Shine On You Krazy Diamond
While on an excursion to a local grocer recently, I happened upon what I initially thought was a perfectly ordinary tube of gel-based adhesive. Without so much as a second thought I dropped it into my cart and proceeded to the checkout lane. (I will use a cart regardless of how many items I pick out. Why carry when you can awkwardly wheel?) Sharon, the kindly check-outstress double-bagged the tube of adhesive per my request, and I loaded it into the shopping cart for the journey to my vehicle. I proceeded to secure the bag within the child safety seat, and shove the shopping cart into the ditch. I haven't used "Cart Corrals," since it was revealed to me that they are not actual, wild west-type corrals. Don't believe me? Wait there until sundown for the teenage cart-jockey to show up, with a sneer on your face and a six-shooter on your hip, and see if you don't get banned from Piggly Wiggly for life. But I digress.
When I got home and had a chance to further examine just what I purchased, I realized that I had made a grave mistake. For I had not come away with the garden-variety gel-hesive that I remembered. As I tore open the bag like a spoiled seven-year-old on someone else's birthday, I was horrified to learn that the adhesive that I was stuck with (no pun intended, but indeed a delightful one) was Krazy Glue. And judging from the blatant disregard for correct spelling, along with the unsettling degree to which the letter 'A' was askew, I was dealing with the most dangerous, unstable glue that man had ever created. For the time being, I locked the entire package inside a strong box and buried it. I needed some time to further investigate the situation.
Firstly, I wondered how using a 'K' spoke to the insanity of the product any more than the customary 'C.' Wouldn't it be crazier to use a 'QU'? Or a 'C' with a silent 'H,' like in the word patriarch? Chrazy Glue seemed pretty demented to me. Only an insane person would go to the trouble of seeking a more confusing, alternate spelling for a product so easily spelled. Maybe it could be renamed KKKrazy Glue. This way the market would be cornered for both white supremacists and stutterers. It appeared that the advertisers were not fully tapping into the lucrative market of adhesive-less psychopaths.
But after more kareful thought, I determined that perhaps the marketers didn't want their product to appeal to the deranged. They instead saw the 'K' as playful, and less crazy than the 'C.' The KG R&D team must have been trying to portray Krazy Glue as leaning more towards the "local sportscaster who writes his own hilarious catchphrases" end of the spectrum, rather than the "creepy guy who only buys potatoes and toilet paper" end of the spectrum. The glue itself is not genuinely insane, and neither are those who use it. Of course. And in applying this strategy, the team has succeeded brilliantly. High-fives all around.
Besides, if Elmers and associates wanted to produce an adhesive that was truly insane, it would obviously be purple, and it wouldn't adhere to anything, and sometimes the tube would be under such high pressure that the purple insanity would explode all over your face and into your eyes, making you question why you purchased such an unreliable product in the first place. That would be crazy. There's no color crazier than purple.
I deemed that the only situation for which glue of the Krazy variety was the only logical choice, was in taunting the patients of insane asylums.
Patient: "What are you applying to my multiple stab wounds?"
Attendant: "Krazy Glue. It helps with the healing process."
Patient: "I thought 'crazy' was spelled with a 'c.'"
Attendant: "That's because you're fucking crazy."
So after hours of research I came to the conclusion that this supposedly "Krazy" glue simply did not live up to its reputation. In fact, the glue that I had in my possession was not krazy in any sense or spelling of the word. It was just fairly reliable, standard glue. I was most disappointed.
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