ACME - 1. ACME

To whom it may concern at the good people of ACME,

Greetings. I identify as Adam McPherson. I apologize if my correspondence finds you at an inconvenience. You see, I could not locate your address.

I endeavored to Google it. After filtering out fronts like ACME Furniture, I found several promising candidates. ACME Laboratories seems like a good cover, but I couldn't scope out the hidden entrance to the real site. If you really are a subsidiary of Albertsons, then I commend you on the excellent disguise. To my disappointment, this possibility also did not suggest an obvious method with which to contact the real ACME.

I directed my inquiries to the male parental unit and he gave me this huge Bible-sized thing they call a phone book. I have no idea what he was thinking. Clearly the real ACME would not deign to list themselves in such a prehistoric advertising means. And besides, I doubt you are local.

When I was thinking about how useless my dad was, it came to me. The post office! They know Santa's address and can procure letters to provide upon his person. They must have some sort of hookup with shady organizations because even though my dad said never to give any information that could be used to contact us to nice-looking men in expensive-looking suits, after we moved, the bill collectors found us anyway. So I'll allot my faith on the side of the post office this time. I really must insist you reply with a suitable address though. I am aware of the reason for your secrecy (that you may be unfairly maligned as a terrorist outfit) and I can understand it, but should you decide to provide me with your address, your secrets will be locked in the safe of my mind.

Let me introduce myself. I write to you a troubled man of 10 years, in the fifth grade at Shnozberry Elementary. My physical vessel resides in Arizona (so I know you can deliver to me) but my soul lives in the stars. I have a much older sister, but my dad says she lives in La La Land. I am a fan of the way you advertise your products through viral marketing. The characters you create to show why your products are dangerous and buffoons should not use them, I find ingenious and quite titillating. Wile E. Coyote is an excellent salesmen and mascot; he should be given a raise.

I shall be much obliged if you would furnish me with a catalog of your various products. In particular, I am looking for something to take care of Joey, one of my classmates. Joey was what one of the more plebeian sorts might have described as "cool," once upon a time. Now he is nothing but an annoyance and a disturbance of the what little peace there is in a fifth-grader's world.

To minimalize the potential length of a story, the gist is that he keeps trying to kiss me. Through the medium of vulgar expression, I have delightfully suggested to him that these are things that only girls should do to boys, but it does not seem to phase him. As the saying goes, he is as oblivious as a fire hydrant is when being pissed on by a dog.

I have informed my educational instructors at school as well and all they do is snigger and ask me if I think he has the cooties, fully aware that I am cognizant that the cooties are an urban legend and do not stand up to tests conducted under the standards of the scientific method. I have even contacted the local authorities to report on this most heinous of sexual harassment crimes, but they are under the mistaken impression that I am prank calling them.

In short, my wit is infinite, but if it were not, I would be near the end of it by now. I have concocted several plans, but I need a weapon. I need tools.

Plan A: Sometimes Joey and I play dodge ball at recess and whoever hits the other more gets to choose something to trade for lunch. I like Teddy Grahams and the parental unit won't buy them for me, so I enjoy hitting Joey as much as I can. I have seen your Explosive Tennis Balls and I am wondering if you have an explosive dodge ball? I imagine that will blow the kisses right out of Joey.

Plan B: In the event that I cannot avoid one of his surreptitious kisses or hugs, it would be a boon and an emotional anchor to be equipped with Rocket-Powered Roller Skates for a fast retreat.

Plan C: I've seen your Instant Girl juice in action and I think it might be of aid when I am under duplicitous duress. My plan is to use it to distract Joey when he feels the urge to kiss me. However, for some reason I have the vaguely unscientific feeling that Joey is not terribly interested in kissing girls. Please advise. What is the efficacy of said Instant Girl juice. Does the girl who shall arise from the vapors come with a fearsome set of strong pheromones?

Plan D: How easy is your Do It Yourself Tornado Kit? I make my own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the morning because my dad never puts enough jelly in them. I also made a bird house out of popsicle sticks once and a volcano for the science fair in third grade. As you can see, I am reasonably acquainted with complex constructions, but in your viral advertising I see the warning of what should happen if I fail in its construction and it worries me slightly. Also, what if I encounter spies from The Weather Channel? Please advise.

Plan E: How about this? What if I play along with Joey and invite him to a picnic for two at the big park with the Anatidae pond? I can tell him I will feed him my home-made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (he always asks for that when he wins a trade at lunch). Except, to produce a more romantic atmosphere, I will blindfold him and shove the food into his dirty little mouth. In that event, I shall be forever appreciative if you could furnish me with some of your Assorted Picnic Ants. The association of a girly date with the distress of chewing on picnic Formicidae ought to create enough psychological trauma for him to disassociate pleasure from oral contact. What is your impression of the likelihood of success in this plot?

Plan F: Dehydrated Boulders seem like an inspired choice. My dad gives me a water bottle every day and two on hot days, so I would not lack for water. A drop of water, an instant boulder later and he would probably never think to look for me there.

Plan G: Your Giant Rubber Band might be just what the physician had delivered from Amazon. However, though I fully admit this may be a deficit in my imagination, I fail to see how it could be used in isolation. How does one incapacitate the victim -- stop them struggling long enough to fling them into outer space? What is the reach? Am I being optimistic in hoping for Mars? Your guidance in usage of the product, or on complementary products that may help, would be most welcome.

Plan H: Via your viral marketing cartoons, I see you have a Batman Outfit in your catalog. I have noticed that Halloween shops also have these for sale, but yours seems to be exemplary. Batman is always able to solve his problems in the end, so I can imagine this would be a fine choice. Nevertheless, while it may be rude to say so, it prods my curiosity enough to inquire: beside the potential for flight in the judicious user, what, dear ACME, is the difference between your suit and the ones I can find at the costume shop? For instance, will I sound like Batman if I wear it? Does it require the user to exhibit a strength in the jaw?

As I think of your Batman Outfit it comes to mind that I do not know the price of any of these products. I think I could afford the Giant Rubber Band, Dehydrated Boulders or Assorted Picnic Ants, but I'm not sure about the rest. Things like the Batman Outfit, Rocket-Powered Roller Skates or Instant Girl juice seem like they might be a little pricey. By the time I receive a reply from you, I expect my next allowance. My sum total of savings will be 46 dollars and 74 cents.

Is shipping and handling free? Do you have any special member's benefits I might avail of?

When Joey kisses me, it not only makes me furious, but I get this infernally confusing tingly feeling in my toes that won't go away for hours. If your products are above the limit of what I can pay for, then I am prepared to deal with it, as they say. I'll do anything to stop it, even sell my Yu-Gi-Oh cards or, if worst truly comes to worst's house and knocks on the door, I am prepared to give up my Transformers toys.

As you can see, I am a desperate man. Joey's feet are as fast as the Road Runner and my efforts to stop him as fruitless as Wile E. Coyote. I can sympathize with your viral marketers in a way I'm sure most of your customers simply cannot.

Please ACME, you're my only hope. I shall patiently wait for pleasant news to come in the mail.

Sincerely,

Adam McPherson, now sworn enemy of Joey Nichols