The Highs and Lows of Mr Muscle

The Highs and Lows of Mr Muscle

It's not about branding; it's about an institution. There's something grounding and warming about a never-aging face we all know and trust. Like Father Christmas (translation for West-Atlanticans: Santa Claus) - everybody knows his big ol' belly and white fur-lined red suit. And his beard.
Just like everybody knew the good old Captain Birdseye: a loveable old sea captain, who we all suspected was secretely Father Christmas (again) or Bernard Matthews, famous turkey farmer, gone rogue. When they reincarnated the barnacle-encrusted old codger into a young James Marsden-a-like, the world rebelled. Fish prices plummeted and talk of an ecodomic fishession was all over the papers. Why? Because no one (repeat: no one) wants to buy fish from James Marsden.

So why, why, why have they replaced our beloved Mr Muscle - a man so weak and inept that he gave all of us hope that our ovens couldn't possibly stay greasy for long if even he could remove the baked-on remains of grandma's over-roasted duck - with what looks like James Marsden. Why?

Mr Muscles proved to the world that you didn't need to be talented, good-looking, charming or indeed have the ability to walk properly to get your oven clean. Before then, we were in pandemonium. In the late 1960's everyone from fire fighters to Richard Nixon himself were called in to fight the 'greasy oven' crisis. Your everyday layman was ill-equipped to cope with those baked on stains. But then came hope. Then came, Mr Muscle. His dirty vest reminded us our our dirty vest. His lanky limbs reminded us of our girth-deficient penises. This was a man who seemed so incredibly unable to deal with even a coffee spill onto linoleum and yet - somehow - he could clean an oven with a single wipe. The world was changed forever. If he could do it, then why not the rest of us?

Now though it seems that grease is winning the war again, and - just as the troubles of dwindling cod reserves in the North Sea called out for action - James Marsden is back to fight our war for us, and we are left in the sidelines.

Global Warming: Energy Efficient?

Global Warming: Energy Efficient?


I just had a thought as I crunched down the last of my Polos, the minty magic clearing my sinuses and cooling the air on its way through my nose into my brain (right?). They say we should be insulating our roofs and walls, cutting back on energy production and use and using our cars less because of Global Warming. No doubt. But... on a global scale, isn't global warming pretty efficient. I mean, as a planet, we're not letting energy escape the way it used to. We are insulating our terrestrial rooves... er, roofs... rooves. We're insulating our terrestrial ceilings, as it were, and together we're sorted - right?

I mean, I'm no scientist* but it seems that we're already achieving the thing we wanted most of all. Now if only we can convert all this heat energy back into car energy again, we'll have the whole thing licked. And speaking of licked, this global warming is making my ice cream melt faster than I can devour it. Num, num.

*[Stuart's educational background is in physics and maths - Ed]

Tales from beyond the Comic

Tales from beyond the Comic

It may shock you to hear, but there are times between waking up and going back to sleep again when we're not creating Chain Bear. No wait, there's more - we both have day jobs - day jobs! Temporarily (i.e. during the good part of the all-too-brief, glorious British summer), I have been relocated from our glorious capital, with it's parks, lakes and river, to the middle of goddamn nowhere. I was okay with this; I took it on the chin and tripled my daily commute for the good of a company who is fast forgetting I even exist.

Yesterday they replaced the Choc-On-Top flapjacks in the sole vending machine with Crazin' Raizin flapjacks.

I accepted it when they replaced the Kit Kat Chunkies with Alpen fruit crunch bars; there were still standard Kit Kats, I decided. But this - the Choc-on-Top flapjacks were for the moments of dispair, when I could forget I was a place the rest of the workforce has dubbed "Two Towers" (despite there being three towers), and I could remember that I would be going home at the end of the day. But now... raisins? I hate raisins! Raisins are one of two things I just can't stand to eat - only two things and they put one of them in my bloody flapjacks. This is some kind of negligence from the COO, for sure. I can sue.