Allen Kim Lang

“ That commercial, I thought myself, was as much a triumph of Yankee ingenuity as was color television itself. No child, no housewife in America, could fail to identify that elf and his song with Bryant & May's Garden-Fresh Peas.
My big-eared friend was still glaring at the screen as though that commercial had been designed to insult him. "You don't like commercials?" I demanded. I wasn't really the least bit angry. You meet all kinds in the advertising business.
"Advertising may be necessary," he hedged, pulling at the lobe of one of those magnificent ears of his. ”

“ People down the bar were staring at Big-ears now, impatient of his shouts, his noise that didn't fit the show on the screen. The bartender, glaring at my neighbor, twisted the TV's sound-knob so that the laughter from the set became a niagara. Big-ears raised his voice above his electronic competition. "Do you suppose those little bears, and monkeys, and clowns and chorus girls are puppets, maybe? Was that a doll that opened the beer, a toy that poured the peas for Bryant & May? No! They're changing real people, that's what they're doing." ”

“ When the bartender had set our refills before us and moved out of earshot, my big-eared confidant explained. "Do you know what bansai means?" he asked.
"Sure," I said. "That's when the little men come screaming out of the palm-trees, waving their swords." ”