I have a scheme. It'll make me rich. And with minimal initial capital expenditure; in fact, for under $50 I can become a millionaire. Maybe. I just have to figure out advertising...
My idea is: "The Epiphany Hat".
OH yes, it's gonna be big.
Y'see, people go through sea-changes in their lives. Those sudden, shocking alterations in basic perspectives, wet paradigm shifts that shake the very bowels of their beings. Lives can change overnight. But the problem is, though the next morning one might float from one's bed on angel's wings and have one's path to school, work, the gym, the gay bar or whatever, paved in golden sunlight coalescing into yellow bricks beneath your ruby slippers (probably better suited for the bar than the gym, but you never know...), the problem is no-one else knows. You might think you're glowing with your newfound crotchful of lover-boy's cloying seed, or your new size 0 sundress, or high score in the maths paper in your groovy Nightmare Before Christ backpack but the passers-by don't Appreciate how Important the day is. How Significant and Sweet-smelling. Poor, ignorant fools...
That's where I come in. Cue fanfare and speed lines behind my tiny head. What one really needs on those brisk mornings blessed by the finger of the Lord is a simple way to let the world know you're new and/or improved, a totally different person who has so much more to give now you've Seen the Light or whatever. Sure, you find God and you clap on a crucifix and khaki pants. If you've found the Mighty Boosh you get a t-shirt and an eighties haircut. But what if you've found something without an easy indicator? A partner, a pet, a raison d'etre, a raisin muffin, or even something more intangible? Who makes intangible-themed t-shirts for shorthand revelation-signalling?
What you need is an all-purpose indicator. And I think "The Epiphany Hat" is the way to go. A peaked trucker's cap with either "I've had a epiphany, ask me what!" or "I'm a TOTALLY new person today, ask me why!" stitched in gold across the front. It is a perfect garment so the world understand that on that one day, You are New and Special and Taller. Unless you're special due to a new haircut – but that's a fucked reason to have an epiphany so don't waste my hat's time.
Now, how will this make me so very rich, you ask? Simple. I only make one hat of each design, for photographing. Because people will never actually want them. Ever.
Why? Because my target audience is the American fatty who survives their first day of a fried-cheese-free diet and wakes the next morning feeling like Kate fucking Moss, imagining there are ribs beneath their udders (guys or gals) and singing the Rocky theme song through fat-choked lungs. They'll be all excited and though the world can't see their miraculous weight loss (celebrated with a 42-ounce Coke from McDogbugers) they want everyone to know of the dawning of a new day. So they order my hat online, pay by credit card, and wait the six-to-eight weeks for me to deliver.
Which I won't, because within 24 hours the call of the grease will be too much and their new skinny self will be drowned in pig-lard and sugar-coated spare ribs and they'll be fatter than ever. If I'm lucky, they'll forget their impulse buy in their gorging and all their money is belong to me. If they remember later and query hat delivery we'll stall until their coronary. Or if they do demand a refund we'll hit them for massive service charges for doing exactly nothing and refund a pittance.
Those freaky kids who discover Manson and believe themselves to be the hippest and edgiest brat in the 'burbs gets a hat off the 'net late one night thank's to Daddy's Visa, then next day goes to school full of their unique brand of rebellion and excitement and mummy's eyeliner only to find the entire school's fringes have gone lopsided overnight and there's so many edgy kids there's no-one left in the middle except that guy who eats tuna from the tin and cries when you talk to him. Who will grow up to push all those fuckers RIGHT OFF THE EDGE, oh yes, oh, yes, he's right behind you cool bastards and you can smel lthe fish can't you, CAN'T YOU? Sobby McFishpants is coming for you, you counterculture curs! Rue the day! Grow wings! BOUNCE!...
What the fuck?
Right, who else? Oh, born-agains, perhaps, who quit when they find out the communion wine doesn't keep coming. Ninjas who find pyjamas don't make the man and there is a lot of rolling to be done on cold concrete floors before Sensei gives 'em a sword. Future hair-metalers who discover Rock God posing isn't quiiiiiiiite enough to be a musician (though is enough for pre-teen Myspace sex, thank god). Gym bunnies whose stairmasters will be inches thick in dust before their cap would have been due. All those try-and-fail fuckers who haemorrhage money and ideals for about 48 hours before collapsing exhausted and broke into their ruts – everyone else gets money from specific idiot audiences (the As Seen on TV crowd are fuckin' RAKING it in with the late night abdominator ads) but I'm targeting the whole mass of desperately unhappy fools clamouring for better lives through technology.
My hope is I'll con enough cash off the retarded herds to pay for my new Pilates classes. And a mountain bike as petrol costs are astronomical these days and I always said I'd start pedalling when prices got over a buck fifty. And with better earnings, I can eat Healthy! As I only eat fish and chips and pies as they're cheaper than macrobiotic clods of nuclear-free harp-seal approved peat. Not to mention the new wardrobe I'll need when I drop my winter weight from the winter of aught three... Hahah, those saps will pay for the new me! I need a hat...