Danger Bong

On the Shelf:	Behind the Counter:
₵$50 Ghost Tobacco (20)	₵$30 Christian Repellent
₵$20 Bloody Mary	₵$105 Anti-Flimflammatory
₵$50 El Dorado Green (1/4)	₵$6 Extrasolar Teas Box
₵$12 Black Meat (g)	₵$3 Rare Minerals (g)
₵$1 Slut Root (kg)	₵$16 Fine MRE Spice (g)
₵$30 Marital Aid Potion	₵$10 Magic Coat Hanger
₵$20 Quetzalcoatl Feathers (doz.)	₵$46 Cleansing Ale
₵$5 Blue Roses (doz.)	₵$292 The New Shampoo
₵$31 Mythril (oz.)	₵$410 Four Pack of Beer
₵$4 BZTCN	₵$20 Democracy Honey

This Week's Special:

Frankie is relatable. She likes babies because babies are cute. When she sees a 'baby on board' sticker on car ahead of her, Frankie wants to see the baby. She will lean on car's horn in long honks:

'Hiiiii baby. Hiiiii baby.'

When higher-ups sent her for drinkware to make good first impression, Frankie sourced the Curly Straw of Social Discombobulation. If a 'room' can be 'read', this artefact can start a fresh page. Drinking long neck with this straw is social equivalent of flash-bang. The magic really leans into the impact made by beer through curly straw.

This is not what the higher-ups wanted. The market for the Curly Straw of Social Discombobulation is someone who cannot be fucked assimilating motifs of plethora subcultures. There may also be application for those who fit long neck in cup holder and are liable to be pulled over.

That market is Fika.

In order to improve herself, Fika has become a weed dealer. She has been meeting new suppliers and, of course, testing their produce. Her latest contact provided disappointment: the buds were milder than bragged and the batch half-stemmy. Fika sold at discount and burnt the rest as incense pyre, tribute to the gods.

The relevant gods noticed but, for reasons, granted her a boon meant for somebody else. Lo, a Danger Bong. Smoking with fingertip on specific point of bong transfigures exhale into dense metre-wide smokescreen projected ten metres ahead. The magic is in the cone piece.

'Assuming I believe this exists,' which Fika's sister certainly does not, 'Who would be interested? Nobody is going to think "I need to defend myself, time to sink a cone".'

Fika scrubs dishes: 'Somebody who is already sinking cones'

'In which case, they're already high. What if they get the paranoids? Drugs and guns don't mix.'

'Which is why a non-lethal smokescreen is primo.'

'And what sort of stoner is going to remember a special, magic way of holding bong?' The sister dries bong. 'No, I don't see a market.'

That market is Adrian.

Adrian sold his soul for music virtuosity but not his ego for social media presence. This is like being a chef who makes really tasty burgers, in that people prefer McDonalds. The market does not want flavour, it wants background noise, comfort zone, screensaver instead of 'switching off'.

Adrian always was too proud to read the room and, instead of giving people what they want, made good music. So Adrian made the Attention Commanding Song, which commands the listener's full attention because the soul thing. He got chops and music does not need soul to make feels.

The market for the Attention Commanding Song is a peculiar one. It is weird few will let their soul rise if that means not scrolling. A daily rotation of Song on Fresh FM would put nationwide construction work, cumulatively, back years. There could also be deaths.

That market is Dr Woke.

Dr Woke funded the design and successful trial of a dual gender-reassignment and organ-transplant surgery.

He threatened world leaders over Skype: 'If you do not meet my demands, I will leak this information onto the straight-white-male network. Trans women are women and also cock donors. A lot of old, powerful men will become allies, or at least mercenaries, if that offers them a functioning member. No homo. Validation equals virility and interest in intersectionality will surge.'*

World leaders capitulated and paid Dr Woke's ransom: money and many things that money cannot buy. He wants an island but he knows that asking for one will get said island nuked. For now, Dr Woke strolls through his trophy chamber, amongst furniture removalists arranging his new collection. He stops in front of mannequin wearing the dress that Princess Diana died in:

'Oh shit. Oh no, I didn't, did I?'

Dr Woke was blotto on Serafino Wines' 'Orenji Project' 2022 Orange Wine when he added this item to his wish list. He is already planning to resell Princess Di's Death Dress and, more pressing, take a month off the booze. He wonders: who, exactly, appreciates the people's princess' timeless fashion sense yet can ignore this artefact's brazenly poor taste?

That market is Frankie.

 

* I feel like this whole idea has been done before.