Strange snacks and wacky weirdness

Taiwan Mochi Museum

The Marquise of Mochi

The Marquise of Mochi

It has come to my attention that my recent absence has resulted in the spread of wild rumors regarding my whereabouts. Let me assure you that I have neither joined the Vast Soursop Conspiracy nor defected to East Mangoustan. In reality, I’ve returned from a trip to the Taiwan Mochi Museum. Normally this would have only taken a few days, but continued budget cuts meant that I had to float there on a makeshift raft composed of garbage bags and foam peanuts with only a Boxum Notebook Fan for propulsion. Since I couldn’t risk dropping my computer into the ocean, the fan provided very little propulsion, indeed.

Now I’m not actually saying that my harrowing eight-week experience was in any way related to the fact that you guys aren’t buying t-shirts from the t-shirt shop. I’d never accuse you fine readers of such a terrible thing. I’m just saying that I had to float to Taiwan on a garbage bag because stowing away in a cargo container would have been too expensive. That’s all I’m saying.

When I first arrived, I was very hungry, since it’s not really possible to take much food along when one’s only means of floatation is half a bag of foam peanuts. I’m not saying this was anyone’s fault in particular. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for it. After eating all of the free sample mochi in the gift shop, I proceeded to explore the artwork.

Of all the exhibits in the Taiwan Mochi Museum, there are three that stand out in my mind even after my more-harrowing return home:

The first was a piece by well-known abstract artist Jefferson Catfish entitled 69,105, in which he appeared to have randomly tossed 69,105 pieces of mochi at a canvas. Everyone else who saw it seemed to think it looked vaguely like a butterfly, but I’m pretty sure it was an elephant.

The next one was by an artist using the pseudonym Angry Narwhal and was a colossal 200-foot by 85-foot wooden replica of a mochi box bearing the likeness of the Marquise of Mochi herself (see above).

The final exhibit was marked with several warning signs, but I foolishly assumed that it couldn’t have been that bad. I should have known better. This work of mochi madness, by none other than Robert Ellmthorpe himself, proved to be unspeakably disturbing. I wish I’d heeded the warnings. I used to really enjoy mochi.

I know you think I’m making all of this up, but I’m really not. There is a Taiwan Mochi Museum. Go look it up. Maybe you can even visit it someday. Of course, you won’t have to cross shark-infested waters armed only with a cheap plastic USB fan to get there. I’m not placing blame for that, by the way. These things happen.

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