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If you felt like it, you could make a lot of money — maybe not millions or even six-figures, but a nice sum — if you manufactured a line of serial killer bobblehead dolls.
Tasteless? Rude? Certainly.
But, in this world? You'd sell a buttload.
Which, as an aside, brings to mind an interesting question: imagine the fun you'd have negotiating the merchandising rights for such things! In that context, people have bought and sold paintings by John Wayne Gacy for years. Is there, I dunno, a John Wayne Gacy, Inc.? Is there a big shot art gallery that reps his clown paintings? One of those Klaus people with a ponytail?
In that spirit, would the bobblehead entrepreneur just dial-up the Richard Speck Foundation and ask to speak with someone in marketing? "I have this great idea and I think Richard's family might go for it! Could be some nice residuals in it!"
All of this occurs to me because bobblehead dolls have sorta always seemed to me to be associated with athletes. The bobbleheads are cute and playful; the sporting-event equivalent of a well-loved teddy bear.
And yet I just received an offer to pre-order one of what will only be 1,000 Iggy Pop bobblehead dolls. A company called Aggronautix is the culprit, and apparently they are immortalizing several punk artists in this fashion.
But: Iggy Pop?!
Is this where the Ig-Man is at this point in his career?
The man who once dove into broken glass and shot heroin enthusiastically and smeared peanut butter all over himself, all the while braying that he was a street-walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm … is now a bobblehead doll?
Clearly, Iggy's not the brainiac behind this campaign, but there must be something in it for him, right? On the one hand, I want to say, Jeez, Iggy, if things are that bad, hire a good attorney and renegotiate your royalty rates.
On the other hand, if the demographic of aging Stooges fans has sufficiently mellowed that they might enjoy a nice Iggy bobblehead on the mantel next to the Thanksgiving card from cousin Bessie while they sip a cup of tea and watch the Weather Channel, why, who am I to argue?
I do fear that this is a harbinger of things to come.
I suspect that there are plenty of Music People who actually COULD sell bobblehead dolls — they just didn't think of it first.
I'm talking to you, Kevin Cronin. I'm talking to you, Hall & Oates. I'm talking to you, Kenny "Look at My Creepy Phantom of the Opera Face" Rogers. I'm talking to you, estates of John Denver and Dan Fogelberg.
Finally, I'm talking to you, Celine Dion. I've got room for one more bobblehead on the Bobblehead Shelf in my music room. I'll stick my Celine bobblehead doll right there, tucked neatly between my Richard Ramirez and the dudes in the Wu Tang Clan.
It’s as though the collective skull of America just cracked open and, instead of gray matter leaking out, a mass of cockroaches, centipedes and assorted vermin crawled out and are swarming the streets.