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People get paid lots of money to think up products the public will snatch up in droves.  Visions of insufficient supply bubble up over the heads of dreaming CEOs, initiating a satisfying firming up of product price, machines running at full capacity, lines of trucks waiting to load up and disseminate to the clamorous across the country.  A hit product spikes stock prices, guarantees jobs, and earns bonuses, while a dud product has the opposite impact.

For the product creator, a successful idea can make a career, while failure can sink one.  The other day, a friend mentioned a brief Wikipedia blurb on a 1970s product linked at the end of this post.  Details of what happened with the product I know not, but I do know it caused quite a stink.

The Colgate-Palmolive Company had designs on hitting it big in the huge snack food market.  Someone of imagination thought up the idea of roasted whole soybeans as a munchie, proposed the idea, and CPC invested in the product.  It gurgled out into production, on out for sale to a curious and ripe for release public.

No drama intended with this story, so I will say right now the rancid plan…backfired.  Within months, this new snack had an unenviable reputation for befouling air – post customer consumption.  Perhaps the better product plan would have been one of harnessing the fuel source spawned by the chemical reaction triggered within unwitting human digestive tracts.

No company would wish association with a product harmful to people, but beyond actual harm exists a range of aural and olfactory misfire where humour breeds and silliness roams.  This mephitic product, given the unfortunate but apt name of Bambeanos by the product enticement savvy CPC marketeers, who likely never tried one of the roasted fuel pellets, developed a reputation what spread faster than the speed of sound of the machine gun toots it generated.  Avoid Bambeanos, superb flatulence generator.

I picture mischievous children generously offering an unknowing sibling a handful of Bambeanos.  “Here, you can have the bag, eat all you wish!”  They’d watch from a safe distance, upwind from a fan with stifled amusement and much anticipation, knowing biological chemistry needed only a short amount of time before the first rumbling cheese of roiling effluence gurgled and tickled its way round the meandering intestinal tract to atmospheric freedom.  Once the malodorous and unseen vapour spewed, deployed, and hung heavy, the vile instigator would howl up their clever triumph over the humbled, cannonading sibling.

To me, the most unfortunate were those who consumed Bambeanos whilst at a theatre.  Imagine a first date between two people, best behaviour with halos on for both, sharing a bag of Bambeanos.  Unless they watched Blazing Saddles, I doubt the poor pooping patrons could long last without an angry mob of nearby watchers chasing them from the unventilated, fumigated theatre.

Nor do I doubt their symphonic accompaniment would have played well watching The Magic Flute, although it may be with some mastery of anal sphincter muscles and the capability of holding a rectal rhythm, perhaps they might have blended with the music score.

Imagine the company meetings in the wake of thousands of customers with blown out undies, the countless pull my finger attempts, the pinched noses and quick escapes of those caught up in the wake of a bombastic barrage.  The poor product creator wallowed in corporate anonymity no more.

Carl Sagan once said aliens would detect life on earth because of an excess of methane, the universal by-product of pressure relieving animals.  In 1975, the proof was right there, courtesy of America’s short-lived try of Bambeanos.

Bambeanos

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