Eau de Moron

Forwarded without comment from Evan Dorkin…

In the new Previews catalog there are listings for two fragrances (scents, perfumes, useless smelly liquids in chintzy bottles, whatever the fuck you want to call them), based on the works of Neil Gaiman.

Now fanboys and geekgirls of a certain fantastical persuasion can joyously cover up the wretched stink of bad personal hygiene and chronic loneliness by simply sprinkling these magical new unguents across their ripe marsh-like armpits, sweaty, dirt-lined necks, and dewy, mint-in-pants genitalia. For only a few dozen dollars you can be one of the more distinguished stinkpots traipsing about the San Diego Comicon floor, marching with the Society for Creative Anachronism, or trundling through the local Renaissance Fair –  cock of the walk, sporting a devilish grin, proudly smelling like a mystical whatever-the-fuck, Ahhh, the smell of it!

Now, seriously, would somebody please go out and shoot this fucking industry in the head, pretty please? Just blow it’s tiny brain out like any other mindless, scuzz-stained zombie deserves. The eu de moron sales benefit the CBDLF, which is nice, and I’ve got nothing personal against Neil, who I’ve met and who seems to be a lovely person, but I’m still waving my hate flag proudly for this one. This just makes my head spin. I know, perhaps I’m being a mite harsh here, because, as we all know, nothing says classy like shopping for perfume in Diamond Previews. It’s where I most often turn to when I’m in the market for formal outerwear, accessories, toiletries and what have you. Ascots, cuff links, gaiters, monocles, top hats, of course, it makes perfect sense to see Diamond Previews first. But this…well, for me, it goes beyond the pale.

Who would dream this up, who would approve this, who would manufacture this, who would want this, who would buy this, who would wear this, who would admit to any of the above?

Find them. Chain them. Stop them.

I guess it could be worse. Joe Matt could have a fragrance line.

The rest of Previews, it goes without saying, besides about a dozen or so pages of prudently clipped offerings, was the usual mind-numbing, eye-assaulting, heart-stopping display of madness, greed, incompetence, witlessness, and outright trash. But this tooketh the cake.

About Chris Barrus

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