Author: Dennard Dayle

NERDING DAY

Nerding Day: Pokemon Black & Blue

Post author By Dennard Dayle
Post date 06/11/2024
1 Comment on Nerding Day: Pokemon Black & Blue

Tags animals, politics, Video Games

LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: D.I.Y. Magic

Post author By Dennard Dayle
Post date 06/04/2024
4 Comments on Learning Day: D.I.Y. Magic

Tags books, magic

UPSETTING DAY

Mascot Week: Bernard the Bee Boy 🌭

Post author By Dennard Dayle
Post date 05/28/2024
1 Comment on Mascot Week: Bernard the Bee Boy 🌭

Where are mascots born? A panicked boardroom at 2 AM, with none of the drugs AMC promised. Just a whiteboard with the dumbest shit ten former artists have said in their lives. In the back, a disappointed mentor pockets another call from home. Something about a birthday. He fires a pleading, imminently divorced look.

“Anything.”

You have nothing.

“Guys. Cereal is fun. People like cereal. Anything.”

You write down the nothing.

Or not, who knows. That scene almost explains Bernard the Bee Boy. He’s a legacy mascot, from a proud line of brand priests. Post has faith in advertising.

Faith rarely works out.

You saw the title. Meet Bernard.

Sorry, that’s Crazy Craving, the second oddest Honeycomb mascot. And a long-runner, despite heaven’s will. I can rant about dignity and sanity all day, but they don’t test well. Awards heap praise on thoughtful ads for things we don’t buy, while Crazy Craving turned trauma into cereal sales.

Crazy Craving tested my loyalty to Toonami. I could face the beast for Big O, a.k.a. Batman Found A Mech. But I fled during Silverhawks, a.k.a. Thundercats in Space. Today, I rate punching in seconds of Crazy Craving tolerance. I gave Jujutsu Kaisen a chance, but that’s six seconds of Crazy Craving, tops. Chainsaw Man is a solid minute.

With that breakfast shoggoth out the way, here’s Bernard:

Or the Honeycomb Kid, Honeycomb’s first mascot. He’s great. Imagine a cowboy pastiche, but from another timeline. The Honeycomb Kid’s lion-powered chariot doesn’t evoke any western ever made. Good. Authenticity’s for food that doesn’t glow. Post went weird ages ago, only the horror and tedium are new.

The Kid moved me to try Honeycomb. It’s fine for a sweet tooth in denial, or corn withdrawal. Like most cereal promising health and flavor, Honeycomb fails twice. It’s better than blowing rent on Magic Spoon’s protein chalk, but so is a weekend in Atlantic City.

The Honeycomb Kid defied fate to deliver prediabetes. Mostly with old cowboy tricks like hucking boulders back at avalanches. Which is how Tombstone ended in my heart.

Product worship can be fun! A mock folk hero feels fresh, or at least manically inspired. Now that you’ve seen a mascot work, meet Bernard.

Bernard’s a feral child.

A feral child raised by bees.

In fairness, I bury bleakness like this in sugar. And based on headlines and every dad in fiction, human parenting’s flawed. Sadly, bees are third rate animal godparents. While wolves teach you to found empires, bees teach you to starve.

Some questions emerge. Hitting an early spot might clear things up. As they said in my old hive: “that’s a little too urban for Princeton.” Later on, they said specifics matter.

This one’s fun. Still demented, but fun. Most cereal ads are, until Groundhog Day vibes set in.

Like many sugar mascots, The Bee Boy (not to be confused with a dancer/killer/mediocre student) lives on loop. Figuratively—exaggerations blend in here. For example, a Jane Goodall impersonator finds a preteen with super-speed living off nothing in the jungle. That’s a straight-laced summary.

Gane Joodall is decades ahead of the curve: she records Bernard for clout instead of helping. The web’s ravaged traditional publishing. And web publishing. And global democracy. But I suspect it’s hit freakshows harder. The better Bee Boy spots are all mockumentaries. If you don’t hear a strained English accent, you’re in for a bad time.

I should explain “super-speed.” As a rogue drone, Bernard emits a persistent and infuriating hum. He also twitches every two seconds, bending space and making the sound effect worse. Think Nightcrawler with a vuvuzela.

Gane should probably look into that. But she prefers the old bird vs. screen door gag. Fair play, even when the bird’s an orphan. That joke’s less of a lemon, and more shared culture. Object vs. face belongs to everyone.

Squint, and you’ll notice a box tucked just out of sight. It’s Honeycomb, the corn of the elite. This ad remembered the sponsor with ten seconds on the clock. For all the bees in Tarzan Jr., there’s not much room left for cereal. Unless…

Cereal tames the savage beast. Or rather, gives him tweaker convulsions. Again, that’s less of a joke and more of a transcript. The audio description track would say “Bee Boy scratches himself between violent shakes, desperate for his drug of choice.” Leaving blind viewers to assume a sick joke. Which this is, but not that kind.

Gane and Bernard bond over substance abuse.

Whoever meth-coded this brand? We’d get along. No one that chooses this can bore you. They might accidentally ruin both your lives, but they won’t bore you.

I think this first spot’s alright. I also expect nothing from this medium or mankind, but I respect a fresh swing. Especially after Crazy Craving. Sadly, the sequels suck out loud. They overdo it. Reuse material. Beat a horse’s skeleton. If you think Lucky’s stuck in a time loop, watch Bernard’s journey go nowhere.

Granted, low effort’s the goal. The dream’s a machine so simple another agency can’t break it. The Trix Rabbit mined one joke until empathy became hip. The King’s death mask invoked fates worse than Burger King for a decade. Post wanted a self-driving brand. They found one in the ’60s, but new execs need new trophies.

Bernard seemed like a repeatable joke. Saturday morning’s only competing fiends were Ed Edd & Eddy. The gimmick survives Bernard’s trip to the zoo, where he challenges a bear to single combat.

Over honey, naturally. Bernard’s handler lures him back with cereal. I’m wary of a “Would You Kindly” trigger as a product benefit. But that appeals to some parents and keeps the premise alive. The academic frame, honey gags, and ear-stabbing buzzes limp along.

The joke stretches thinner when Bernard meets the neighbors. His jungle’s next to Whoville. The Jim Carrey edition, with a sneering bourgeoisie:

Client notes said “more cereal.” It’s a yellow-tinted town, the neighbor has a yellow dress, blonde beehive, and Post serial code tattoo. It’s a honey world, the Bee Boy just can’t afford it. That’s not where I’m stuck.

Bernard has neighbors? He’s the most unhoused mascot I’ve seen. Oscar the Grouch is ahead by a trashcan. Bernard has negative assets, a Schedule I habit, and a stage parent. Sure, this gated community might be in the heart of the Amazon, sparking more questions. But Bernard’s credit score isn’t high enough to face this rejection.

The Who’s heart grows, and she offers to show Bernard central air. If he leaves his bees outside. The only creatures to show him loyalty or love.

Bernard’s betrayed something. His family? Class? Friends? He can vibrate all he wants, his inner bee’s dead. I hope this home’s copper wiring is worth it.

But we’re aiming for absurd. Overthinking means you’re bored, and Bernard’s schtick is getting old. He speaks entirely in twitches and buzzes, in dialogue-driven sketches. The charm’s less Kenny McCormick, and more a child thrashing to mosquito love songs. We’re already behind the Silverhawks line of commercial tolerance. Desperation’s scent is smothering the honey.

It doesn’t improve with Halloween Bernard.

Or yearbook Bernard.

Or flash Bernard.

The website’s dead, like this idea. We’re eight seasons into a sitcom, and the showrunner’s on trial. I’d say they stopped trying, but that implies they’re missing something. They aren’t. Bernard’s a dry well. We’re restarting another comic at #1.

The solution? The same as any failing relationship. Another baby.

Meet the second Bee Boy. Bernard’s saving throw against joining the Kids’ Club in the grave. I could say this angle defied Scrappy and Jeb, and saved the campaign. I could also say plastic fades, VC firms saved the internet, and Honeycomb tastes chalk-free. It’s better to face reality.

To spell it out: younger, spunkier replacements might work in sports and love. Less so in stories, which ads oddly still insist on telling. Sure, Bernard finally found a kindred spirit in a lonely hive. But that is impossible to give a shit about. Post should’ve rented Terry Crews a decade earlier.

Still, give Post some rope. Cereal’s a tough niche:

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Ken Paisley, who once killed a man for Sugar Smacks. Smacks are whack, kids. Stay in school.

Tags children, commercials, drugs, Free, mascot week, mascots

NERDING DAY

Nerding Day: Skeboarder

Tags crimes, japan, Sports, tv

LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: Songs of the IBM 🌭

Post author By Dennard Dayle
Post date 05/14/2024
4 Comments on Learning Day: Songs of the IBM 🌭

Do you believe? Not in jokes like heaven or love. Don’t say yourself, democracy, or the human spirit. I need believers in T.J. Watson Sr., blessed president of IBM, and the miracles he lets us waste.

Preferably believers with perfect pitch.

As ants in Watson’s world, you own Songs of The IBM in hardcover. I hope. You’re expected to manage these details. It’s cold off the company campus, and a layabout might find their family home locked. Not that you’re at risk, as a loyal Watsonite. Take a minute.

You’re looking for a family heirloom. Other company towns simply called themselves families, without a Good Book for Sunday meetings. Watson, as always, had more vision. One performed daily by a real orchestra. In 1937, the perfected Songs of The IBM set the tone for an era of peace.

You heard the eye.

While you get yourself in order: remember that Watson made IBM the USA’s three greatest letters. These lyrics celebrate him, his success, his products, and his favorite vassals. Watson was also a Columbia trustee, putting margins before those judgy kids with books. A lasting tradition reflected by Watson Hall and limping minors.

Now, let’s warm-up with a secular tune: the National Anthem.

Songs of the IBM devotees—like you—know this isn’t a non-sequitur. The national anthem’s the second IBM hymn, right after “America (My Country ‘Tis of Thee).” These two imperial theme songs are, to outside eyes, the sanest pages present. They ease readers from worldly concerns (nations, fireworks, overwrought Super Bowl covers) to matters of the soul. Meaning IBM.

Stand and sing. Yes, in your apartment. On the sidewalk. Sing through your check-up, testimony, or honeymoon. Did you expect salvation without sacrifice? Have you learned nothing from Walter F. Titus, Vice-President in Charge of Manufacturing?

Sing again. Vice-divinity deserves full volume. In fact, lock eyes with the closest witness. Especially if they’re outside the company. Let your fiery stare, hot breath, and vice grip show your conviction. A gaze that says “this is the first of a hundred IBM song parodies.”

“Yankee Doodle Boy” had a fun melody, but lacked that extra something lyrically: Walter Franklin Titus. Like all IBM VPs, he’s efficient, good-natured, and deathless. And listening now. Walter’s wight has some questions about getting stuck with “Yankee Doodle Boy,” and rhyming “You can bet” with “intellect.” We don’t have answers ninety years later, so placate him with harmony.

When the white-and-blue star rises and replaces the sun, Walter will hold the reins of man. And Watson will hold the reins of Walter.

Continue singing. In his first, fleshy life, Watson discovered a power unmatched until Dr. Demento started taking guests. “Auld Lang Syne” had a nice life celebrating new beginnings. Now it has a perfect unlife celebrating titans of industry. A voice in your soul may be screaming. It’s just trying to harmonize.

One wonders what labor activists were on about. Imagine serenading Watson with home-spun lyrics about Watson. If only brands could teach the whole world to sing. Then instead of The Communist Manifesto, we’d have Songs of The IBM in German. A dream. Until freedom is ubiquitous and mandatory, you’ll have to keep singing.

I hear you, and I agree: one song about Watson is nothing. We need five.

Now that’s a club of personality. New hires may be confused. Trends in buying love have changed. While today’s moguls build genital-shaped spacecraft, Watson had an artist’s soul. Marrying popstars isn’t as satisfying as rewriting their work.

Six. We really needed six.

Keep. Singing. “Yankee Doodle” fans may notice some repetition. But note that while V.P. Titus humbly tweaks the show tune, the president rebrands the original, uncut nursery rhyme. The difference? Everything.

Then think. Not about slant rhyme, or meter. Not the hideous scream of your brain placing the last letter in “Think” outside of the bar. But about innovation. Taking IBM from the Mom and Pop shop you love, to the One World Family. We need thoughts. Both yours–your ideas will be processed and renamed after mass–and Watson’s. Handsome, piercing eyed, silver-haired Watson.

Some less productive thoughts might drip in. Life before IBM. A theoretical life after IBM. Thoughts with no IBM content at all. I trust you to keep V.P. Titus in mind, and use a little executive discretion. Company property’s for work, and that includes your mind. Deprogramming is vandalism.

Feel left out? Don’t fret: Songs of the IBM covers the entire family. There are dozens of songs about non-presidents, and even a few non-executives. For example:

You can’t stop singing. It’s a moving spin on “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” Admittedly, the tone’s aged a bit. A nameless fear crawls from the base of the spine to one’s skull. That’s the barrier holding five-percenters back. I don’t mean hoteps.

The Go-Getters Club/Hundred Percent Club was Watson’s key sales innovation, and laid the foundation for modern powder addictions. While IBM at large is a family, the Hundred Percent Club’s was a bit like a cult. Here’s a letter quota-meeting sales ants received in 1925:

This leak’s from IBM’s oldest foe: IBM’s official history page. It’s an honor, in the right context. Go-getters enjoyed pilgrimages to Atlantic City, and non-Go-getters enjoyed unemployment. This approach to sales caught on, and is now called “sales.” Thanks to IBM, one week in sales produces an elite Cylon.

If you’re not into history, try this riff on “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”

Or this take on “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”

Then there’s alternate lyrics for “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”

Or “Sweet Adeline.”

Yes, my liege.

Singing keeps the lights on. To keep readers sharp, Song of The IBM edits “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” Again.

In broken work families, a railroad spiritual sounds like a scream. And five railroad spirituals sound like five screams. But Watsonites serve with joy. IBM wit shines through the lyrics, where Joseph’s daily tasks are his hobby. We share this comedy style with another innovator: Korea. The one closer to Santa.

Hymns aren’t just for management. There are songs for the nameless horde as well. Take this collective tribute to IBM workers abroad:

Sing with aggression. A little militaristic, but it’s 1937. Any decent gambler’s betting on conflict. I’m not planting anything. Focus on making “manned by loyal forces in field and office” flow.

Later, 82 songs in, IBM’s women get to shine:

Sing, with relief. An insane cult orders you to smile: a family celebrates the smiles you’ve already given, and will give in the future. You might have trouble singing along, since searching the tune leads back to Songs of The IBM. Just let the spirit move you.

It’s a generous spirit. Even salesmen outside the Go-Getters Club are still technically human:

Do you know why the caged bird sings? If it stops, it’s fucking fired. The Ninety-Percent Club’s lucky to live indoors. Along with Watsonites that “misplace” Songs of The IBM.

There’s no such thing as a wasted skill. Before Songs of The IBM, it’s hard to imagine music theory’s role in an IBM career. With Singing in the Rain in the picture, we know that you didn’t make it past manager without at least a year of community theater. You got stuck on the railroad, like that smiling washout Walter Niles. While counter-tenors joined the executive fast-track.

Of course, music theory’s only part of the formula. It also paid to know German, for reasons Watsonites need not dwell on.

I’d listen, if I were you. But if you must pry: the thirties offered a colorful range of customers, with advanced computational needs. IBM made an eager splash abroad:

Singen macht frei. This is an original track, just for Watsonites. IBM cardinals heard pleas for something, anything that wasn’t “I’ve Been Working On the Railroad.” An anthem that could take sales all the way to France. Or east of France. Or the disputed area between. Money’s money, and life is whatever. Per journalist and spoilsport Edwin Black, Watson’s 1933 trip forged bonds that transcended warfare.

By now, you should feel your heart swell. Or at least some kind of intense, heart-oriented sensation. Music does that.

But you know how government clients are. A new contract’s tough, especially when the buyer’s a bit uptight. Luckily, “Watson Business Machines” had more anthems for international expansion. At all costs. United, The Go-Getters Club sang past sanctions:

Sing, with pride. Some principles falter. Some faiths are weak. IBM, in history’s spotlight, stood firm for profit. And butchered 100 songs to celebrate. Idolators claim that selling this makes you complicit in that. But keep music in your heart, and you can make quota. Now get out there and sell.

Of course, singing isn’t for everyone. Maybe motion’s more your thing.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: OrneryWeevil, whose name is sung to the of “I’ve Been Working On The Railroad” and whose presence is to be met with supplication and wailing. No, more wailing.