an excuse. But he's still there. Still on that shelf. It creeps Mom out to no end, let me tell you. She never wanted to share a roof with him ever again, and certainly not like this.
RIDGAWAY: Well, you know what you could do. You could always sell the ashes to the Chinese as powdered tiger dong. You know, as an aphrodisiac. The Chinese love their powdered tiger dong.
VANGIE: Well, if that's when you're going for, you wouldn't even need to lie. I mean, your father was a Hefner, after all...
RIDGAWAY: Exactly! You could sell Powdered Hefner! Made from an actual Hefner!
ME: My god, it's brilliant!
RIDGAWAY: It is!!!
VANGIE: I mean, you always said he was a ladies' man, with a huge track record...
ME: It's true, he had over sixty-six serious relationships...
RIDGAWAY: It would have his potency! Like, a bit of the family lineage of Hefner sexual dynamos! You could put, like, his exploits right on the bottle!
ME: Plus! Plus! He was a world-class oboist. You know how the Chinese care about their classical music.
RIDGAWAY: Right! Exactly! Eat his heart, gain his power! And his various other bits! I mean, people put, like, locks of hair and other shit in... like, tea or whatever, and get their power that way! ALSO! Instead of the guy who's buying the powdered tiger dong, he'll buy Powdered Hefner! You're saving a TIGER!
ME: It's the moral thing to do.
RIDGAWAY: Think about it: we can start whole a line. I mean, you're a Hefner!
ME: Mm-hm! An actual Hefner!
RIDGAWAY: And so you... have leavings. I'm not even saying those types of leavings, but...
ME: Well, wait, wait, I'm losing my hair anyway, so what I have left might as well be put to good use.
RIDGAWAY: And even when it runs out, you have fingernails, you have toenails, we can grind those down into powder, it's still Powdered Hefner! We start with your Dad as the seed product! Now, we might have to fudge some stuff on the bottle because your Dad had more sexual adventures than you...
ME: It's true.
RIDGAWAY: But, y'know, we can call you, "New Hefner!" And he's "Hefner Classic!"
ME: HAHAHAHAHAHA! And when... and when Hugh dies... I stage a heist...
RIDGAWAY: Yes! Yes! Because we cannot let that shit get on the market! That would kill our market share!
ME: Because honestly, he could do it himself!
RIDGAWAY: Yeah!
ME: I could see Hugh selling himself off in powdered form!
RIDGAWAY: Yeah!
ME: We have to get the jump on that!
RIDGAWAY: I mean, they don't need to ingest your Dad's ashes. Okay, they probably would, but y'know, make little poultices, or something! Having Powdered Hefner around your neck would give you an air of virility! I just dig people who wear pieces of other people around their necks.
ME: (wheezing with laugher)
RIDGAWAY: I'm telling you, you can't just dump this gold mine into a river.
ME: Well, I'd just be polluting anyway.
RIDGAWAY: Dude, that is a major problem on some mountains. All the phosphorus from the dead people totally changes the ecosystem.
ME: Well, there you go.
RIDGAWAY: And you're saving a tiger.
ME: I am!
RIDGAWAY: Maybe multiple tigers! If we could displace the powdered-tiger-dong market, we will be international eco-heroes!
ME: And all because I sold my father's ashes as aphrodisiac to the Chinese.
VANGIE: Who's to say your father wouldn't have wanted that?
ME: It'd be a fitting tribute. A fitting tribute.
RIDGAWAY: I want a piece.
ME: What, of my Dad's ashes?
RIDGAWAY: No, no, of the profit.
ME: Oh, gotcha.
RIDGAWAY: I don't want a piece of your Dad's ashes. That's just sick.
When I told Henchgirl about this, she said, "Why bother, when you could just consume the ashes and take all the power for yourself? BY THESE HEFNERS COMBINED...!"