About twelve years ago now, this coming March, I suddenly found myself with an incredible urge to seek out a new business venture. I’m not exactly sure why it happened exactly when it did — it may have had something to do with the remarkably superb peanut butter that I had recently discovered at a local supermarket and had begun regularly devouring in enormous quantities. Whatever the reason, I immediately put a call through to my good friend Jimbo Rannitz. Mr. Rannitz had been working as a part-time hog farming consultant, and I was, therefore, absolutely certain that he would be full of stupendous ideas that might see me on my way toward this new venture.
I was, to put it mildly, not at all disappointed by Jimbo’s suggestion. Which, I now believe it safe to say, is very likely much more than you will soon be able to say for yourself, dear reader! I had told Jimbo about my peculiar longing to alter my current state of employment and to seek out something a little more daring… a little more “sticky” — if you catch my meaning. Upon hearing this, Jimbo immediately barked out, in that sort of rust-laden, gravelly, whiskey drenched voice he was so often fond of speaking in, “You will start a discount photography business! You shall call this discount photography business ‘Staph-Infection Photographic Wonder-Journies!’ And, you shall promote this business by offering each new customer one free bag of toothpicks, and a half a stick of pre-melted butter!”
“My word!” I exclaimed, “How on Earth did you come up with such an absolutely marvelous idea?”
“That’s really none of your concern.” Jimbo muttered wryly, “I’ve better things to do with my time than to explain the mechanistic functionings of my genius to the likes of you! Now, kindly hang up the phone, Sir. I’ve got to go and tend to my new electric toothbrush. It seems to not be at all pleased with its new accommodations, and I’m worried that it may begin to cause trouble in my bathroom.”
With that, I hung up the phone and immediately set about drafting a suitable business plan for my new photographic venture. Unfortunately, however, as I had mentioned at the beginning of this letter, it is now approximately twelve years since that telephone conversation took place between Mr. Rannitz and I. And, woefully, I am sorry to report that nothing really ever came of that photographic business of mine. Despite an enormous marketing effort, and for reasons that remain unclear to me, I never was able to attract a steady supply of customers to Staph-Infection Photographic Wonder Journies, Inc. It really is quite a puzzle! I spent an absolute fortune on toothpicks and butter, but alas success eluded me.
Where, exactly, Jimbo Rannitz is now, I could not say. It has been years since we spoke last. A mutual acquaintance recently informed me that Jimbo had fled the country whilst being pursued on foot by extremely tiny diamonds which he could not see, yet gave forth a pleasing odor when sung to. I do hope to hear from Jimbo again at some time in the future, however. If, per chance, our paths should once again cross, I think I should very much enjoy slapping him across his face.
Facelicker Jones enjoys licking faces and writing about various occurrances that have befallen and befuddled him throughout his bizarre, fantastical and storied life. "Facelicker" is not his real first name; merely a nickname he picked up somewhere in time.