Every seventeen days, a rabbi comes to the factory to look over our machinery, inspect the mustard seed and other ingredients, and then tell us that with absolute certainty that Mustard Man mustard is not Kosher.
It’s not like we hired him to do this. One day, he just showed up and wandered around before saying something rude in Yiddish and stomping off.
Who is he? I’m not even sure he’s a real rabbi.
Do they have badges or licenses? Is there a serial number in that beanie thing they wear?
I think he’s an escaped mental patient.
Just as Mrs. Butterworth’s bottle has a human shape, so does Mustard Man Mustard. But it’s not the shape of Mustard Man.
It’s shaped like Howard B. Kremple, former vat inspector. His untimely death resulted in a large settlement with his family, the disposal of three tons of Mustard Man German-Style Mustard, and the distinctive shape of the Limited Edition bottle.
It resembles Kremple in all but two regards:
Howard was completely bald.
Howard wasn’t smiling like that when they pulled him out of the vat. His face was locked in a hideous, silent scream.
Still, it’s better than nothing.
Just like Heinz marketed green ketchup for kids, there was a blue Mustard Man as well.
It looked cool and it glowed in the dark, but it tasted revolting. But not as revolting as the music they used in the commercial.
Take the rhyme “The Muffin Man” and substitute “Mustard” for “Muffin.”
Sing that six times in a row without gagging. I dare you.
They stopped making it when the glowing blue dye was found to cause blindness in laboratory rats. Or was it ovarian cancer?
Something like that.
We lost a fortune on it.
Still, it looked pretty cool.
Dear Loyal Fans,
Mustard Man would like to thank all of you who have written him in the past three months.
This has all been one huge misunderstanding. What I thought was a sampler pack for a condiment manufacturer’s convention in Istanbul turned out to be 10 kilos of high-grade heroin.
This was not my heroin. Mustard Man is strictly a coke and pot kind of guy. Needles are disgusting, messy things.
I’m sure that this will all work itself out. My lawyer assures me.
Once again, I thank you for your support.
Mustard Man (aka “Prisoner 0175236”)
Dear Justice League of America,
It is with much regret that I must decline your invitation to join your esteemed organization. Not only am I an ordinary person who lacks superpowers or technological wonders to simulate superpowers, but I am under exclusive contractual obligation to the Mustard Man Brand Mustard Company.
However, should the world be under attack by mustard-vulnerable alien invaders, much like the Martians in the “War of the Worlds” story were fatally vulnerable to the common cold virus, then please do not hesitate to call upon me through my numeric pager.
Enclosed: sampler package.
Yes, I’m on call, but there is no Mustard Signal.
All I have is a numeric pager. No cell. No alpha. Just a callback number.
When they need me, they page me. Usually, I get a day or two advance warning, but there’s been emergency gigs.
Those pay double, and they usually involve Dijon Lad, too.
By the way, that porn video you’ve seen around the Internet? Hoax. Not only is that guy fat, but a mustard packet condom?
That’s way too small for the real Mustard Man.
Also, Mustard Man wouldn’t touch Paris Hilton with a ten-foot sausage, either.
So, you want to know the truth?
Fine. I don’t like mustard on my hot dogs. There. I said it. I’m a sauerkraut and relish kind of guy.
On hamburgers, give me ketchup, grilled onions, and maybe those bean sprouts they like in California. Or perhaps some guacamole.
After watching Pulp Fiction, I started dipping my fries in mayo. Before that, I’d drown them in nacho cheese.
The last Mustard Man put mustard on everything. And when I say everything, I mean everything.
However, the three teenagers they arrested him with in Bangkok looked more red than yellow.
I have no idea why anybody would kidnap Dijon Lad. Maybe if his parents were divorced and one of them wanted custody, sure, but the guy who they hired to play Dijon Lad is 23 or 24.
As for the 30 million dollars they want, there’s no way the company will pay. Sure, it’s a huge company that owns Mustard Man Mustard, but they can always hire another actor to play that role. Or they’ll just go with a CGI character mascot.
Maybe they’ll kidnap me too.
I have no illusions. Life is brutal and short.
Care for some mustard?
Let’s go over this one more time.
Mustard Man looks like a superhero, but he’s just a mascot.
There are two key differences between a superhero and a mascot:
So, when you run out of mustard, call Mustard Man. In a real emergency, scream for Superman or use the Batsignal or dial 911.
Yes, Bobby, both can have sidekicks. But Dijon Lad doesn’t have super powers either.
Don’t you feel silly now?
Now do your pal Mustard Man a favor and get help. This girder is really heavy and I can’t feel my legs.