Whiskas Kitty's Stew cat food, 5.5-oz. can (Kal Kan Foods, Inc.)




The first thing you need to understand about cat food flavors is that they're all the same. Oh sure, one variety might have a smidgen more chicken while another has a tad less beef, but for the most part they're just indistinguishable mush. The ever-so-slightly different formulations, the different flavor names, the different label colors assigned to each flavor -- that's all just to give you the comforting illusion that you're providing your cat with some semblance of variety when in fact you're just serving up the same ground-up cow cheeks and minced chicken gizzards again and again.

One of the more amusing cat food flavors of recent vintage was something called Kitty Stew, a name that I found handy whenever my cat tipped over the trash bin, knocked over a plant, or otherwise misbehaved. "You'd better cut that out," I'd say, "or I'll have you ground up into Kitty Stew!" Apparently I wasn't the only who noticed the product name's potentially doubled-edged meaning, because, in a classically inconspicuous move, the name of the flavor has been subtly altered -- it's now Kitty's Stew. (And in case anyone's wondering, it qualifies as "stew" because they tossed a few scraps of peas and diced carrot in with the cheeks and gizzards.)


 


Wick Folwer's False Alarm Mild Chili Kit, 3.03-oz. package (Reily Foods Company)




Okay, so we're all familiar with the notion of "two-alarm chili," the point being that the chili is so hot and spicy that it practically causes a blaze in your mouth. And we can therefore follow the logic that if hot chili is two-alarm, then mild chili, such as one prepares with this particular product, might jocularly be referred to as "false alarm," which happens to be the name that the product's manufacturers have chosen. But while the train of thought is simple enough, you've still got to wonder why anyone would choose to put the word "False" front and center on their package. Not only that, but a false alarm is, y'know, a bad thing, something we're taught not to do, a crime -- not exactly the most likely thing to name your product after.




Polaroid PopShot camera (Polaroid Corporation)




Instant-developing film is cool, and it's fun to see the photos automatically eject from the camera, but everyone knows what Polaroids are really about: taking nudie pictures. In an era when dropping off your dirty snapshots at Wal-Mart will result in, at best, a lot of unauthorized dupes being e-mailed among the photo-processing community (and, at worst, a visit from Mr. Friendly Policeman, depending on how young you or your partner look), Polaroids provide the perfect solution. And please, spare us your aghast reactions, your "Who, me?" exclamations -- c'mon, fess up, at some point you've probably been involved in some dirty Polaroids, either as subject or as, um, artist. And you can bet that the folks at Polaroid are well aware of this, although of course they can't admit it. They appear to have given us all a knowing wink, however, when they chose to call their most recent camera the PopShot -- a name that just happens to be a euphemism for the climactic scene in a porno movie. Mere coincidence? I think not.