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Stob: Something for the ladies
Overdoing the sweet sherry
Stob (Previously: Sam ‘The Spam’ Osborne, the notorious spamillionaire, is being surprisingly frank about the goods he pushes.)
I asked Osborne: "So are all your medical products aimed at men?"
"By no means."
He pushed a leaflet towards me. I read:
Want to lose weight quickly and painlessly?
What could be more natural or organic than sleep?
Snore away those problem pounds and get the body you deserve with CelluNite!
"Are you really claiming that with these pills people can diet while they sleep?"
He shrugged. "It’s medically proven that no woman gains weight while she sleeps."
"What about if she falls asleep in an aircraft at high altitude, and wakes up at sea level?" I asked facetiously, momentarily letting my inner geek run amok.
He looked at me blankly, as well he might.
"So what exactly is in this CelluNite pill?"
"Oh no, I could hardly tell you that, Ms Stob. Although," he leaned forward confidentially, "I can reveal that very few CelluNite patients get scurvy."
I changed tack. "But you don’t just sell health products, do you?"
"Ah no. Recently we have been expanding into the leisure market. Let me show you. Would you mind passing me that box?"
I followed his pointing finger to a crowded shelf at my shoulder. It was filled with merchandise. Cartons of CelluNite tablets. A dozen childproof press-and-twist bottles of KnobFood II. A presentation box with a pre-printed gift tag ("Happy Loving Holidays to the Big Man in my Life") containing twenty capsules of Viagrazine Générique pour l’homme par Kelvin Calf. ("The French touch," said Osborne proudly. "Can’t beat Gallic sophistication for the Christmas market.") And, at the far end, a shoebox.
I picked it up, but it had been put on the shelf upside-down and its contents fell out. On the floor lay a snub-nosed cylinder of translucent pink plastic, about nine inches in length. Near its blunt end it had a strange appendage, like a malformed limb. It looked quite revolting.
The fall had somehow started the thing’s electric motor buzzing. It slithered forward along the carpet like a wounded crab. Its ‘leg’ touched my foot. I let out an involuntary shriek.
"There you go. The John Bunny 7000 – it’s cliterally, ha-ha, the best model we have ever made. What do you think, Ms Stob?"
I kicked the thing under the desk where it couldn’t touch me and gathered my thoughts.
"Does it support Bluetooth®?" I asked brightly.
[To be continued] ®