Lost Journal

Humor Column
by Tim Mollen
March 2, 2006

Hoarding Glassware as a Looney Tunes Tycoon

Journal Entry:  April 20, 1973 (age 3)

It’s never too early to start planning for retirement.  As my 4^th birthday approaches, I’ve been looking for ways to expand my investment portfolio.  Kindergarten is looming on the horizon, and it sounds like a lot of work.  I need to work on a plan that will allow me to get back to my current lifestyle when I get older.  Said lifestyle consists largely of napping, eating sandwiches that have been cut into fun animal shapes, and watching cartoons. Retiring young is going to take a lot of money, even taking into account the allowance Mom and Dad will start giving me in a few years.

“Do what you know.”  I heard a guy in a suit say that on TV.  That was handy, because what I know is TV.  In particular, I have developed deep, market niche synergies in the area of Looney Tunes characters.  Amongst the South Side kids living in the vicinity of Vine Street, my knowledge of the Warner Brothers cartoon canon is unrivaled.  My familiarity goes beyond the common nexus of Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, et al.  I am conversant with the literary archetypes that presaged the Marvin the Martian character.  I have pored over annual reports for the Acme Company.  I know that the huge, furry, orange monster with no arms and white sneakers is named Gossamer.

So my ears perked up recently, when I heard that our local Carrol’s fast-food restaurant would be selling collectible Pepsi glasses with Looney Tunes characters on them.  This was my opportunity.  I knew I could get in early, snatch up product, wait for the inevitable surge in demand, and be set for life.  My mother wisely agreed to provide the seed capital, ensuring that she and my father won’t be forgotten when I someday reap the rich harvest from the kitsch antiques market.

My older brothers and their friends don’t share my vision.  John’s friend Tommy Reynolds seems particularly dismissive of my plan.  Today, as I sat on the curb watching a pickup game of touch football, Tommy came over to me as I sipped Kool-Aid from my most prized glass.  “Where’d you get that glass, Timmy?” he asked.  “At Cawoh’s,” I said.  (When being questioned about business matters, I often adopt a “3-year-old with a speech impediment” manner to avoid raising suspicion.)

Tommy continued his line of inquiry.  “Who’s that guy on your glass, Timmy?”  “Elma Fudd-uh,” I said.  Tommy laughed, and asked me to say it again.  He seemed to enjoy the way I over-pronounced my final consonants.  He called my brothers John and Bob over, and they asked me to repeat a litany of cartoon character names.  “Powky Pig-uh,” I said, much to their amusement.  Judging by the number of times they asked me to repeat it, their favorite seemed to be “Foghone Leghone-uh.”

Let them laugh.  Someday, they’ll all be slaving away at their jobs, and I’ll be eating caviar sandwiches cut into the shape of Pepe Le Pew.

© 2006 Tim Mollen

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