Alana PatelAdd to cart
Plutonian’s one true love, newswoman Alana Patel broke his heart, and in doing so, helped set in motion the series of events that forever turned the hero into a villain.
Faded perfume, cigarette smoke, and gin.
Bagpipe Dog Alchemy LabAdd to cart
Loyal. Faithful. Perpetually rehearsing “Scotland the Brave.” This is a mascot with real staying power. Bagpipe Dog will outlive us all.
Gin and pine needle with lime and white juniper.
COVFEFEAdd to cart
Is it abstract nonsense poetry? Surrealist performance art? Cryptography so subtle and devious that it would make an Enigma machine blush? The verbal component of whatever spell that orb casts? Safe word? A typo fueled by cheap hooch, NoDoz, and poor impulse control? Is negative press covfefe anything like French press covfefe?
This perfume makes no fucking sense: orange marshmallow cream, bitter lemon, black pepper, orange carnation, and gin.
Proceeds from this late-night nonsense benefit the ACLU, which has been working overtime to defend the rights and liberties guaranteed to everyone in this country by the laws and Constitution of the United States.
KnucklebonesAdd to cart
You hear a clatter on the ground behind you, and a small bleached bone smacks against your foot. Cloaked in shadows between the tents, three men crouch playing knucklebones. Distress clouds the face of one of the men, while another bursts into a wicked smile and the last one sighs in relief. Scooping up his winnings and shaking his head, the victor makes a soft ‘tsk’ noise as he reaches towards the loser’s chest, positioning his hand over the man’s heart. Pressing forward, his hand moves through cloth, flesh, muscle, and bone to extract the beating organ. Tossing the heart onto the ground, he says to you, “Mind handing me those bones, buddy? I’ve got a game to run here.”
Black musk, bay rum, lime fougere, orange blossom water, gin, and tobacco.
Protoplasmic OozeAdd to cart
The protoplasmic ooze results in man. It arrives at thoughts and emotions, it builds lofty ideals and great civilisations. The objector urges that this proof of progress is no proof of the permanence of any personality. No proof, but certainly no suggestion of disproof. Again, we find no trace of waste. Change and the revolution of one form of matter into another are evident to us, but no waste, no loss, is anywhere discoverable. The noblest product of the universe so far as we are certain of it is the rounded and accomplished personality of man. Why should nature everywhere display her absolute incapacity to cast away an atom of her lowest product, and yet be able to plunge into nothingness her very greatest?
– the Occult Review, January 1905
A pretense of civility, the height of anthropocentric arrogance: a lime-washed gentleman’s fougere with a pinch of snuff, an insouciant whiff of gin, and the memory of an amorphous, sluggish, protoplasmic greenness.