Inuit For The Money

You've heard that expression "She [or he] could sell ice cubes to the Eskimos." Let's pause for a second to update that ancient aphorism: "He [or she] could sell ice cubes to the Inuit."

Be forewarned, ye potential marketing targets, y'all potential ice-buying Inuit:

According to a recent report in The Wall Street Journal, designer ice cubes are on their way.

Yup. By October, you may be seeing "secured spring water ice cubes" at your favorite foodstuffs emporium. It says 12 cubes for about $3.99. For all I know, they're already in your store's, um, cube-icles.

We already know that people are willing to shell out two bucks a pop for allegedly pure alleged spring alleged water. (Just out of curiosity I'm wondering how much that equates to per gallon. Of water. Not gasoline. I'll leave it up to some sociologist to do his or her doctoral dissertation on the Price Per Gallon Willingness to Pay Ratio as a demographic and socioeconomic paradigm marker.) And we already know typical municipal water suppliers in the U.S. impose stricter standards than those mandated for designer water. But marketing is marketing, and people are willing to pay a premium for a beautiful name and a beautiful label with an ordinarily wonderful (or wonderfully ordinary) taste masquerading as something more, better, eloquent, classy. In a word: It. (In-You: It, if we're branding for customers way up North.)

If you're interested, these new cubes will be available (from suppliers I'd rather not hump for) as ice cube trays "containing purified municipal tap water" in plain or various flavors.

I think it's a safe bet you won't see these flavors: Oatmeal, Rusty, Dysentery, Particulate Matter, Wastewater. Maybe WASP.

Remember those old supposedly subliminal print ads in the Sunday Times Magazine, the ones where you could spot breasts "tastefully" hidden in a portion of the ice cubes in the ads for Scotch?

Now we can simply sell ready-made ice cubes already shaped into the body part of your choice.

Hold it. I gotta go. My phone's ringing off the hook. These people love my concepts.

They want to talk turkey.

Somehow, though, I don't think anyone wants ice cubes with wattles.

Maybe I should offer them in The Laughorist Store anyway.

Just for laughs, of course.

And oodles of very, very cold cash.