Monthly Archives: January 2013
I write this to you in an American airport which I will not identify, about to embark on a trip to Germany to free Mr. Blick, the plastic man, where he will help me fight the East Mangoustanis and, in doing so, become human again.
I have now landed in Berlin, where Mr. Blick, in his plasticine form, currently resides.
I’m now travelling on a taxi to his residence, an old, uninhabited house where he sits in the attic, undisturbed by anything, save for his memories. I knock on the door. I’m trepidatious, as it has been a while since I was active in the world of culinary espionage and secret agentry. I then quickly realize that no one lives in the house, Blick is unable to move, and everyone is staring at me quite oddly. I flash a badge I made out of a grocery store friend’s card and some markers, which reads, in falsely authoritative text, “Agent of the Federal Bureau of Foreign Culinary Relations,” hoping that the bystanders won’t notice that it isn’t real. I run around to the back of the house and climb through an open window.
The house smells musty and old. There is an eviction notice on the counter. At least, I think it is. I’m pretty sure it reads, “empty house now goose cheese.” But then again, my German isn’t too good.
I open a hatch and climb up into the attic. After looking around a bit, I see the box. It resembles the one sent to me by Mr. Blick, but old, and faded. Once I open the crumbling container, I see an equally old and faded yellow capsule, with a face painted on the front.
“Mr. Blick?” I ask.
The capsule doesn’t respond.
“Mr. Blick–if this is you, wake up, and…I don’t know, roll around.”
I wait for a moment for the words to register. Still no response.
“Mr Blick! Er…Ich Bin Ein Berliner! Frau Blucher! Alveterzane!”
I continue to rattle out whatever German phrases I know. Eventually, the bean moves. It rolls around in its box, drawing something in the dust.
“Hello, Arren,” it reads.
“Excellent,” I exclaim. I pick up Mr. Blick and put him in my pocket. I can tell that he protests by his violent shaking, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Just as I climb down the ladder into the house, I hear sirens coming up the street. Apparently, it’s illegal to trespass into an uninhabited house with a fake badge and start belting out broken German. Who would have thought?
I hop out the same window I used to enter and make for the fence in the back garden. I run through several yards before I find my way onto a street.
I find a patch of dirt in front of a bench and tell Blick what the plan is. We are to go to the airport and fly to West Mangoustan. Once there, I will contact an old soldier who is named, for the purpose of this account, Jeeves–not his real name. Jeeves will help get us across the border into East Mangoustan. I put Blick down in the dirt and tell him to write something out.
He rolls around for a bit until he spells out, “Flag down a taxi. I want revenge.”
We head to the airport, where I board a flight to West Mangoustan. I have my eye out for any East Mangoustanis, German property crimes policemen, or FBFCR agents. I suppose I didn’t mention before that the FBFCR has negotiated a tenuous peace with East Mangoustan, and they probably do not want this peace to end by me sneaking into the capital and invading a top secret lab. I know it is the right thing to do, though. The tyranny of East Mangoustan must end.
Expect more soon,
Did I ever mention that Armenian Fungus Cake is not only the best blog, but in fact the best web site on the whole Internet? Why, as soon as this site appeared, there was really no point in even keeping the rest of the Internet around. Those crazy yahoos should have just shut down all of those googly tubes and gotten rid of all the other blogging spots, the wacky encyclopedias, and that guy’s enormous list. Face it: when you have Armenian Fungus Cake, you don’t even need books! Everything you could possibly ever need is right here, because this web site is absolutely perfect, and it’s the only source of anything you could ever want! Stop even thinking about those other sites! You don’t need them! This is all you need! This! THIS!
Oh, sorry. I’d just been eating Ego Peanut Sandwich Biscuits, and they always tend to give me a very high opinion of myself. You could say they give me an ego boost. I probably shouldn’t eat them too often, since they always get me into trouble like that, but with all their individually wrapped goodness that tastes like no other peanut snack in the world, I just can’t help myself. Any why would I need to help myself anyway? I mean, being one of the writers for the single most amazing thing ever to be created using the English language gives me the right to brag, don’t you think? Of course it does! You know, I hear they’re burning Shakespeare in New Zealand because it’s nothing more than a worthless dime-store novel compared to the incomparable literary masterpiece that is Armenian Fungus Cake! Are you even worthy to be reading this? I’m not so sure!
Uh, there were a couple of them left. Sorry again. They’re all gone now, I promise.
No more Ego Peanut Sandwich Biscuits. None at all. Really.
(Best. Web site. EVER!)
Tell me please, Mister Q. Cumber,
That I may my thoughts unencumber,
How in the world there came to be
This fine soda named after thee.
Among the rows of bubbly pop
The flavors never seem to stop:
Apple, grape, strawberry, and lime.
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
But there, alone, anonymous,
Sat this drink eponymous.
Amidst the fruit and cola horde,
A drink that tastes just like a gourd!
So my mind is left to wonder
How the essence of cucumber
Became such a delicious drink.
I’ll never know, that’s what I think!
Afternoon, readers. Come Monday, we’ll return to the story of Mr. Blick. Until then, I’ll talk about a western classic: SPAM. For this article, I’ve written a quick little theme song for SPAM. For those of you that have the fortune of not knowing what SPAM is, it is canned meat product that is supposedly ham and comes in a can. It falls out of the can maintaining the shape of its former container, much like canned cranberry sauce. Try to imagine this song being sung by the male vocalist for the B-52s.
SPAM: IT COMES IN A CAN!
SPAM: YOU SEE IT IN A BOX!
SPAM: KIND OF BLAND!
SPAM: IT’LL KNOCK YOUR SOCKS (OFF)!
SPAM: SOME SAY IT TASTES LIKE HU-MANS
SPAM: COLOR OF BLANCHED STRAWBERRIES
SPAM: ALSO SAID TO COME IN A TIN!
SPAM: IT REALLY IS NOT HAIRY
SPAM: ALTHOUGH I WOULD’NT BE SURPRISED IF IT WAS
SPAM: NOT DAINTY LIKE A FAIRY
SPAM: PROBABLY TASTES LIKE YOUR CUZ
SPAM: ALTERNATIVE TO CANNIBALISM
SPAM: GOOD WITH PINEAPPLES
SPAM: EATEN BY THOSE WHO PRACTICE ANIMALISM
SPAM: TRY TO EAT WITH SNAPPLE
SPAM: FORM FITTED TO THE RECEPTACLE
SPAM: STICKS TO THE WALLS
SPAM: LIKE A MEAT FLAVORED POPSICLE
SPAM: MIGHT CONTAIN A FEW BALLS
Most strange snacks have at least a minimal amount of English on the package. Even when it’s as simple as identifying the contents as “filled fatty biscuits,” it’s rare for the Armenian Fungus Cake crew to rush into a snack completely unprepared.
This wasn’t the case during a recent encounter with the snack you see pictured here. The only clue about the contents of the bag was a nearly blank word balloon being spoken by some type of gnome, or perhaps a leprechaun. Actually, it probably wasn’t a leprechaun. Long story…
The back of the package provided almost no new information, other than the fact that this snack is supposed to be “fun.” It also appeared to depict a song about the enclosed snack, and possibly instructions that one should write his or her own caption on the package.
Not wanting to violate any snacking taboos, we chose not to make any assumptions about what the package was trying to communicate. Instead, we simply tore into it and consumed the strange puffs we found inside. The end result was a mouthful of perilous stuff that looked like cheese puffs and tasted like fish sauce.
It was only through careful examination of the sales receipt that the mystery of “5” was finally solved. The anonymous aliment in this case turned out to be “Five Spice Corn Snacks.” So that’s obviously what the kobold was trying to say: “5 spice.” It all makes sense now.
With that mystery out of the way, we can return to our regularly scheduled consumption of Croatian comestibles. That is, when we’re not dodging shillelagh blows.
This is a letter I received from someone who I had previously not met, an individual that goes by the name of Mr. Tiberius Medusa Blick.
Hello. You do not know me, nor do I know you. However, I have heard of you and your culinary and literary exploits.
My name is Mr. Tiberius Medusa Blick, and I am in dire need of assistance. You see, my name used to just be Tiberius Blick, but that was quite a long time ago now. I’ll explain that shortly.
Now, as you see from the package I enclosed with this letter, I am a hard plastic bean. I haven’t always been, but that is my current form. Back when my name was simply Mr. Tiberius Blick, I lived in Germany. Not recently, though. I lived in a Germany your grandparents saw as an enemy. However, I did not support this enemy.
If you can’t tell, I lived in World War II Germany. I was born in 1926 in Berlin, and I escaped the draft during the war due to my flat feet. This allowed me to take a passively antagonistic role to the Third Reich.
Before long, war, which I had survived, was over and Germany was split into two halves divided by the Berlin wall. I, much to my dismay, ended up in East Germany. I took on the same role as I did in Nazi Germany; never overtly doing anything but privately decrying the land where I lived and government that ruled over me. I knew I had to do something though, and eventually, I got an idea. I was a gymnast as a child, and retained some of my skill. I knew that one way to get closer to the government was to take advantage of this in the forthcoming Olympic games.
I was smart, and I knew that the East Germans weren’t being honest about the makeup of their teams. So, under a rather poor disguise as a woman, since I knew the East Germans didn’t care that there were men on their female teams, I tried out for the woman’s East German Olympic gymnastics team, and I was made a part of the team. At various functions and training sessions and publicity meetings I got close to various key figures and attempted to learn how the government could be overthrown. None of them were privy to my true intentions, so I continued my plot. I attended the next several games on the East German Women’s Gymnastics Team under the name Tiberia Blick. I made sure to not do well in as many events as possible so as to keep my name unpublicized.
By the time I was too old to compete, I had acquired a list of officials, actions, inner dealings, and general information that could be used to get rid of the government. Although I was not responsible for the actual destruction of the Berlin Wall, I had made numerous attempts to overthrow the government through manipulating government and through the symbolic destruction of the wall, though none were successful. I was never caught nor associated with the acts due to my former position on the team and my association with key political figures. That is, until my final attempt. I was caught attempting to kidnap a minor government official and sent to prison without trial. However, instead of executing me, the East Germans had a better idea.
They had recently struck an allegiance with a fledgling country called East Mangoustan (which I’m sure you’ve heard of). The East Mangoustanis were specialists in torture and interrogation, and they wanted custody of me for some experiments. The East German’s accepted and I was sent to East Mangoustan. Their scientists were experimenting on chemical makeups of two things: humans and plastic. They kept me in prison for a good while, and actually kept me quite healthy. One day, it changed when two soldiers dragged me into a laboratory. They chloroformed me and I woke up feeling stiff.
Over the next several days, my skin began to look shiny and hard, and I gradually couldn’t move my limbs. I started getting shorter. Eventually, I turned into what was essentially a plastic bean. They cut off my legs and put in a capsule with a magnet in place of them. They planned to clone my plastic body and make a children’s game out of my image.
Thus was born the Blick Jumping Bean from Schylling, a front for the East Mangoustani government. The goal for the game is to roll me or one of my clones so that my weighted side fits in the ditch in the center of the playing board and I stand upright. Ironically enough, I, the original Mr. Blick, ended up in a house in West Germany. I’m still there, in an attic. I sent you one of my clone games. I was able to make it to a computer and rolled onto each key in order to type this message. Surprisingly easy with a magnet.
Now, I need your help. You’ve fought the East Mangoustanis before, and now I need you to fly to Germany and come to the house where I am (address is enclosed in this letter). Take me, and, with some allies, force them to change me back. I can then help you to overthrow the East Mangoustanis and restore peace to the region.
Help me Arren Kimbel-Sannit. You’re my only hope.
Expect more from this story soon.