From the Wickford marketing department brainstorming session transcripts, company president Gary Wickford speaking:
"Okay, the concept for the lollipops is that they've got a creamy center, just like a cow's udder. That's the big selling point, we've got to emphasize the idea that, when you eat this product, it's like you're eating a candy-coated cow's udder. So, let's call'em "Udder Pops," and have them shaped like little udders. Ooo! And the "O" in "Pops" should be shaped like an udder, too! Will that be enough? Maybe an uddery pattern on the packaging's background? Yeah, that'll look great!
This is going to be the best cow mammary-themed candy EVER!"
"Next product, Moon Chunk cheese snacks. Here's my idea:
Space. The vast nothingness of space.
Up on the Rocket Rodents of the Amalgamated Areas and Territories of Terra's new Tiny Revolving Aeronautical Pod space station (the so-called RRAATT TRAP), Moustronaut Captain JR Whiskertwitch is examining the outer hull, looking for any damage caused by the stations recent pass through a previously unmapped asteroid field. It's a dangerous task, but in space, nothing's safe. He knew that when he took this job. That's why he loves it.
He's an adrenaline junkie.
As Whiskertwitch hammers down a loose sheet of solar paneling, a mysterious shadow is cast over him. Turning slowly around, he gets only a glimpse of the lone, massive asteroid bearing down on the station before he reacts. Activating his spacesuit's retro rockets, Whiskertwitch fires himself out and away from the RRAATT TRAP, moments before the station is crushed to pieces but the soulless trajectory of nature.
Hurtling through space now, unmoored, out of control, Whiskertwitch again depressed the controls for his retro rockets and steadies himself. The area is littered with debris from the crash. Eating utensils, filing cabinets, picture frames, computer monitors; all the small bright objects that make up the mosaic of a life, cast into the abyss. There were good men on that ship. Whiskertwitch says a prayer, then zooms away.
Adrift in the void, his only hope is finding a radio frequency that will allow him reception clear enough to communicate with the crew on Terra. Static fills the glass bubble of Whiskertwitch's spacesuit, just as - with each panicked gasp of breath - the bubble's oxygen is depleted. He knows he's got only minutes before the suit's emergency life support will fail him, but he's got to get through to Terra.
It's his daughter's birthday today, and daddy has to say goodbye.
But what's this? A small, shimmering dot appears on the edge of Whiskertwitch's vision. For the last time, he fires the retro rockets and is propelled towards the object on jet fuel and hope. As it grows larger and larger, forming into a discernible shape and color, Whiskertwitch sheds a tear. So the ancient books of rodent prophecy were true. There is a hidden moon of Terra. His spacesuit's head's up display brings more good news from the surface scanners: this silent, cratered satellite has a breathable atmosphere, gravity comparable to that of Terra, rivulets of drinking water. And it's made entirely of delicious, aged cheddar.
That's what I want on the box, NEXT!"
"Lord Chumley's Kitten Chow. Here's a photo of my cat.
Make it happen."
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