Wynford Vaughan-Thomas on: Promotional Offers

For once, I thought Coyote and Roadrunner had brought me something nice.  As they approached, boots crunching through the patchy snow, I caught the definite whiff of chocolate.  If I wasn't dead and rendered in slate, I would've smiled excitedly.

Two packets were placed at the end of my ever pointing finger...and I was astounded.  It appeared that they were in cahoots with someone; that through some sort of unmentionably black dealings they were acquiring more consumables than they were actually paying for.  I fell silent and glared at them accusingly.

While Roadrunner busied herself with sticking her tongue to the ice on the gatepost, Coyote clocked my disappointed stare and explained to me.  "Sometimes, you can get a bargain," he said.  "You can pay for something, and get a little extra for free."  I raised an eyebrow.  Metaphorically. It's hard to raise one's eyebrow when one is carved from a fine-grained, foliated, homogeneous metamorphic rock that's derived from an original shale-type sedimentary rock composed of clay or volcanic ash through low-grade regional metamorphism.  

He continued to explain, mentioning something about 'promotional offers' and 'retail psychology', but I got distracted by a crow that was trying to crap on my head.  Besides, nothing he could say would sway my view that this bargain mentality is disgraceful.

In my day, you got what you paid for.  A bar of York chocolate cost 2½d and it tasted like a brick of perfumed lard.  In fact, it had no sugar in it.  The only risk it posed to your teeth (if you were lucky enough to have any left after the age of 20) was that you were likely to break them when you bit into it.

We had none of this self-indulgent bargaining.  No wonder modern society has a raging obesity problem.  I see the tourists waddling up to me; their thighs squeaking like two semi-deflated balloons, and I despair.  They get out their cameras and take photos with one hand while shovelling pies into their faces with the other.  Fat bastards.

Needless to say, Coyote and Roadrunner left with the goods...and they were welcome to it.  Perhaps they’ll get so fat that they won’t be able to fit into their MontyMobile and hound me any more.

Hope dies last.  Unless it gorges itself on these revolting ‘offers’ and snuffs it prematurely through coronary heart disease.  Absolutely disgusting! 

I’m off for a pint and some chips.