Bleam

It took three or four viewings before I noticed how weird the Bleam™ commercials were. They were the sort of harmless crap you see during any given station break, full of happy people and peppy music. It was the kind of empty visual trash that you automatically ignore, or just don't realize you're watching.

"Bleam™!" Shouted the voice of an over-zealous pitch man, "Got a problem? Try Bleam™!"

Cut to the young couple. Hubby has made a mess of dinner and Wifey is standing in judgment, hands on hips.

"They make it look so easy on TV!" the Husband shrugs.

"Lucky we have Bleam™." the Wife shakes her head with a smirk. Within seconds, a large tub of multicolored paste is hoisted onto the counter and she begins wiping the counter with it.

"Bleam™!" the pitch man insists, unseen, "Gleam with Bleam™!"

As I said, I didn't pay it much mind until I'd seen it enough times and the wrongness of it sunk in.

The 'dinner' Hubby botched was some sort of stomach casing that had been filled with entrails until it had burst, seeping pinkish goo onto the counter-top. That was strange enough on its own, but then I noticed Wifey was wiping the counter down with handfuls of the rainbow goop.

No gloves, no rag, just a wad of paste in each hand, frantically worked into the stone surface. Okay, so weird commercials are nothing new. It seems like a few ad agencies out there think nonsense sells, and maybe they're right. Hell, it got ME to notice their product.

The next wave of ads was even more concerning.

"Bleam™! Dream of Bleam™!"

Two children are playing outside. One falls in the grass, another gets mud on his clothes. They rumble through the back door of an idyllic little home, only to be stopped by a Grandmotherly type.

She shakes her finger at the twin terrors, and reaches for that tub of Bleam™. Pulling out handfuls, she starts smearing the kids down from head to toe. Their hair sticks together in clumps and their eyes redden and water with crumbs of congealed goop rolling from their faces.

One of the children tries to wipe it away from his face, only to have his palm sharply slapped away by Grandma.

At that point, I figured Bleam™ was worth Googling. I've never considered myself vulnerable to corporate influence, but I'd been thoroughly confused and figured that if I knew what this junk was, I could go back to not thinking about it.

Nothing of value could be found. Bleam™ seemed to be a random slang term from the '90s, but other than that I was as lost as ever. What was the point of an ad campaign for a product that was neither explained nor easy to locate?

That's when I decided to find and buy a bucket of the stuff.

"Do you have Bleam™?" I asked the helpful superstore associate.

"What is it?" she looked puzzled.

There was an awkward silence. I had no idea what it was.

"It's Bleam™." I finally explained, nodding as if she now knew what I meant.

"I don't know, I don't think that's in my department." she shook her head, a clear reversal of my gesture. With that, she turned her back and began meddling with cans of peas.

"Bleam™." I repeated.

Nothing.

I don't know what I thought would happen, but… yeah. I put my hand on the girl's shoulder to get her attention. Naturally, she recoiled from me and shot me the same look you see on the Discovery Channel right before some small thing gets taken out of the game.

"Nevermind." I snapped. This time it was my choice to turn and walk away.

"Bleam™!" I heard a familiar voice echoing through the aisles.

Turning to the electronics department, I was assaulted by a volly of television screens showing the latest Bleam™ advertisement.

There I was. On the screens. All of them.

I stood, dumbfounded, looking at several of myself standing dumbfounded. The camera angle just… didn't work. When I turned to look into the lense, I was met instead by a tall display of DVDs.

"Bleam™!" the voice insisted.

I circled the DVD display and proceeded toward the location of the imaginary camera. Something about the situation seemed comforting as opposed to off-putting or scary. I felt like this was the right way to go, now, and that someone out there was finally helping me uncover the truth about this frustrating, obnoxious ad campaign.

Bleam™.

The buckets of Bleam™ were stacked on a palette at the end of the fishing supply aisle. I have no idea what it was doing there, and I didn't care in the least. There was the shining pyramid of off-white tubs and rainbow labels, displaying nothing but the one brand name I'd heard so often by now.

I picked up a heavy tub and turned it around. No instructions, no ingredients, no bar code. Nothing. It was just Bleam™.

Looking left and right quickly, I popped the square lid off and peered into the one gallon abyss.

Empty.

Tossing the tub aside, I quickly opened another tub. Empty again. Three, four, five… ALL of the tubs… heavy at first, then empty when opened. They were completely clean like a licked platter.

"Bleam™!" the voice called in the distance. Was it mocking me?

I must have been pretty irate by the time I stormed out of the store. I drew no small amount of stares from customers, and two security professionals were already wheeling after me by the time I reached the front doors. I was gone faster than they could haul their fat asses out, however.

Big deal, right? Opening a bunch of empty packages…

I would have no more of this Bleam™ farce. That much I decided. When I plopped back down in front of my television, I made a promise to myself that I'd change the channel as soon as a Bleam™ commercial reared its fugly head.

"Bleam™!"

Click.

"With Bleam™ you can-"

Click.

Every channel cut to a Bleam™ commercial as soon as I flicked it on. Finally, I relented and let the unnatural promotion take its course.

"Bleam™!" the voice is as cheerful and as loud as ever, "Scream about Bleam™!"

A man in glasses and a striped shirt sits on the floor. He looks ill. Next to him is a large heap of Bleam™. Next to that, a smaller one. The man in glasses lies back on the floor, almost peacefully.

What happens next, however, is far from peaceful.

The man writhes and twitches, limbs flapping like the wings of a beheaded chicken. The camera lifts, angles itself, and pans in on the man's face, where Bleam™ is already spilling from his mouth.

Bleam™ presses out of the man's nostrils like toothpaste. Before long, it's worming its way out of his tear ducts. His skull slowly implodes, crumpling in on itself like a crushed aluminum can.

"Bleam™!" the voice cries out, sounding more ecstatic now.

The man in the glasses is all but covered in colorful goo, now, as the commercial suddenly cuts to black and regularly schedule programming continues.

The horror of what I had just seen was not lost on me. My hand trembled as I reached for the remote control once more. I decided I wouldn't be watching television at all for a good while.

The remote felt sticky in my hand.

I absently wiped one hand with the other, feeling the sticky, sickening texture of gritty paste covering my palms and fingers.

Looking down, I finally noticed the Bleam™ on my hands. Had it been there since my trip to the store?

Feeling with my tongue, I sensed the grit in my teeth.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 License.