The Holy Grail Press
Proudly Made On Earth By Earthlings
Word of the Every So Often
cannelure: (noun) (pronounced: can-nah-lure) Imagine a bullet. Now imagine the groove around the cylindrical part of the bullet. That groove is a cannelure. Mostly, its there to keep the top part – the bullet – onto the bottom part, the shell, until, of course, the bullet is fired.
The Daily Lesson
On August 19, 1924, Frank Epperson received the patent for the Eppsicle – “Epperson” and “icicle.” It all began in 1905, when Epperson was 11. Frank accidently left a cup of what was pretty much an early version of Kool-Aid outside on a winter night with a wooden stirrer in it. When he got up the next morning, it had frozen. Voilà! A frozen treat on a stick. So he tried it. His friends tried it. And they all liked it. Epperson, though, didn’t do very much with his “invention,” at least, not right away, except make them for his kids, who called them: Pop’s ‘sicles. It was in the early 1920s that Epperson decided to sell his frozen treats at a carnival, just as a side gig. And the people loved his Popsicles. So he copyrighted them.
In 1925 Epperson sold the rights to the Joe Lowe Company out of New York, and they took it and ran, creating the Twin Popsicle – two sticks so you can share. As well, they came up with the Fudgesicle, the Creamsicle, and Dreamsicle. Over the years Popsicles and their kin have moved to several different companies. They are currently a Division of Unilever. Hundreds of millions of Popsicles, in over 30 different flavours, are eaten every year. Epperson didn’t make a whole lot of money off of his Popsicles, around $50,000 for the rights. Yeah, I’d take 50 grand, but it’s not going to last that long. On the other hand, Unilever’s ice cream division, which Popsicle is under, rakes in about 8 billion a year. Frank Epperson died on October 22, in 1983. It is not known if they served Popsicles at his funeral.
Cartoon of the Week
Another Day, Still No Zombies
Stuff
Dreaming of Heaven
The nun stood in front
of the boys’ Sunday morning
sixth grade CCD class,
as big and black and unmovable
as any mountain there ever was,
and from somewhere behind
all of those black clothes
she dreamt out loud
about heaven,
while Billy Balinski,
with his mind out the window,
tried to figure out what the heck
CCD stood for.
One of the C’s had to be Catholic,
but durned if he could get the other two.
“And in heaven the wine
flows from fountains like water…”
Billy’s uncle had given him wine once.
Billy still remembered
running to the bathroom
to spit it out
while his uncle laughed like a lunatic
Billy had seen once in a movie.
“…and in heaven the streets
are cobbled with gold…”
Billy couldn’t ride his bicycle on the street
in front of his grandmother’s house
because it was cobbled.
But if it must be cobbled,
why not chocolate?
At least you could eat chocolate.
“…and only good little boys and girls
get to go to heaven…”
Billy wondered if anyone
would be able to hear
Judy Jefferson screaming
from inside the cinder block box
where the janitors burned their trash
on the playground,
or if anyone would see
Billy running away.
Billy knew that he was slowly strangling,
but he dared not fool with his collar
unless he wanted his necktie to fall off again.
Jesus hung over the blackboard
looking down on the nun
with sad, swollen eyes;
the blood on his hands
still looked fresh.
Billy couldn’t help but imagine
that Jesus would rather be someplace else.
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