Hot Apollo

Toronto's Shiniest Rock-and-Roll Band


And that's how you make a monkey with a gun on the back of a horse look bland.


I often feel a faint bit of skepticism whenever people talk about the ostensibly insidious ways in which fast food companies market to children. Like McDonald’s with their toys and stuff? Like . . . We are talking about the same kids here, aren’t we? Those little people with fast metabolisms who don’t have jobs? Those guys? Those are the children in question? To my knowledge, those things tend to possess little in the way of practical autonomy. They also tend to want everything. They have desires that inevitably develop the capacity for refusal in any parent that has a steady working relationship with the laws of reality. In practice, I really can’t see the difference between denying a request for a bucket of fries and a supersonic jetpack. Both are common requests among young humanoids. You’ve obviously had experience with shooting down one of those ideas. The other shouldn’t be too much harder.

And McDonald’s actually makes it particularly easy. The salient draw in their campaign is the toy. That’s what whips the youths into a furor in most scenarios. But you can buy the toy without the food. It’s not even really a secret. It’s actually easier to walk in and get the toy than it is to attain the restaurant’s nutritional information sheet from the cashier. At least they always know what you’re talking about in the former case.

If you agree to walk in and buy the toy, the appetite will swiftly disappear in a haze of distraction.

I probably haven’t eaten at that place since middle school, but I was in ninth grade or something when “The Incredibles” came out, and I had a gusto for that Frozone figurine. Was there a reason for this? I’m rather inclined to doubt it.

But I walked in and said, “Hey! Give me that Frozone!”

And the guy said, “Um . . . Alright. That’ll be $4?”

“Ha! You foolish bastard! I would have given you $8 for it!”

“And I’m the foolish bastard?”

And that’s when I realised. This was never about Frozone at all. This . . . This was about Brozone.

And he said, “Uh . . . What’s Brozone?”

And I looked right at him. Our eyes locked. We made the connection. We felt the power rise within us. As our souls met in automatic understanding, I said, “It’s the name of our band, dude.”

Obviously, it never went anywhere, for that story was almost entirely fictional.

I did get that Frozone figurine, though.


Copyright © 2011, Jaymes Buckman and David Aaron Cohen. All rights reserved. In a good way.