History, as it stands, is a giant collection of ideas. Some are great, some awful, and all were thought at least once by somebody somewhere before spreading to others. Great ideas spread easily, because people are excited to discover and eager to spread them, while awful ideas are better distributed through force and repetition. Both are powerful and grip our lives equally.
Spreading the word about anything requires a certain amount of effort, and ideas are no different. Throughout the rise of Capitalism, it's always been necessary to tell people about things of which they've never heard, so they can realize how much they need them. Barkers, standing on a box extolling the virtues of this or that, have driven many products much further than the producers could have ever accomplished alone.
Billy Mays, possibly the best known pitchman of our current time, has convinced millions of people to buy all sorts of things that they didn't realize they needed. Even in death, his skill in selling is something we can all witness on YouTube.
Yesterday, in an attempt to channel the spirit of Mr. Mays, I set out for my local Brooklyn Rite-Aid in search of Mighty Putty. I realized it was no different from the epoxy putty at any of the nearby hardware stores, yet somehow the fact that Billy Mays had endorsed it before slipping into oblivion made it special. It would serve as an offering to his immortal soul.
I'm a great artist but am terrible at sales. It occurs to me that if someone like Billy Mays could convince people that they need my art, I would start selling massive amounts.
When I mixed up Billy's putty, I used the single blue glove included with the package. Upon removing it, the thumb separated seamlessly from the rest of the glove.
I wonder if this was Billy Mays' spirit, letting me know that my purchase had not gone unnoticed by those from beyond the grave. There's even a chance that maybe they'll look at my work and like it. For me, this is awesome: I'll take any fans, dead or alive.
As we approach the end of October, and the inevitable opening of the dark portal to the supernatural, I wonder if I might be able to convince a few other friendly ghosts to be my invisible agents in the artworld of eternity.
Maybe if one of them knows Picasso, or DaVinci, they can tell them to look at my stuff. It might be the big break I've been after.
If I tell people I'm a very famous artist in the Afterlife, perhaps they'll be drawn to purchase my stuff on Earth. Imagine how impressed Edison would be if you were buried with this.
-thank you Billy Mays, for the magical putty-
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