Everything must go

I believe the Man has hit the first major snag in his long and weird cloning scheme.

No one is buying the Small Man.

It's not for lack of interested customers: Many, many have come to observe the product of the Man's elaborate Bay B experiments. They come every day. They come, and they regard the Small Man with admiration. They heft him, sniff him, bounce him about to assess his weight and durability. They photograph his asymmetrical, bloated countenance for posterity. They even envelop him in capes and cloaks of varying colors, presumably to better gauge his true pigment and pallor.

Some — Laddle, Dark Mistress of the Hellhounds, for one — have even returned multiple times to re-examine and re-bounce the Small Man. Comparison shoppers, I expect.

And yet, no buyers. So far as I can tell, not even any bids.

I am not sure if the Man is asking too high a price for his creation, or if there is some inherent flaw in the product itself. But judging by the amount of wobbling, sputtering, and leakage, I'd wager the Small Man is not the world's finest example of craftsmanship.

And to be honest, I cannot for the life of me imagine what the market is for flatulent clones of pasty inept drunkards. But if it will move things along and put this whole ordeal behind us, I'll make the following offer: Anyone who deals with me directly can have the Small Man for half price. I'll even throw in an impressively large and solid Rodent gratis.

Hurry. Supplies are limited.