Everything seemed so much simpler as a child. Tell the truth, get a sticker. Go to the bank, get a sticker. Hop in a stranger's car, get multiple stickers. Get an A on the spelling bee, that's a gold star sticker. Avoid mutual assured destruction with an Iron Curtain country, ensuring the safety and survival of the entire planet until the next time someone—in a sticker reduced rage—tries attacking the world, get a sticker.
|Gold star for recognizing the awesomeness|
of sticking light adhesives to things!
But things have changed in my adulthood. No longer is sticky paper a valid form of payment. Go to the store, buy something, anything and try paying with your vintage Yellow Ranger becoming White Ranger Power Rangers sticker, while the clerk might point out this runs outside of canon, they definitely will not accept it as legal tender.
At this age, stickers go back to fulfilling their original purpose—serving absolutely no point. Never has anyone said “I sure wish I had a picture of Boober from Fraggle Rock that I could easily affix to my stationary and/or children.” It just never happens, because 1. Fraggle Rock and its associated sticker items faded out years ago and 2. The internet exists, you can type in “Fraggle Rock” or basically just “Fraggle” and get loaded to the gills with pictures of Boober (both G-rated and NC-17 Boober on Tosh action).
I suppose bumper stickers are stickers that decrease the value of a car, so I guess that is doing something.
Sure, when I used to give blood, I'd always take the “I Gave Blood Today” sticker and affix it to my face. This allowed people at the bar I'd inevitably go to that evening that the alcohol would hit me harder, and we'd all be in for a good time. I'd also do this on election days.
But those were very special circumstances, and I try not to do much of either nowadays.
Now I no longer have my meticulously organized sticker books. The ones with entire pages dedicated to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or “Ways Charlie dies on the hit TV show 'Lost'” or pictures of erotic vegetables (the radish section alone took up three pages). The purpose of these are now lost on me.
But I am left with a bigger mission, I must make stickers relevant to a largely sticker-proof society.
|Just imagine how amazingly a sticker|
like this would cover areolae.
When I collected those bushels of Captain Planet stickers, I only focused on them as fun depictions of Ma-Ti getting a tad too friendly with his monkey pal. What I didn't think is how excellent of star pasties they'd make. As an adult, I can safely realie this without seeming like a creeper (… as much). I can realize star pasties are overdone, but Captain Planet Pasties are a wholly untapped market. Not only would he cover up nipples, he'd put forth a very important dual purpose of the power of mullets when it comes to fighting pollution.
However, this untapped market really only applies to victims of abuse and those falsely claiming female empowerment, and where's the money in that? I need to keep looking for ideas.
All right, how about this. Go out and collect some scratch-and-sniff stickers. I mean a lot of them—at least a gross, probably more. Take them, spread them out on your bed and then roll around in them naked. How does this make you feel? For many respondents, they'll probably comment on how it's odd to have the rear end smelling like strawberry hard boiled eggs mixed with scorpions. But that's exactly the sticker loving audience I'm looking for!
So go out there, get some stickers and stink up the place with your new unique odor. You're not going to do it on your own, the power of the stickers will.