Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Zen and the art of asses on umbrellas

When people first see the Assbrella, they usually do one of three things. They crinkle their face. They yell out in disgust. Or they grab the umbrella, throw it to the ground and start bashing it in slow motion, "Office Space" style. Well, no one has done that last one yet, but it would be pretty cool if they did.

I can't say that I am offended by these reactions. I mean, if I hadn't been part of the founding Assbrellas team, I'd probably react the same way. But the thing is, after spending so much time in the company of the ass, I've started to see things from a different perspective, from the other side, if you will.

I can't help but wonder how the ass feels about all this.

Think about it. Presumably, in the closed position, he's asleep, resting. Whenever it's dark and shitty outside, he gets awoken, spread apart, and thrust into the air to absorb both the physical abuse of rain, and the emotional abuse of the curious onlooker. That is surely no life. And yet, I'm supposed to feel sorry for the mother who has to shield her eight year old daughter's eyes from the ass. It is truly an unjust world.

Maybe I'm getting a tad melodramatic here. Or maybe I've lost a marble from packaging one too many Assbrella. As Nietzche aptly put it, "if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." Well, she's gazing back at me, in all her hairy glory. And while I'm sure Nietzche's thoughts while staring into that abyss were a tad more profound than mine, I just hope that when it started to rain, he had an ass to cover his head.

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