Thursday, November 29, 2012

stanislav's atomic adventure - part 2


The strap line for the TV ad for their first Geigobag was decided:
"It might be dope, but you gotta be wise to the isotope. BUY A GEIGOBAG NOW OR DIE." (As the Cadbury's gorilla collapses amongst the drums and symbols, this would flash across the screen.)

Brutal, direct and very very clear. Radiation safety isn't a joke. So they couldn't make it one. But they did need to speak in a tone that matched the hipness of the bags. 
Vivienne Westwood called and said she'd endorse the first bag, which she'd name the Hoxton Holster, provided that the bag was shaped like a giant banana and had a holster section inside of it. Also, anything with the word 'Hoxton' in it always appealed to 17 year olds who wear skinny jeans and tweed jackets because they think it's 'offbeat and unique.'

Bananas were to become the tool, the device, in which to give radiation a bad name,  and make people wise to the fact that if they ate five bananas in one sitting, they could kick the bucket.

This was the result:

Nastaja took on a bit of a PR role. She kicked off her red faux leather heels - which were smuggled in by Westerners during the winter of '76 - and got to work placing stories about bananas and how bad they were for you in various newspapers across the country.

This was her press release:

Murder by banana, run run.

Pripyat, UKRAINE: Studies have shown* that bananas can kill you. In a recent survey of over four people, in the small town of Pripyat, Ukraine, evidence concludes that traces of potassium found naturally in bananas are known to cause atomic-sized bowel bomb in human beings if eaten continuously in one sitting of over six hours.

Professor Stanislav Broblovsky: 
"Comrades, I am science professor. I created very hip handbag with Vivienne Westwood. Hoxton Holster is bag shaped like banana. With geiogocounter built in. You must buy one. For nice price 5.99. And be safe. From this murderous fruit."

The four recent deaths took place at an advertising agency, after a grocery store client delivered a hamper that included two hundred bananas. The mail boy - Kievan Rus - witnessed the event through a hole in the ceiling. (He was confined to the attic until he could come up with a good enough poster idea for the Ukranian version of Wet Wipes, to elevate him to tea making status.)  

Even though the incident also involved 42 liters of crack-cocaine-acid-vodka punch being funneled down each of Kievan's superiors' ears, we are certain that it was in fact the fifty bananas each that killed them.* 
*study not available on request. Top secret.
Nastasja had grown up on the far end of Lenin St, in an apartment filled with orange and brown tones. Her favourite band was Russian techno artist 'Trotsky Tsar,' although after the iron curtain had fallen, and Chernobyl had exploded, her tastes veered more towards cover versions of boy band groups. Her current fave was Shayne Ward. Just like Stanislav, who is also "world's biggest fan."

Nastaja loves wearing chunky knits and polyester harem trousers, and Stanislav loves wearing real Diesel jeans, which he buys from an e-commrece portal in the Czech Republic.

They're both into watching porn. They don't reckon it's a crude or delinquent activity, but one as a highly formidable work of art. Scenes involving forests, French maids and Xerox machines are their favourite.

It's six months later, and the Geigobag is doing phenomenally well. Most of the 'city slickers' in Ukraine's capital city Kiev own a Geigobag, and not because they have an incessant fear of bananas, potassium or radiation in general, but just because the bag looks so uncool, it's done a 360 and become cool again.

Unfortunately, no one out of the former Soviet Union is interested in wearing the bag, barring Vivienne Westwood who wears hers when she cycles through Battersea Park. But Vivienne's marbles are always not quite found, and sometimes very much lost. The bag never really took off in Hoxton either - even though people there insist that their skinny jeans, tweed jackets and heavy-set spectacles are totally original and nonchalant. 

The Royal London Hospital took a bit of notice and ordered 10 units to use as catheter bags. They thought the upbeat colour of the banana-shaped bag would help patients be happy, and that the banana would serve as reminder that fruit is not always what it seems. 

So they needed a new plan. Stanislav and Nastasja wandered around Pripyat, casually wondering what the fuck they were gonna do - when they realised they could turn the ship around. Why does RADIATION ALWAYS HAVE TO BE A BAD THING?

Everyone goes on and on and on about how atomic energy can severely denature your DNA, but nobody speaks about the effervescent, glowing effect, except in the opening credits of a The Simpsons episode when Homer touches the plutonium with a pair of forceps.

They could harness this glowing energy and make a shitload of ...Energy Drinks. Yahtzee!

So many names. So many possibilities. So many target audiences. Ravers. Students. Tired people. Such a saturated market. Where would they start?

Nastasja and Stanislav continued their amble through the streets of Pripyat, wearing their Geigobags as fanny packs, looking cool, humming the tune to Shayne Ward's 'That's My Goal', and considering the potential demand for radiated energy drinks throughout the Eastern Bloc. 

Tired, they fought for space on a remaining patch of grass, and, taking in the sights of eroded metal, empty flower beds, contaminated puddles, and a family of five-eyed, aquamarine-coloured, winged frogs playing charades under a bent and rotting lamp post, they both announced at exactly, precisely, the same moment:

'Radium. It give you wingz!'

They ran like the clappers over to the Ogilvy offices in the bowels of the sewage pipe, and broke the news to Kievan Ross, mail boy turned ad agency exec.
But first, they needed to concoct the drink. So they donned their 8000 kilo lead suits, and slowly dragged their way over to Chernobyl Reactor number 3. As number 4 had already exploded, they needed to use a fully working atomic lab that was still functioning.

So they grabbed a pair of forceps and started chucking pieces of radium together, with two parts vinegar, two parts strontium, two parts cesium, and a sprinkling of plutonium just for luck. 
The result was a glowing, highly evocative liquid.
"Better throw in taurine and 12 cups of caffeine, Stani. If people who drink this need to physically glow, they should glow all night long."
The result? Literally A-Bomb in a Bottle, by Radium. Which gives you wingz. Not 'a bomb' but 'A-Bomb' for 'atomic bomb.'

"We should give each flavour new name!" said Stani, getting completely excited and sweating up a tropical hurricane in his lead suit.
Hiroshima flavour (strawberry)
Khrushchev flavour (elderflower - for the weight conscious)
Nagasaki flavour (grape)
Cuban Missile Crisis flavour (apple & grapefruit - for the mature palette)

For the extra feisty, and served in a bottle of the same guessed it.... BANANA FLAVOUR. ("With extra isotopes!" instead of "fortified with vitamin C!")
Banana flavour would be called "Chernobyl flavour", obvs.
...and Three Mile Island flavour (Strawberry).

They worked for 25 days non-stop, not a minute of sleep – and no need for it, being fuelled rocket-propelled by their very own energy drink.
All they needed was one teaspoon of the Chernobyl Banana variety, and they were working like bees, and buzzing in a similar fashion to bees, for an entire 24 hours. Suddenly, their 7000 tonne lead suits felt like mere single-lined duck feather coats, as they ran circles around the city during their work breaks, stopping only to fulfill their porno fantasy in a forest, or in an office with a Xerox machine.

On the 26th day, they sat down on a crate of their new merchandise, in the control room of Reactor Number 3, and surveyed the extravaganzah of pure, uncensored, radium-fuelled energy drink bottles.

Just that moment, the phone started to ring.

‘Ya was is dit?’answered Stani.

‘Howzitttt? Is thus professor Bru-blovsky? Aah hear you’re selling some TIT energy drinks thet aah think would go well with a couple-a Jaegies. Aa'v sent over an order. It’s in your fex machine. Cheeou for neeoiuw.’

Stani propelled himself over to the Xerox fax machine, over which Nastasja was draped, half naked and rearing to go. She looked gorgeous - although Stani could swear she might have been growing a third ear, but put it down to his own sleep-deprivation. Anyway, in his excitement he flung her out of the way, and grabbed the document from its tray. 

It said:

2000 crates of A-Bomb In A Bottle radium energy drinks, to be delivered to :

AVASTAR NIGHT CLUB. Rivonia. Johannesburg.



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