Vino, well aged
"...brute, with the original marshmallows. Enter the mixed-up, crazy world of halfsies, where the king wears half a crown and walks with a hop..."
So went the oddvoiced bark for Penderghast's Cereal Museum from an old dogtrack loud speaker, the only salvageable remnant from the once renowned dog track 'Canker Downs'. An earthquake had managed to ingest every square inch of it about 23 years ago, just long enough to begin a second generation of postboom indigents, worksearchers and memorymongers. Any town that has even been through an economic collapse could relate. Which was the reason that Vino Penderghast had taken that lone doublebarreled bullhorn from the rock and rubble, why he had fixed it to the roof of an abandoned laundry store, why he had taken a hobby and turned it into a veritable forest of delights for all ages to frolic in. If Disney could do it, so could Penderghast.
The storefront displayed a solid wall of already faded cereal box covers, patched together in a flawless mosaic, all rare and hard to find, out of print brands: Croonchy Stars, Fruit Brute, Apple Yo's, and many other forgotten breakfast mainstays. It prevented sunlight from entering the museum (with the exception of two tiny beams of light, cut from the Fruit Brutes' eyes, which he kept covered when he was not keeping surveillance, when the ultra-rare family was stopping by for a nostalgic glance at his displays), which gave the museum just the feel Vino was looking for--a dark, drab windowless kitchen, complete with dirty floors and hanging bulbs. It was just as he remembered it from his own childhood. Minus the raging alcoholic mother who threw hot bacon at him if he dared wake her before 1pm on the weekend. It was in the midst of this chaos that he drew close to Captain Crunch, Tony the Tiger, The Diggum Frog, and countless other cereal icons.
The aisles were narrow and lined with plexiglass topped pedestals, each one carved with a different base insignia, presumably to match the style and personality of the cereal it displayed. Inside the plexiglass were bowls filled with cereal, baked and glazed like pottery, although what Vino used was more like vinyl shrinkwrapping. In place of milk, which would have spoiled long ago, a urethane-based epoxy resin was used, which, when dried thoroughly, took on a smooth, milky look, the perfect compliment to a permanent exhibit of rare and wonderful breakfast flakes. For Vino, it was the realization of a dream.
It was also the perfect cover for his real business: endangered species fur trade.
So went the oddvoiced bark for Penderghast's Cereal Museum from an old dogtrack loud speaker, the only salvageable remnant from the once renowned dog track 'Canker Downs'. An earthquake had managed to ingest every square inch of it about 23 years ago, just long enough to begin a second generation of postboom indigents, worksearchers and memorymongers. Any town that has even been through an economic collapse could relate. Which was the reason that Vino Penderghast had taken that lone doublebarreled bullhorn from the rock and rubble, why he had fixed it to the roof of an abandoned laundry store, why he had taken a hobby and turned it into a veritable forest of delights for all ages to frolic in. If Disney could do it, so could Penderghast.
The storefront displayed a solid wall of already faded cereal box covers, patched together in a flawless mosaic, all rare and hard to find, out of print brands: Croonchy Stars, Fruit Brute, Apple Yo's, and many other forgotten breakfast mainstays. It prevented sunlight from entering the museum (with the exception of two tiny beams of light, cut from the Fruit Brutes' eyes, which he kept covered when he was not keeping surveillance, when the ultra-rare family was stopping by for a nostalgic glance at his displays), which gave the museum just the feel Vino was looking for--a dark, drab windowless kitchen, complete with dirty floors and hanging bulbs. It was just as he remembered it from his own childhood. Minus the raging alcoholic mother who threw hot bacon at him if he dared wake her before 1pm on the weekend. It was in the midst of this chaos that he drew close to Captain Crunch, Tony the Tiger, The Diggum Frog, and countless other cereal icons.
The aisles were narrow and lined with plexiglass topped pedestals, each one carved with a different base insignia, presumably to match the style and personality of the cereal it displayed. Inside the plexiglass were bowls filled with cereal, baked and glazed like pottery, although what Vino used was more like vinyl shrinkwrapping. In place of milk, which would have spoiled long ago, a urethane-based epoxy resin was used, which, when dried thoroughly, took on a smooth, milky look, the perfect compliment to a permanent exhibit of rare and wonderful breakfast flakes. For Vino, it was the realization of a dream.
It was also the perfect cover for his real business: endangered species fur trade.
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