Jessy Delfino's Blog

Who Makes Things That I Invent?
by Jessica Delfino

I have a bunch of ideas for inventions but nowhere to send them. I don't have any idea how anything gets made.

I guess the first thing I need is a mock up of some kind. How do I get that? Do I have to go to The Art Institute of New York's tool and dye program and get someone to make a mold for me? Or is tool and dye even a thing that people do anymore?

Then, I have one. So I take that one to companies? To the bank? I show it to them and say, hey, you don't know me. You wanna give me a bunch of money so I can make this? Or maybe I try to find someone who's rich, I dunno - pick him up in a bar or something. Pretend I just hang out at the 4 Seasons bar all the time and saunter over, asking him to light my cigarette, because in the 4 Seasons hotel bar you CAN smoke, because rich people can do whatever they want to.

Then, say he gives me a bunch of money to make this project - after I've finished blowing him or whatever it is I have to do to get him to say he'll give me the money. Because men don't just give you money to make things when you're a girl unless there's something in it for them - more money or some pussy or the opportunity to run for some kind of political office or meet a celebrity. I'm walking out with some kind of business plan, wiping his semen off my lips. Then where do I go from there?

I'll tell you where - I guess I make a phone call to a friend maybe who has friends who live in some third world country or in China or Tibet or Chile and I say, hey, get your friend to hook us up with a group of children who are interested in making $2.50 a day, wait - it's Christmas - $3.50 a day. So he makes some calls, the only reason he does this is because we used to have sex and he used to enjoy it very much, or perhaps he thinks there might be something in it for him - money or someone else's pussy (he already had mine) or the opportunity to run for some kind of political office or meet a celebrity. Sure enough, he finds a warehouse in the back brush of some country I didn't even know existed and offers them $3.50 a day. Well, of course they leap at the prospect of making that kind of money and insist on starting the project a day earlier than whatever day I want to start, and will work for free that day because they are so glad to be working at all. I say, no, I have to pay you for that day, because what's $3.50 to me? It's a milkshake or a pair of vintage gold shoes I will buy from some homeless guy on the sidewalk.

A week later, they have made 40,000 of my gazmos and are carrying them to America by hand on a ship where they have to sleep in three inches of water every night. When they get here, they are drenched but the merchandise is dry because it got to sit in the beds where there is no water.

I pay some man with a van a hundred dollars to go and pick up the shipment and drop it off in my living room. I open up an account on Ebay or Amazon.com and take a digital photo with my new camera. I put the pic up and people start buying them like crazy, at $4.50 a pop.

Before I know it, I'm rich. I give the fat rich man back the money I 'borrowed' from him but I actually had earned it, and I buy a house in Connecticut and one in Belize and one in San Francisco, in addition to the condo I relocate to in Manhattan.

I hire people to come over and run errands for me and do work on the condo. I make them work naked. They will do whatever I ask them to because I will pay top dollar just to have my every wish be their command.

Soon, I sell so many gazmos, IBM or Hasbro comes to me and says, HEY! We want to buy the blueprint for your gazmos and we'll give you a few million bucks, what say you? And I say, no. Then they come back and say, HEY! We'll give you a few million more bucks, what say you? And I say, no. Then, they come back and say, HEY! We'll give you a billion bucks and a car and a house and a man and a pair of gold earrings and you can star in a movie and we'll make it so that you are the first female to fly into a black hole or, whatever you want, we can make it happen. So I say, OK. Then, I buy my mom a house and my sisters and send my siblings and cousins to college and maybe I start a trust fund for poor people.

Ahhhh - all thanks to a great little idea I had in a dream. But I didn't do any of that. I still have my inventions. They are in my head and they will stay there forever and one day I'll be dead and my inventions will be dead, too, dead and buried with my head. Because I won't ever get to make them, because I don't invent shit and I don't know how to make a millionaire worship me and give me money and even if one did, I'd be too grossed out to take advantage of that.

Guess I'll just stick to working my shitty temp jobs and writing out my fantasies out on my blog.