Recently, I tracked down some of the most iconic spokescreatures in the advertising world.

What had become of Morris the Cat? Charlie the Tuna?

Well, even in this era of social media, it was hard to track down everyone. Yet I did manage to meet up with a few. Alas, life has not been kind to all our old favorites, including:

The Jolly Green Giant: Oh right. He’s soooo jolly. Try living with him. See how jolly you think he is. JOLL. GET OUT HERE. SOME LADY WANTS TO INTERVIEW YOU. PROBABLY THINKS YOU’RE STILL GREEN. You know, even giants go gray. I was surprised too. Not sure anyone would buy peas from a big, gray, gassy giant. Would you? JOLL… WE’RE WAITING. He hates getting dressed. That bathing suit made of leaves? Dried out about a decade ago, and he says nothing else makes him looks “verdant.” So he just lies there, “ho ho ho”-ing. It’s fun the first 20 million times. You know he always hated eating vegetables? Says he only liked the “green.” Joll, COME OUT. And put on some pants. Interviewee wished to remain nameless.

Frito Bandito — interviewed in his office as the Frito-Lay Professor of Latinx Studies at New York University: Come in. Have a seat. Let me just log off … there. I was emailing my colleagues at Princeton about the upcoming conference, “The Outsider in American Cuisine.” I’m presenting a paper on the corn chip’s influence on norteamericano dining habits. In a perverse way, I believe the so-called Bandito may have actually accelerated an appreciation of Hispanic cuisine by contextualizing the deep-fried tortilla as a snack without a country. Oh, yes, that should provoke a lively discussion.

Snap and Crackle — interviewed at their antiques store in Key West:

Snap: First thing you’re gonna ask is, “What ever happened to Pop?”

Crackle: Everybody does. Remember that lady from Vox? 

Snap: Honestly, Pop’s fallen off the yellow brick road.

Crackle: We lost track of him in the 1970s when he opened an art gallery at SoHo and got just too fabulous for us.

Snap: He’d no sooner dive into a bowl of milk than go to the Met Gala in Dockers. Only then the two of us moved down here, and frankly, we’re doing just dandy without him.

Crackle: Happy as the Williams sisters on a Wheaties box.

Coppertone Girl — reached on the set of “Hot Tub Mamas”: Sure, honey, tell you the whole story. Ran away at age 3, discovered by a talent scout who became my agent, made a couple of dog-bites-girl ads for the suntan stuff — that’s why you’re here, right? And then I got a little older, a little broker, hitchhiked to LA and started making independent films like “Sunburn Siren,” “Itchy, Red and Hot,” “Lotion in Motion,” stuff like that. Married my agent, did the white picket fence for a while, but then he ran off with Little Debbie — don’t be fooled by that sunbonnet — and now I’m back in … Wait a sec, they’re bringing in the beach ball. Gotta run, that’s my scene.

Ty-D-Bol Man — found mumbling on his boat in a public toilet at Washington Square: Yes, I’m Ty-D the sailor man. I’m strong to the finish ’cause I swim in sewage. … Wha? Someone there? Don’t bother flushing. Some guy stuffed a bunch of paper towels. … Oh. You’re the gal that called about an interview *nudges Schlitz cans under his coat.* Great, just like the old days. 

To tell ya the truth, things have been a little slow lately. Yet now they’re really picking up, yessiree. The Portosan people want me to do some public appearances at big outdoor events. And in January, a couple fellas were here from Life Savers talking about a joint promotion. Said they’d get right back to me. Uh, you thirsty? Wanna go for a ride? Okay, maybe tomorrow. Hey, would you mind lowering that bottle into here? To show biz.

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