B is for Billy Bass
[Ed. note: this is yet another installment of Nanuk's Bestiary, our regular Friday feature for zoophiles].
Actually, two B's are for Billy Bass. More astute readers will also notice it has two "l"s and two "s"s. If you didn't happen to notice this, don't worry: be happy.
It is this writer's fervent hope that no one out there actually thinks there is such as thing as a "Billy Bass" in the natural world. Billy Sopranos and Billy Contraltos, yes, but the Billy Bass is merely the product of some marketeer who, tired of dog vomit and joy buzzers, found another means to inflict untold misery upon the unwashed masses.
But I bet none of you realize that, lurking 'neath its rubberized exterior, is what once was a real fish. And a bass to boot. They are all grown from hatchlings at a fish farm in North Dakota, and when they reach the prescribed 37.5 cm length, they're conked on the head, eviscerated, freeze-dried and dipped in vulcanized rubber. Then small actuators are attached to the existing musculature of the fish, giving it its patented flopping motion, and a miniature cassette player is discretely buried deep within its swimming bladder. Then all you need is a placque and some batteries and, voila, you have hours of misery twitching beneath your fingertips.
Some people like the Billy-Bass. Others don't. The most suitable habitat for a Billy Bass, IMHO, is in the home of someone you absolutely loathe.
An Elvis Presley version, consisting of a rock bass mounted on black velvet, had a short life before lawyers had it pulled. An operatic version is in the works, but they can't get the scales right.
Still can't hack the Billy-Bass? O yes you can!!
Actually, two B's are for Billy Bass. More astute readers will also notice it has two "l"s and two "s"s. If you didn't happen to notice this, don't worry: be happy.
It is this writer's fervent hope that no one out there actually thinks there is such as thing as a "Billy Bass" in the natural world. Billy Sopranos and Billy Contraltos, yes, but the Billy Bass is merely the product of some marketeer who, tired of dog vomit and joy buzzers, found another means to inflict untold misery upon the unwashed masses.
But I bet none of you realize that, lurking 'neath its rubberized exterior, is what once was a real fish. And a bass to boot. They are all grown from hatchlings at a fish farm in North Dakota, and when they reach the prescribed 37.5 cm length, they're conked on the head, eviscerated, freeze-dried and dipped in vulcanized rubber. Then small actuators are attached to the existing musculature of the fish, giving it its patented flopping motion, and a miniature cassette player is discretely buried deep within its swimming bladder. Then all you need is a placque and some batteries and, voila, you have hours of misery twitching beneath your fingertips.
Some people like the Billy-Bass. Others don't. The most suitable habitat for a Billy Bass, IMHO, is in the home of someone you absolutely loathe.
An Elvis Presley version, consisting of a rock bass mounted on black velvet, had a short life before lawyers had it pulled. An operatic version is in the works, but they can't get the scales right.
Still can't hack the Billy-Bass? O yes you can!!
posted by nanuk at 7:23 AM Permafrost
1 Comments:
what a load of shite''''''
Post a Comment
<< Home