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by Dean Maresca
In 2004, viewing a ragged-ass Wolfman carved out of patio plastic with a combover and a piece of gum stuck to his face somehow qualifies as a sightseer’s attraction. Well, then, despite our military’s intrepid efforts, and our fearless leader’s sternest facial stalls amid puzzled mumblings, the tourists have truly won. The Department of Homeland Security’s color-coded tourism alert status has been at a solid red all fall in Southern California, so thousands of visitors have viewed the haggard old dog. The Hollywood Wax Museum is a bore and a half. Wax museums are meant to be spit-sure re-creations of their subjects. Viewing them is supposed to educe some kind of surreal experience, in which it’s difficult to separate one’s own life from the lively depictions of realistic looking celebrities in their glorious habitats. But, well, they don’t look realistic at all.
You can tell who it’s supposed to be because the bow of the Titanic is right there in plain view or all the military tents clearly display “4077” in glowing infirmary red. The characters look like giant G.I. Joes, rather than any kind of realistic facially cast wax forms. I mean, you put a robe and some long hair on a duck with ears, sit it next to twelve similarly dressed ducks, serve them supper and toss some crucifixions in the milieu, and you pretty much get the idea. In fact, the statues don’t seem to be made from wax at all, but some kind of semi-soft plastic that doesn’t allow for well formed lines.
Thankfully, human minds are expansive. Sometimes we’ll think something up and giggle about it cause we’re bored. There are few people in the Hollywood Wax Museum at any given time, and once you’re through the doors, there’s no supervision whatsoever. Didn’t you always want to give dumb ol’ Radar a
noogie or escape from one of Conan’s powerful headlocks?
It is to truly feel alive to escape the massive biceps of The Barbarian! To have the deeply musked, fleshy forearms of Conan pressed to your neck is to shake the hand of Death! (One of those asshole handshakes, where you grab quickly at his fingers and squeeze, never allowing your palms to meet.) Congratulations, you are a meathead now and Death a soccer chasing, Swisher Sweet. You can wring your head free from Conan’s firm hold. Kiss him on the outgo, though! In all the confusion, he’ll never notice, and the pert, beefy nipple of The Barbarian is said to be a taste too powerful for comprehension. Similar only to chemical food enhancers like MSG. The kind of taste that only amplifies taste; it is no taste of it’s own, but a flavor known as *power*. The teat of the great Schwarzenegger tastes of one million tongue buds blindly flailing at pink palates. To have the nipple of America’s PE Teacher in your mouth is to graze from a mythic pasture of flowing human tongue.
But don’t stop there; you might also care to fondle the body of T2 Schwarzenegger or governor Schwarzenegger. It’s simply delicious that the clever waxmen have thought to place Arnold’s three most impressive roles together for a single viewing. And Ronald Reagan’s got his back, standing nearby, gun in hand, in case anyone wanders in from the south side of town. Other luminaries like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Jesus are in there, too.
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