My name is Frosty Fritz, and I want an ice-cream treat named after me.
Take a look at my picture. Would I or would I not make the perfect mascot for an ice-cream treat? For God’s sake, I wear this Eskimo-style parka all the time, even in warm weather. Is there any doubt in your mind that I am the living embodiment of tasty ice-cream goodness?
Given my appearance, you’d think I enjoy a thriving career as a cartoon ice-cream spokesperson, right? Nope. Instead, I work this shitty third-shift job making industrial lye. I mean, what the fuck?!
I just don’t get it. Pansy The Elephant® has a cushy job pitching those disgusting circus peanuts. Whizzy Whale(TM) makes big bucks plugging frozen fish sticks. And who doesn’t think about steel-wool cleaning pads without recalling the whimsical image of the Tuff-Job Boy®? Why am I not on this list? Why can’t I have my own line of frozen dairy novelties?
Dammit, I want my name to be a registered trademark!
What went wrong? With my looks, I should have been on Easy Street. My life should have all been mapped out for me. I didn’t even have to get extensive plastic surgery to look this way, like that jerk Toilet Duck®. What you see is what you get.
I’m pleading, someone, anyone, come up with a new ice-cream treat, and name it after me. We’ll split the profits 50-50. I’d put up my own capital, but I’m kind of low on funds right now. (As you may recall, I work in a goddamn lye factory.) The banks won’t give me a loan, and when I asked some people at work to chip in, they either laughed in my face or ordered me to get back to stirring the lye.
To demonstrate how serious I am about this venture, I went to the trouble of writing my own commercial.
BOY: Gee willikers! It sure is hot today!
GIRL: You said it, big brother. Boy, a refreshing ice-cream treat would sure hit the spot right about now.
[An igloo magically materializes before the children. Out pops FROSTY FRITZ.]
FROSTY FRITZ: Did somebody say “ice cream”?
BOY and GIRL [in unison]: It’s Frosty Fritz! It’s Frosty Fritz!
FROSTY FRITZ: That’s right, kids! Summer’s a whole fucking lot cooler with a delicious Frosty Fritz ice-cream treat!
Etcetera, etcetera. Okay, so perhaps it could do without the swearing, but I think you get the basic gist.
Once we get the first frozen confection off the ground, we can branch off into other products. I spent all last night brainstorming some ideas. Try these on for size: Frosty Fritz’s Arctic Choco-Blast, Frosty Fritz’s Yukon Gold Peanut-Butter Nugget Special, Frosty Fritz’s Fudgy-Dudgy Vanilla Twist, and Frosty Fritz’s Super Coolberry Magic Fruity Surprise. I’m telling you, we can’t fail. And another tip: Team me with a penguin, and you’ve got gold, solid gold!
You may be wondering if I’ve ever tried pitching my ideas to the big-time ice-cream manufacturers. Been there, done that. I wrote a proposal to Tinkydink Treats Amalgamated. (Can’t get more big-time than that.) A month later, I got a rejection letter from one of their lackeys in product development. He thanked me for my interest and called my appearance “remarkable,” but he said the notion of a parka-clad cartoon man-child hawking ice-cream treats was “no longer the image Tinkydink Treats Amalgamated wants to project.”
Bullshit! Well, screw them. Their goddamn treats taste like sugared school glue, anyway. Well, I may not have an MBA or a degree in food chemistry, but I do have something no diploma can buy: street smarts. Don’t let my whimsical exterior fool you. I have the instincts of a fucking shark. C’mon, folks, I’m talking money in the bank here. It’s a sure fucking thing. Frosty Fritz Ice Cream Treats could be big. Big, I tell you, big!
