25 posts tagged “hippo”
Think of a hippo.
You're probably thinking about intimidating pointy-teethed ferocity and vicious stomping feet. We all are. It's an inspiring, awesome picture.
But hippos can also bring about thoughts of tenderness. Especially when you're talking about a hippo meat tenderizer.
I received two of these important kitchen implements in my many travels around the Malls of the Midwest. One of them, I gave to my mother for so it is written, "Verily, thou shalt bequeath thine extra hippo meat tenderizer to thine Mom." The other one resides quietly in the utensil drawer until either I need to tenderize some meats or Aaron needs to break something expensive. It's a heavy object, suitable for tenderizing even the toughest meats, like buffalo, ox, and gorilla. I have not used it to tenderize actual hippo meat, because A) they don't sell it at the Hy-Vee and because B) using a hippo meat tenderizer to tenderize hippo meat just sounds like one of those things that would give you mad cow disease.
I find it interesting that the way this hippo finds tenderness is by beating the living daylights out of a slab of meat. Perhaps there's a lesson there. Or at least, a lesson for violent crazy people. I admit, I don't buy too many meats that need tenderizin'. When I do, it kind of feels like a special event. I gather the whole family around and dim the lights a little bit and bash the holy hell out of some pork. I also use it to crunch up potato chips for a fancy tuna hot dish topping. But then it goes right back in the utensil drawer, between the hippo bottle opener and the melon baller.
I derive great comfort knowing that it's there, because what if I'm in the kitchen and someone tries to break into the house? And all the knives are in the dishwasher? Well, then it's Mr. Tenderizer there to save the day! Kill 'em with tenderness I always say. At least until I find a hippo magnum next time I'm at the mall.
You're probably thinking about intimidating pointy-teethed ferocity and vicious stomping feet. We all are. It's an inspiring, awesome picture.
But hippos can also bring about thoughts of tenderness. Especially when you're talking about a hippo meat tenderizer.
I received two of these important kitchen implements in my many travels around the Malls of the Midwest. One of them, I gave to my mother for so it is written, "Verily, thou shalt bequeath thine extra hippo meat tenderizer to thine Mom." The other one resides quietly in the utensil drawer until either I need to tenderize some meats or Aaron needs to break something expensive. It's a heavy object, suitable for tenderizing even the toughest meats, like buffalo, ox, and gorilla. I have not used it to tenderize actual hippo meat, because A) they don't sell it at the Hy-Vee and because B) using a hippo meat tenderizer to tenderize hippo meat just sounds like one of those things that would give you mad cow disease.
I find it interesting that the way this hippo finds tenderness is by beating the living daylights out of a slab of meat. Perhaps there's a lesson there. Or at least, a lesson for violent crazy people. I admit, I don't buy too many meats that need tenderizin'. When I do, it kind of feels like a special event. I gather the whole family around and dim the lights a little bit and bash the holy hell out of some pork. I also use it to crunch up potato chips for a fancy tuna hot dish topping. But then it goes right back in the utensil drawer, between the hippo bottle opener and the melon baller.
I derive great comfort knowing that it's there, because what if I'm in the kitchen and someone tries to break into the house? And all the knives are in the dishwasher? Well, then it's Mr. Tenderizer there to save the day! Kill 'em with tenderness I always say. At least until I find a hippo magnum next time I'm at the mall.
What do you collect?
I collect hippos making out. Pity me. I was once like you.
In the wild, hippos rarely even try to get to second base. And yet. And yet, here we are once again, staring at a porcelain reproduction of a hippo clearly copping a feel from another hippo. How many times have I found myself in said position, shaking my head and wondering what the hell.
These frisky teens are exploring their unfamiliar hormonal urges in a healthy, natural way. Except for the fact that actual hippo urges, properly portrayed in porcelain, would not play up necking, but rather concepts like retromingence and a total lack of sexual dimorphia. That is a porcelain hippo you do not want.
And actually, so is this. The theme of Hippo Profiles, if you have not noticed, is this: other than someone with a sick need to collect bizarre hippos, who would want this? What is the target market for two hippos engaged in face-sucking bliss? It's just me, isn't it? Even people who collect hippopotamus kitsch to display during progressive dinners and book club night must feel some reticence at displaying their beloved hippos in the act of foreplay, right?
My collection started in high school, as far as I can remember. I was doing a project about hippos, so I collected a few samples to use for visual aids. And at the beginning, it was the kind of small, tasteful hippo that might make an appearance on a shelf as a testament to Africa or Nature or Noble Representations Of Exotic Animals And The Artistic Styles That Define Them or Fat Animals or something. But after a few years, I had enough tasteful hippos to stock the Hippo Wing of The Kenyan Museum of Hippos, and my focus shifted to the weird ones. And for some reason, Jenna's always had an eye for finding those.
That's why this is not the only hippo couple in medias res that I own. I've got the afterward snugglers, the kissing hippos in a boat for some reason, the shy hippos in the early stages of courtship, and the old married hippos who are only still together for tax reasons. Put together, they make a sobering statement about love, life, and the love lives of hippos that have been overanthromorphized.
So I've got a sizable collection. I like collecting them. I LIKE like collecting them. But I don't know if I'm ready for second base.
In the wild, hippos rarely even try to get to second base. And yet. And yet, here we are once again, staring at a porcelain reproduction of a hippo clearly copping a feel from another hippo. How many times have I found myself in said position, shaking my head and wondering what the hell.
These frisky teens are exploring their unfamiliar hormonal urges in a healthy, natural way. Except for the fact that actual hippo urges, properly portrayed in porcelain, would not play up necking, but rather concepts like retromingence and a total lack of sexual dimorphia. That is a porcelain hippo you do not want.
And actually, so is this. The theme of Hippo Profiles, if you have not noticed, is this: other than someone with a sick need to collect bizarre hippos, who would want this? What is the target market for two hippos engaged in face-sucking bliss? It's just me, isn't it? Even people who collect hippopotamus kitsch to display during progressive dinners and book club night must feel some reticence at displaying their beloved hippos in the act of foreplay, right?
My collection started in high school, as far as I can remember. I was doing a project about hippos, so I collected a few samples to use for visual aids. And at the beginning, it was the kind of small, tasteful hippo that might make an appearance on a shelf as a testament to Africa or Nature or Noble Representations Of Exotic Animals And The Artistic Styles That Define Them or Fat Animals or something. But after a few years, I had enough tasteful hippos to stock the Hippo Wing of The Kenyan Museum of Hippos, and my focus shifted to the weird ones. And for some reason, Jenna's always had an eye for finding those.
That's why this is not the only hippo couple in medias res that I own. I've got the afterward snugglers, the kissing hippos in a boat for some reason, the shy hippos in the early stages of courtship, and the old married hippos who are only still together for tax reasons. Put together, they make a sobering statement about love, life, and the love lives of hippos that have been overanthromorphized.
So I've got a sizable collection. I like collecting them. I LIKE like collecting them. But I don't know if I'm ready for second base.
Like many children, I viewed the consumption of lollipops with a sort of dread. Oh, it was all well and good to consume and digest sugar and artificial flavors and colors. And the unwrapping and discarding of lollipop-related garbage was also pleasurable. But who, who, I would ask, who will spin the lollipop in my mouth for me so that I may consume it in a somewhat symmetrical manner?
Then, the realization would set in. Even if I could hire some kind of sucker spinner, I would have to make eye contact with him or her until the dreadful act of lollipop consumption was complete. There would be no shiny substance or moving object to direct away my attention while my saliva broke down the sugar compounds in that horrible treat. I would have no peace while having my lollipop professionally spun.
It's every child's worst nightmare.
Thank heavens for spinny-headed Chupa Chup.
Spinny-headed Chupa Chup was designed to do three things:
1) Spin your lollipop in your mouth while you ate it. (It was specially fitted for Chupa Chup brand lollipops, but in a pinch, it could spin a pretty mean Dum-Dum.)
2) Match the spinning of of the sucker with the spinning of a hippopotamus head, conveniently located an inch away from your nose.
3) Test for excessive levels of radon or carbon monoxide in your basement. (This feature was removed when it was determined that Spinny-headed Chupa Chup emits enough toxic radon to render the base readings unreliable.)
Apparently, somewhere in the Research and Development dungeons of Chupaville, marketing scientists determined that not only did children want their lollipops to constantly spin in their mouths, but they wanted it to happen without any kind of effort on their parts. The Chupians were shocked when they looked at the market and found that no item currently available could fill this need. You can imagine their dismay. It would be like mashed potato markentists realizing that there wasn't a device that you could plug into the wall that would automatically form and structurally maintain a little pit for the gravy. Or Oreo cookiologists discovering that children have been removing the top layer of their product without some kind of geothermal-powered guillotine.
However, the Chupopolians realized that a child may not see the immediate value of a battery-powered sucker spinner, so they upped the ante. They added the head of a hippopotamus -- just the head, mind you -- to the front of the device, and while the sucker is busy spinning, the hippo head -- get this -- spins. Nothing makes kids want to buy something like a hippo-Linda Blair, cranking its demon-possessed head a full 360 degrees. Kids exclaim, "Just like in my favorite movie, "The Exorcist Goes to Candyland!"
It has been suggested to me that perhaps there is another purpose to this long, cylindrical, battery-operated item with many moving parts, but I have to say that there is something seriously wrong with you if you intend to use this as a rotisserie grill. The hippo's head would burst into flames! No, as far as I can tell, the Spinny-headed Chupa Chup was made for a specialized audience to perform a specific duty that no other 11 dollar item can perform.
It's meant for suckers.
Then, the realization would set in. Even if I could hire some kind of sucker spinner, I would have to make eye contact with him or her until the dreadful act of lollipop consumption was complete. There would be no shiny substance or moving object to direct away my attention while my saliva broke down the sugar compounds in that horrible treat. I would have no peace while having my lollipop professionally spun.
It's every child's worst nightmare.
Thank heavens for spinny-headed Chupa Chup.
Spinny-headed Chupa Chup was designed to do three things:
1) Spin your lollipop in your mouth while you ate it. (It was specially fitted for Chupa Chup brand lollipops, but in a pinch, it could spin a pretty mean Dum-Dum.)
2) Match the spinning of of the sucker with the spinning of a hippopotamus head, conveniently located an inch away from your nose.
3) Test for excessive levels of radon or carbon monoxide in your basement. (This feature was removed when it was determined that Spinny-headed Chupa Chup emits enough toxic radon to render the base readings unreliable.)
Apparently, somewhere in the Research and Development dungeons of Chupaville, marketing scientists determined that not only did children want their lollipops to constantly spin in their mouths, but they wanted it to happen without any kind of effort on their parts. The Chupians were shocked when they looked at the market and found that no item currently available could fill this need. You can imagine their dismay. It would be like mashed potato markentists realizing that there wasn't a device that you could plug into the wall that would automatically form and structurally maintain a little pit for the gravy. Or Oreo cookiologists discovering that children have been removing the top layer of their product without some kind of geothermal-powered guillotine.
However, the Chupopolians realized that a child may not see the immediate value of a battery-powered sucker spinner, so they upped the ante. They added the head of a hippopotamus -- just the head, mind you -- to the front of the device, and while the sucker is busy spinning, the hippo head -- get this -- spins. Nothing makes kids want to buy something like a hippo-Linda Blair, cranking its demon-possessed head a full 360 degrees. Kids exclaim, "Just like in my favorite movie, "The Exorcist Goes to Candyland!"
It has been suggested to me that perhaps there is another purpose to this long, cylindrical, battery-operated item with many moving parts, but I have to say that there is something seriously wrong with you if you intend to use this as a rotisserie grill. The hippo's head would burst into flames! No, as far as I can tell, the Spinny-headed Chupa Chup was made for a specialized audience to perform a specific duty that no other 11 dollar item can perform.
It's meant for suckers.
A long time ago, in Chicago...
It is a period of chocolate consumption. Miniature hippopotami, camping in a hidden Kinder Egg, have suffered their first defeat against the hungry galactic nibblers.
During the snack, Jenna managed to steal the secret list of the Kinder Eggs's COLLECTIBLE STAR WARS HIPPOPOTAMUS SERIES, a ten-piece collection with enough nerdy potential to destroy an entire planet.
Pursuing the full series on the sinister eBay, Jenna sends them racing home aboard their Fed Ex truck, so I may become custodian of the set that will bring nerdiness and, I don't know, freedom or something to the galaxy...
(pan down to humongous spaceship)
The Force surrounds us, penetrates us with it's shocking midichorical spikiness, and binds the galaxy together. Through our mastery of the Force, we begin to believe that maybe the universe revolves around us. Just like the fact that a German chocolate company made a series of Star Wars themed hippos makes me think that the universe revolves around me.
First of all, let's all take a moment to appreciate the Kinder Egg. It is like a Cadbury Cream Egg, but instead of that frosting inside, they have a toy. And the chocolate is better. And it's a toy! You'd never see that in America. If an American company made a candy with toys inside, parents would tell their children to inhale the candy until the toy was lodged deep enough within their esophogus to really sue. And yet I dreamed of Kinder Eggs as soon as I heard of them. A combination of toy and candy. A dessert you can pair with a happy meal! A little slice of heaven for kids to have and eat it, too.
So you can imagine my glee when I found out that the ambiguously ethnic grocery store by our apartment sold Kinder Eggs, apparently having never heard the term "class-action lawsuit." Located by the front cash registers, between Bosnian cevapcici and the Polish goulash (this place had a perculiar perception of point-of-purchase product placement) were oversized egg cartons with the candies that a 28-year-old had no earthly reason to jump up and down over. And this was before I made the discovery that hippos are frequently featured guests among the Kinder Egg set.
When I got a hippo as a toy, well, it was as if the kind people of Germany had bought me the moon. But, as Jenna proved later, that's no moon. It's a space station. Or whatever.
As an awkward, socially insecure child, I took great comfort in the flights of fancy offered by the characters in Star Wars. Luke's mastery of the world around him, Han's comeuppance over the evil Jabba the Hutt, Chewbacca's ability to rip people's arms off, there was power in these characters that a six year old desperately craves. Later, as an awkward, socially insecure adult, I took great comfort in hippos, because I thought surrounding myself with them made me look thinner. Never in a billion parsecs could I have dreamed that someone would fuse these feelings of inadequacy into hippos cosplaying in ill-fitting Mandalorian armor. How could I have guessed? The odds of that happening are probably 3,720 to 1.
I don't think you could make a hippopotamus that would be better suited for me unless maybe it could turn a Wii into a some kind of cryptic crossword machine. This is as close, and in fact closer, than I can ever expect a hippo to get to me. They're right up on the imaginary pedestal with the tiny nesting doll and the Gorgeous Creature, and ol' Floamy. You can recognize their fowl stench the moment you get on board.
The collection includes Hippo Luke, Hippo Leia, Hippobi-wan, Hip Solppo, Hippoba Fett, Artoo Hippo, C-3HipO, Chewbaccapotamus, Hippoda, and Darth Vader the Hippopotamus. Luke and Darth get their own light sabers. Han is clearly putting the moves on Leia (for some reason, Luke isn't as attracted to his sister as he was in the movies), Artoo is clearly a hippo hiding in a garbage can, and Boba has a jet pack that will do nothing to prevent him from being slowly digested in Sarlacc for a few millennia. They are all clearly waring clothes too small for their bellies. It's adorable.
I'd love to go into more detail about each of them, but I've got to head out to Toschi station and pick up some power converters.
Also: You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. I loves me my Star Wars quotes!
It is a period of chocolate consumption. Miniature hippopotami, camping in a hidden Kinder Egg, have suffered their first defeat against the hungry galactic nibblers.
During the snack, Jenna managed to steal the secret list of the Kinder Eggs's COLLECTIBLE STAR WARS HIPPOPOTAMUS SERIES, a ten-piece collection with enough nerdy potential to destroy an entire planet.
Pursuing the full series on the sinister eBay, Jenna sends them racing home aboard their Fed Ex truck, so I may become custodian of the set that will bring nerdiness and, I don't know, freedom or something to the galaxy...
(pan down to humongous spaceship)
The Force surrounds us, penetrates us with it's shocking midichorical spikiness, and binds the galaxy together. Through our mastery of the Force, we begin to believe that maybe the universe revolves around us. Just like the fact that a German chocolate company made a series of Star Wars themed hippos makes me think that the universe revolves around me.
First of all, let's all take a moment to appreciate the Kinder Egg. It is like a Cadbury Cream Egg, but instead of that frosting inside, they have a toy. And the chocolate is better. And it's a toy! You'd never see that in America. If an American company made a candy with toys inside, parents would tell their children to inhale the candy until the toy was lodged deep enough within their esophogus to really sue. And yet I dreamed of Kinder Eggs as soon as I heard of them. A combination of toy and candy. A dessert you can pair with a happy meal! A little slice of heaven for kids to have and eat it, too.
So you can imagine my glee when I found out that the ambiguously ethnic grocery store by our apartment sold Kinder Eggs, apparently having never heard the term "class-action lawsuit." Located by the front cash registers, between Bosnian cevapcici and the Polish goulash (this place had a perculiar perception of point-of-purchase product placement) were oversized egg cartons with the candies that a 28-year-old had no earthly reason to jump up and down over. And this was before I made the discovery that hippos are frequently featured guests among the Kinder Egg set.
When I got a hippo as a toy, well, it was as if the kind people of Germany had bought me the moon. But, as Jenna proved later, that's no moon. It's a space station. Or whatever.
As an awkward, socially insecure child, I took great comfort in the flights of fancy offered by the characters in Star Wars. Luke's mastery of the world around him, Han's comeuppance over the evil Jabba the Hutt, Chewbacca's ability to rip people's arms off, there was power in these characters that a six year old desperately craves. Later, as an awkward, socially insecure adult, I took great comfort in hippos, because I thought surrounding myself with them made me look thinner. Never in a billion parsecs could I have dreamed that someone would fuse these feelings of inadequacy into hippos cosplaying in ill-fitting Mandalorian armor. How could I have guessed? The odds of that happening are probably 3,720 to 1.
I don't think you could make a hippopotamus that would be better suited for me unless maybe it could turn a Wii into a some kind of cryptic crossword machine. This is as close, and in fact closer, than I can ever expect a hippo to get to me. They're right up on the imaginary pedestal with the tiny nesting doll and the Gorgeous Creature, and ol' Floamy. You can recognize their fowl stench the moment you get on board.
The collection includes Hippo Luke, Hippo Leia, Hippobi-wan, Hip Solppo, Hippoba Fett, Artoo Hippo, C-3HipO, Chewbaccapotamus, Hippoda, and Darth Vader the Hippopotamus. Luke and Darth get their own light sabers. Han is clearly putting the moves on Leia (for some reason, Luke isn't as attracted to his sister as he was in the movies), Artoo is clearly a hippo hiding in a garbage can, and Boba has a jet pack that will do nothing to prevent him from being slowly digested in Sarlacc for a few millennia. They are all clearly waring clothes too small for their bellies. It's adorable.
I'd love to go into more detail about each of them, but I've got to head out to Toschi station and pick up some power converters.
Also: You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. I loves me my Star Wars quotes!
For a while, I thought I really didn't need to buy any more hippos. Who needs 'em, I remember thinking. Then there was a weekend I don't remember. Now I love hippos and buy them constantly. Also, this happy little fella suddenly appeared on my shelf. Also also, it hurts to sit down and I am unable to stop myself from shouting out flavors of Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Oh well.
The hippo-dermic needle can be used to inject frivolity into any gathering or formal function. Also, it can inject heroin! Simply dip the needle into a mixing bowl of heroin, pull out the plunger, then jab it directly into your eyeball. CHUNKY MONKEY!
Other than filling your cornea with narcotics, I'm not sure there is much of a need for this thing. However, I would love to see it put to good use in say, a James Bond movie. Like where James Bond is tied to an electric chair and lions are about to shoot machine guns at his crotch, and it looks hopeless, but at the last second, he pulls this hippo-headed needle out of his shoe and uses it to squirt acid at the lion, who accidentally shoots the chair, which shorts out in a shower of sparks, letting Bond free to top off the moment with a priceless bon mot, like, "Thanks, I needled that," or "If you're lion, you're dyin'," or "I shoot from the hippo," or "Electric chair lion needle hippo shoe breasts," and then quietly tuck his hippo back into his shoe. And then Arnold Schwarzeneggar could do exactly the same thing in another, less good movie, except it's about robots.
On the other hand, I think doctors could do well to take advantage of this friendly-looking needle in order to make kids less frightened of inoculations. Right up until the moment that the end of the needle stabs into the kid's vein. Then the kid'll get to add hippos to the list of Things That Ruined His Childhood, right after No Such Thing As Flying Carpets and right before The Toy Castle Greyskull Only Has Three Rooms, And One Of Them Is Just An Empty Dungeon. A great place to file away Hippos Cause Pain and Can't Trust Your Doctor. CHERRY GARCIA!
The hippo-dermic needle is one of the many, many hippos that has an expression on its face that appears to be meant to haunt your COFFEE COFFEE BUZZBUZZBUZZ dreams. Those tired eyes, that odd half smile, makes you start to think something odd is going on here. His decapitated head, stuck awkwardly on his needle body has a look that seems to say, "The hell?" From the look of things, he's certainly having trouble coming to terms with the fact that HE'S A HIPPO HEAD WITH A NEEDLE BODY!!!
I don't keep this particular hippo any under special lock and key. I think that when it's time to sit down with Aaron and have "the talk" about drugs, it will mostly be me waving this hippo around wildly and shouting, "Don't do drugs! They'll learn it from you! They'll learn it from watching you!" Similarly, I intend to use Precious Creatures Hippo to teach him about sex. That way, he'll only need to bring the one shelf into his therapist.
All right. I guess that sums up this horrifying hippo.
I thought I'd give it a shot.
DAVE MATTHEWS BAND MAGIC BROWNIE ENCORE EDITION!
The hippo-dermic needle can be used to inject frivolity into any gathering or formal function. Also, it can inject heroin! Simply dip the needle into a mixing bowl of heroin, pull out the plunger, then jab it directly into your eyeball. CHUNKY MONKEY!
Other than filling your cornea with narcotics, I'm not sure there is much of a need for this thing. However, I would love to see it put to good use in say, a James Bond movie. Like where James Bond is tied to an electric chair and lions are about to shoot machine guns at his crotch, and it looks hopeless, but at the last second, he pulls this hippo-headed needle out of his shoe and uses it to squirt acid at the lion, who accidentally shoots the chair, which shorts out in a shower of sparks, letting Bond free to top off the moment with a priceless bon mot, like, "Thanks, I needled that," or "If you're lion, you're dyin'," or "I shoot from the hippo," or "Electric chair lion needle hippo shoe breasts," and then quietly tuck his hippo back into his shoe. And then Arnold Schwarzeneggar could do exactly the same thing in another, less good movie, except it's about robots.
On the other hand, I think doctors could do well to take advantage of this friendly-looking needle in order to make kids less frightened of inoculations. Right up until the moment that the end of the needle stabs into the kid's vein. Then the kid'll get to add hippos to the list of Things That Ruined His Childhood, right after No Such Thing As Flying Carpets and right before The Toy Castle Greyskull Only Has Three Rooms, And One Of Them Is Just An Empty Dungeon. A great place to file away Hippos Cause Pain and Can't Trust Your Doctor. CHERRY GARCIA!
The hippo-dermic needle is one of the many, many hippos that has an expression on its face that appears to be meant to haunt your COFFEE COFFEE BUZZBUZZBUZZ dreams. Those tired eyes, that odd half smile, makes you start to think something odd is going on here. His decapitated head, stuck awkwardly on his needle body has a look that seems to say, "The hell?" From the look of things, he's certainly having trouble coming to terms with the fact that HE'S A HIPPO HEAD WITH A NEEDLE BODY!!!
I don't keep this particular hippo any under special lock and key. I think that when it's time to sit down with Aaron and have "the talk" about drugs, it will mostly be me waving this hippo around wildly and shouting, "Don't do drugs! They'll learn it from you! They'll learn it from watching you!" Similarly, I intend to use Precious Creatures Hippo to teach him about sex. That way, he'll only need to bring the one shelf into his therapist.
All right. I guess that sums up this horrifying hippo.
I thought I'd give it a shot.
DAVE MATTHEWS BAND MAGIC BROWNIE ENCORE EDITION!
I spent upwards of three minutes taking pictures of various hippos in my hippo collection for my tedious cataloging of their quirkiness. But I can not for the life of me remember why I thought this hippo was interesting.
I have about 348 million plastic hippos. This one is unique because it kind of looks doglike, I guess? Because it has a lot of teeth? I honestly can't remember what made me think, "Oooh can't forget this one."
Let's face it, when you get a hippo collection as large as mine, you have to start being selective about the new hippos you buy. Otherwise your shelves get filled with this fellow here. This cheap, plastic, ugly hippo. And no one wants that, so in lieu of trying to justify my purchase of this guy, here's a partial list of qualities that would make me drop everything and maybe possibly consider buying a new hippo.
I have about 348 million plastic hippos. This one is unique because it kind of looks doglike, I guess? Because it has a lot of teeth? I honestly can't remember what made me think, "Oooh can't forget this one."
Let's face it, when you get a hippo collection as large as mine, you have to start being selective about the new hippos you buy. Otherwise your shelves get filled with this fellow here. This cheap, plastic, ugly hippo. And no one wants that, so in lieu of trying to justify my purchase of this guy, here's a partial list of qualities that would make me drop everything and maybe possibly consider buying a new hippo.
- It's autographed by Michael Crichton, Henry Kissinger, or Wink Martindale
- It can transform into a robot and make both hippo and robot sounds
- It comes with a warning that says, "For entertainment purposes only. Not intended as a fortune telling device."
- It changes colors depending on my mood
- It comes in a box that indicates that it is called Henrietta Giraffe.
- It makes exasperated little screaming noises whenever you turn on or off the lights
- It features hovercraft technology of any sort
- It is made from a recycled ET Atari 2600 video game
- It is self-cleaning
- When you push a button on it, it shakes intensely for a few seconds, then cries, "Not again!"
- It can be powered by double As, but it's really meant to be powered by a potato
- It is considered an aphrodisiac in some parts of the world but it is considered a stylish hat in other parts of the world.
- It makes its own gravy
- Its passing resemblence to Daniel Radcliffe and its name, Hippy Pottermus are enough to make Warner Brothers take legal copyright action.
- You can push a button and it automatically retracts its head, even after you've shot it a good 12 feet
- It comes with a terrible curse. Or a wonderful curse. Or terrible/wonderful box art
- It gives the wearer super powers, even though it claims to do no such thing
- You wind it up and it dances the Lambada
- Photographic evidence suggests it was grown from a pumpkin
- I could wear it on my head and people would just think that my hair grew back, lushly, fully, in the shape of a hippo.
The odder segments of my hippo collection owe a debt of existence to Archie McPhee. We're it not for that odd little shop in the Pacific Northwest, I would never have the Hippo in a Manger, the tiny plastic hippos, or this little gem, which cost all of a quarter. Archie was excited about this guy because he Does A Trick. He cheats death. I like to think of him as the Lemming Speculator.
Here's his schtick: You put the hippo on a shelf, and dangle the little plastic ball and chain just off the shelf. The hippo does a little hoppy dance to the end of the shelf but reaches perfect equilibrium just at the edge and refuses to go over. His giant nose peeks just over the edge and he stares down at his beloved gray sphere, swaying gently from his neck, and realizes that life is too precious to do anything but sit on that ledge and not move. Disaster averted, he has a major breakthrough and lives to see another day. It's inspiring!
At least, it is if it works the way it's supposed to work.
In real life, as often is the case, the ending is not so happy. Nine times out of ten he does his little scoot right up to the edge of the shelf and tumbles overboard head first, flopping painfully onto the heartless, jagged carpet below. He doesn't hesitate, he doesn't reconsider, he plummets. The tenth time, the ball dangles over the side and the hippo just falls over.
This hippo's inability to resist its own demise despite being sold for the express purpose to do just that made a handy crossover item for two of my collections: hippos and magic tricks I couldn't get to work right. I was fascinated by magic tricks when I was growing up, but I have all the manual dexterity of a neck-weighted plunging hippo, so most of my magic shows consisted of me grabbing the tricks back and putting them away in humiliation. I'd pull out the magic coin trick and the secret compartment would jam open. I'd try the magic flower trick and the weight would pop out and scare off the rabbit. I'd try the magic card trick and my secret audience plant would fall off a shelf. My magic show became me finding a new place to hid my magic tricks so that everyone in the room couldn't figure them out before I had even opened the box. This hippo fit right in alongside my collection of "Things that would be pretty cool if I could get them to work right."
However, I can draw some inspiration when I watch this little guy do his impression of the opening credits of Mad Men. Sure he may inspire frustration because he's unable to do the one thing he's supposed to do and he may inspire depression at the thought of how easy it is to let the weight around your neck lead you to despair, but he can also inspire us to realize that things don't always work out the way we plan, and sometimes life can be short, so you might as well do a little hoppy dance in the time you're given. Also, if you can't astound the world with your magic, you can always amuse them with your patheticness.
Or you could just fall down.
That's a lot of lessons for a quarter!
It's late summer. There's yard work to do, one last glorious weekend at the beach, long walks through the neighborhood, and just a few blisteringly hot afternoons left. Perhaps it's time for a cool refreshing drink... out of a hippopotamus' anus.
Call me crazy, but when I see a long tube that extends right between a hippo's hind legs, I don't think, "I can't wait to drink out of that!" No, I imagine that the tube must represent something truly unpleasant, maybe something that rhymes with blenema, or blolapsed blectum.
This one started out OK. A little thermos with a screw-on top to prevent kids from spilling their apple juice. Make it look like a friendly hippo carrying an enormous hockey puck. Sure, sure, we've seen it before a thousand times. But then something went horribly wrong.
"Let's add a handle!" were the words that, if there's any justice in the world, brought an up-and-coming novelty plastic mug company into an era of desperate financial ruin. Even that wouldn't have necessarily been that bad. They could have added a handle on the hippo's side. Maybe make it out of his nose. That could have been cute.
But no. It went in the butt. Clearly it is not this hippo's tail. It's hard to see in the picture, but this hippo sports a nice, normal looking hippo tail at the top of his hindquarters, right there where you'd expect it. Maybe the hippo has two tails, one hopes, but it is clear that this hope is on par with the hope that maybe the guy on the subway is enthusiastically rooting around in his pants as part of a magic trick. It is no tail.
And they couldn't have just left it a handle. No sir. This is where you drink from. The part of the hippo that looks like someone pulled a few feet of large intestine out for some sun is also the part of the hippo you're expected to put your lips on. I can not be the only person in the world who thinks this is weird.
Can I?
I've seen built-in straws in thermoses before. They always go through the top. In this case, they'd make the hippo look a little like it was ready to be spit-roasted over a fire, which I have no problems with. I've never seen a straw attached to the bottom of a mug externally. The only conclusion I can draw when looking at this finished product, sold in W**marts throughout the country, is that the quality control people were killed off by whatever maniac created the plastic mold as he danced some lunatic tango, his face breaking into a fit of horrifying giggles.
I can't even use this cup ironically. It can't be the funny novelty mug I bring to work on crazy mug day, or part of a set of hilariously mismatched tableware because I always get the same, terrified reaction whenever I start ingesting scary tube, no matter who it is. How could you? they silently ask me. How could you betray humanity like that? And the cup goes back into the collection, waiting for the perfect moment when i can take it out and use it without fear of retribution.
Bottoms up!
Call me crazy, but when I see a long tube that extends right between a hippo's hind legs, I don't think, "I can't wait to drink out of that!" No, I imagine that the tube must represent something truly unpleasant, maybe something that rhymes with blenema, or blolapsed blectum.
This one started out OK. A little thermos with a screw-on top to prevent kids from spilling their apple juice. Make it look like a friendly hippo carrying an enormous hockey puck. Sure, sure, we've seen it before a thousand times. But then something went horribly wrong.
"Let's add a handle!" were the words that, if there's any justice in the world, brought an up-and-coming novelty plastic mug company into an era of desperate financial ruin. Even that wouldn't have necessarily been that bad. They could have added a handle on the hippo's side. Maybe make it out of his nose. That could have been cute.
But no. It went in the butt. Clearly it is not this hippo's tail. It's hard to see in the picture, but this hippo sports a nice, normal looking hippo tail at the top of his hindquarters, right there where you'd expect it. Maybe the hippo has two tails, one hopes, but it is clear that this hope is on par with the hope that maybe the guy on the subway is enthusiastically rooting around in his pants as part of a magic trick. It is no tail.
And they couldn't have just left it a handle. No sir. This is where you drink from. The part of the hippo that looks like someone pulled a few feet of large intestine out for some sun is also the part of the hippo you're expected to put your lips on. I can not be the only person in the world who thinks this is weird.
Can I?
I've seen built-in straws in thermoses before. They always go through the top. In this case, they'd make the hippo look a little like it was ready to be spit-roasted over a fire, which I have no problems with. I've never seen a straw attached to the bottom of a mug externally. The only conclusion I can draw when looking at this finished product, sold in W**marts throughout the country, is that the quality control people were killed off by whatever maniac created the plastic mold as he danced some lunatic tango, his face breaking into a fit of horrifying giggles.
I can't even use this cup ironically. It can't be the funny novelty mug I bring to work on crazy mug day, or part of a set of hilariously mismatched tableware because I always get the same, terrified reaction whenever I start ingesting scary tube, no matter who it is. How could you? they silently ask me. How could you betray humanity like that? And the cup goes back into the collection, waiting for the perfect moment when i can take it out and use it without fear of retribution.
Bottoms up!
I have hippos made out of glass, porcelain, wood, pewter, molded plastic, Floam, your standard curio materials. These materials were fine by me.
I repeat, these materials were fine by me.
I never asked for a hippopotamus made of leather.
First of all, it's huge. I could have had four wallets and a pair of shoes made with this hippo, easy. It's about the size of a cocker spaniel. Also, I imagine it would probably also smell like a cocker spaniel if they were both wet. It's large enough, anyway, that you can't put it in a room, even a room littered with Thomas trains and half-eaten bowls of cheerios without commanding the attention of your eyes and the twitchy place on the back of your neck, shouting "Giant leather hippo here! Ignore me at your own peril." It's a big chunk of cow skin.
At least, I hope it's cow. Because, let's face it, that's the other nagging question.
The tag on it says that it is a Quality Leather Accent for My Home. It says it was handmade by artisans. In India. From leather. But it never specifies that it's cow leather. For all I know, the reason that it smells like cocker spaniel is that it's made out of a cocker spaniel's owner. Like, someone didn't put the lotion in the basket and now their skin is sitting on my shelf.
You can't help but have morbid thoughts like that when you see this hippo. Look at the sunken eyes, the lifeless expression, the wrinkled, knobby feet and try to avoid thinking about mummies. The only way I can is to force myself to think about why Kool-Aid Man, who was made out of glass, was always so keen to burst through brick walls with a jolly, "Oh Yeah!" when ever nearby children were drinking his innards. In my vast scientific experiments about who would win in a fight between non-sentient pitchers and brick walls, the pitcher loses, friends. Every time. I'd love to see a commercial where the brick wall is too strong and he shatters into pieces and the kids just don't even notice because they've already been drinking the Kool-Aid. Then some 80s mom goes out to clean up Kool Aid man with paper towels and she manages to soak up enough that it reconstitutes his soul and now Kool-Aid Man is that reanimated roll of paper towels that crashes through plaster walls whenever kids throw a not-quite empty Dixie cup away. Although frankly, now I'm back to mummies again, more or less.
The other thing about this hippopotamus is that it never weighs what you expect it to. Sometimes it seems lighter than it should be. Other times you're surprised by how heavy it is. Tell me that doesn't freak you out. Well, OK, normally that's not that scary, but remember we've been talking about mummies. Also, a hippo made out of some kind of skin. Now you're scared, right?
So anyway, this is a perfect hippo for my collection, because, like the other perfect hippos for my collection, I can't imagine anyone else ever owning it for any reason. Hell, I'm a little squitchy about owning it myself.
I never asked for a hippo made of leather.
I repeat, these materials were fine by me.
I never asked for a hippopotamus made of leather.
First of all, it's huge. I could have had four wallets and a pair of shoes made with this hippo, easy. It's about the size of a cocker spaniel. Also, I imagine it would probably also smell like a cocker spaniel if they were both wet. It's large enough, anyway, that you can't put it in a room, even a room littered with Thomas trains and half-eaten bowls of cheerios without commanding the attention of your eyes and the twitchy place on the back of your neck, shouting "Giant leather hippo here! Ignore me at your own peril." It's a big chunk of cow skin.
At least, I hope it's cow. Because, let's face it, that's the other nagging question.
The tag on it says that it is a Quality Leather Accent for My Home. It says it was handmade by artisans. In India. From leather. But it never specifies that it's cow leather. For all I know, the reason that it smells like cocker spaniel is that it's made out of a cocker spaniel's owner. Like, someone didn't put the lotion in the basket and now their skin is sitting on my shelf.
You can't help but have morbid thoughts like that when you see this hippo. Look at the sunken eyes, the lifeless expression, the wrinkled, knobby feet and try to avoid thinking about mummies. The only way I can is to force myself to think about why Kool-Aid Man, who was made out of glass, was always so keen to burst through brick walls with a jolly, "Oh Yeah!" when ever nearby children were drinking his innards. In my vast scientific experiments about who would win in a fight between non-sentient pitchers and brick walls, the pitcher loses, friends. Every time. I'd love to see a commercial where the brick wall is too strong and he shatters into pieces and the kids just don't even notice because they've already been drinking the Kool-Aid. Then some 80s mom goes out to clean up Kool Aid man with paper towels and she manages to soak up enough that it reconstitutes his soul and now Kool-Aid Man is that reanimated roll of paper towels that crashes through plaster walls whenever kids throw a not-quite empty Dixie cup away. Although frankly, now I'm back to mummies again, more or less.
The other thing about this hippopotamus is that it never weighs what you expect it to. Sometimes it seems lighter than it should be. Other times you're surprised by how heavy it is. Tell me that doesn't freak you out. Well, OK, normally that's not that scary, but remember we've been talking about mummies. Also, a hippo made out of some kind of skin. Now you're scared, right?
So anyway, this is a perfect hippo for my collection, because, like the other perfect hippos for my collection, I can't imagine anyone else ever owning it for any reason. Hell, I'm a little squitchy about owning it myself.
I never asked for a hippo made of leather.
I can't wait to see how this hippo changes my Google ads.
So, here is a hippo lounging in the bathtub, but frankly, not lounging low enough for decency's sake. It was one of very few items I grew up with that I felt the need to conceal from my parents (the others were a science test I got a C- on and a Weird Al tape which featured the phrase "make love"). Never mind the fact that you'd really have to be scrutinizing my hippo collection for smut to discover this one -- all I knew was that this sculpture featured hippo nipples (nippos, as they're sometimes called) and needed to be hidden from sight.
I don't know the master craftsman who brought this beauty to life, nor do I want to know anything about him, but I can tell that he had a field day with this one. It's like he didn't find Gorgeous Creatures quite horrifying enough and wanted to remind people that the only thing more disturbing than a hippo-Barbie hybrid is a naked hippo-Barbie hybrid with the kind of come-hither stare that has been known to cause instant sterility. She is definitely in that tub thinking she'd like some company instead of what she should be thinking, which is, "No amount of soap can wash away my repulsiveness."
It's often said that the first thing a man notices about a anthropomorphized naked hippo is her breasts, but it's also said that the first thing a man notices about a train wreck is the wrecked train. In both cases, he will probably wish he would have stayed at home instead of going to the train depot/hippo strip club so that he wouldn't have had to look at all. However, there's a lot of other important detail to notice in this hippo. There's the fact that it's one of those old-fashioned tubs with the claw feet, and the fine work done on the tile floor, the fact that whoever made this was pleased enough with his work to sign his name to it (Kicker 87), and that someone in America was proud enough of it to admit it was made in the USA. And it's apparently a cold bath, because all right, I'm putting it back now.
As with all of my hippos, I can't help but wonder what forces of nature caused in to come into being. Sometimes the answer is "people will pay 40 cents for this", and sometimes the answer is "I am an artist, and I am over-medicating myself". In this case, I can't help but come to the conclusion that this hippo was not supposed to venture out into public. I think it was supposed to be a private joke that Kicker 87 was playing on a friend, perhaps a friend who collects hippos (or bathers), and neither ever thought anyone else would ever see it. They did not know that it is my destiny to see all and know all in the world of collectible hippos, and that no private joke would escape my unblinking gaze forever. This is my curse. Also, baldness at 19.
In any case, I plan to keep this hippo around for a while. When my son is about 12, his friends will probably think it's cool that his old man has this racy artwork displayed right between the Obi-Wan Kenobi Hippo and the purple hippo drawer pull. For, like, two days. Then they'll find someone's dad with an old Playboy or something and I can rest assured that those damn kids will stop snooping through my stuff.
So, here is a hippo lounging in the bathtub, but frankly, not lounging low enough for decency's sake. It was one of very few items I grew up with that I felt the need to conceal from my parents (the others were a science test I got a C- on and a Weird Al tape which featured the phrase "make love"). Never mind the fact that you'd really have to be scrutinizing my hippo collection for smut to discover this one -- all I knew was that this sculpture featured hippo nipples (nippos, as they're sometimes called) and needed to be hidden from sight.
I don't know the master craftsman who brought this beauty to life, nor do I want to know anything about him, but I can tell that he had a field day with this one. It's like he didn't find Gorgeous Creatures quite horrifying enough and wanted to remind people that the only thing more disturbing than a hippo-Barbie hybrid is a naked hippo-Barbie hybrid with the kind of come-hither stare that has been known to cause instant sterility. She is definitely in that tub thinking she'd like some company instead of what she should be thinking, which is, "No amount of soap can wash away my repulsiveness."
It's often said that the first thing a man notices about a anthropomorphized naked hippo is her breasts, but it's also said that the first thing a man notices about a train wreck is the wrecked train. In both cases, he will probably wish he would have stayed at home instead of going to the train depot/hippo strip club so that he wouldn't have had to look at all. However, there's a lot of other important detail to notice in this hippo. There's the fact that it's one of those old-fashioned tubs with the claw feet, and the fine work done on the tile floor, the fact that whoever made this was pleased enough with his work to sign his name to it (Kicker 87), and that someone in America was proud enough of it to admit it was made in the USA. And it's apparently a cold bath, because all right, I'm putting it back now.
As with all of my hippos, I can't help but wonder what forces of nature caused in to come into being. Sometimes the answer is "people will pay 40 cents for this", and sometimes the answer is "I am an artist, and I am over-medicating myself". In this case, I can't help but come to the conclusion that this hippo was not supposed to venture out into public. I think it was supposed to be a private joke that Kicker 87 was playing on a friend, perhaps a friend who collects hippos (or bathers), and neither ever thought anyone else would ever see it. They did not know that it is my destiny to see all and know all in the world of collectible hippos, and that no private joke would escape my unblinking gaze forever. This is my curse. Also, baldness at 19.
In any case, I plan to keep this hippo around for a while. When my son is about 12, his friends will probably think it's cool that his old man has this racy artwork displayed right between the Obi-Wan Kenobi Hippo and the purple hippo drawer pull. For, like, two days. Then they'll find someone's dad with an old Playboy or something and I can rest assured that those damn kids will stop snooping through my stuff.
