pietrisycamollaviadelrechiotemexity

So I was at the store the other day, passing through the usual traffic. Bellringers out front in full fireman-getup to add versimillitude to the cold wait for someone to inevitably, somewhere in the country, drop a krugerand into the kettle. The stop-and-stutter human traffic intermittently stopping dead and staring at the aisles, confounded, in that storm's-eye pause before jumping up and down and shrieking at the monolith before being given the gift of murder, space stations, and the Blue Danube (or baked goods, meat, and produce, whichever). An infant staring huge-eyed at the ceiling, clearly anticipating the space station part.

There's a big stand of Fondue Fountains in an open area. That's the product in question here, the Fondue Fountain.

Now, if you're like me--and I realize many aren't, unique and beautiful snowflake that I am--words tend to cause certain images to arise in your consciousness. Furthermore, if you're especially like me, the images that arise involve something spewing a spray of molten magma-like mixture of oil, cheese, and possibly chocolate depending on the exact nature of the fountain's use that night; children screaming in terror as sizzling scalding oily doom spatters over the room, adults clawing at their eyes and screaming, unoriginally (many adults aren't very original), "My eyes! My eyes!"; and family dogs running around in circles and barking while family cats sensibly hide as many rooms away as the house will allow.

What I'm saying here is that Fondue Fountain is not a reassuring product name for me. I acknowledge this may be just me.
posted by Gar @ 9:59 AM