And now some free tripe

Look, we all know why you’re here. Your story is typical, really. Your internet company, in which you sold beer that tasted like baby formula under the tag line “It’s Gerbeerrific!”, went bust after you were sued for trademark infringement. To make matters worse, you found out it was illegal to have a toddler, even if he signed a waiver (spit-up counts as consent, right?) swill your carrot-strained hooch in ads under the hastily put-together alternate tagline, “Who needs breasts? Pacifier Lite: The one babies thirst for.”

Panicky, you spent all your savings on Pokerstars –blowing $3K in one sitting on Canasta is quite a talent, you convince yourself — and put the remainder, acting off an insider tip from your old college friend’s roommate’s brother-in-law’s housecleaner who once worked at e-trade for three months in 2002, on candied yams (starch sells!) and Windex, convinced it would be the key ingredient in the new designer drug for club-goers, blue bliss.

Disgraced when your investments went awry, you were forced to move back from the big city — if Wichita can be called that — to the sticks, more specifically, your parents’ shallow-ceilinged, floods-when-it-rains-more-than-three-inches-and-stinks-of-a-combination-of-Pam-and-Raid basement. You sold your Blackberry for one-eighth of what you paid for it, since you don’t get service out in the sticks and all your moneyed, connected friends stopped calling — not even bothering to write snarky, abbreviated messages on your Facebook wall — and all it got you was a three-month’s supply of mac ‘n cheese and 10 gallons of Fresca. You’ve rented every movie from the local video store, with the lowlight being taking out Sleepless in Seattle on three consecutive occasions. You tired of recreating the old covers of The Saturday Evening Post using hair pins and have watched all the straight porn ever put to film through this Tuesday.

Face it, you’re bored, lonely, frustrated, have more than a passing fascination with the inner workings of a slaughterhouse and have worn leather chaps on a lark, but then discovered they felt remarkably smooth on your skin.

In short, you are our target audience. It is with off-color yet manic sincerity and more than a little flop sweat we welcome you to Concentrated Awesome. We hope you think of us a dollop of slightly-past-its- expiration-date sour cream on the soggy, stale nachos of your life. You’ll thank us for the indigestion.