I turned 35 two weeks ago. My marriage is going well. It's been six years since my wife and I drooped limp rope over our wrists and kicked our ankles at a sleepy audience. Last year, we celebrated by going to Disneyland Tokyo.
This year I was out late doing a scrappy shoot for Mac Audio. I came back to a package straight from IKEA.
"It's a Skull Candy," my wife said. "Happy anniversary!" (I wont' tell you what happened after this.)
The Green Poison (I'm giving it this name because nothing was written on the bag) was redolent of liquorice. No manual, no advertising literature, no padding was in the bag. Just liquorice. (Also from IKEA.)
I'm definitely not as up to date on headphones as is Tom Tsai (of Cymbacavum fame). But I'm no slouch. It's just that I had no idea that IKEA were branding Skull Candy headphones.
And I never expected such sloppy work from either company. Even for a press sample.
First thing's first, I popped out my Shozy Alien DAP. But couldn't find the headphone plug. Hmmm... maybe it was wireless. The construction cartels are running amuck round these parts, so signal quality could be sour. That's long for: I couldn't get a wireless signal even from my iPhone and iPad.
Frustrated, I twirled Green Poison between my fingers, noting, with distaste, a crumbling mess growing under my fingers, not to mention that grease was filling my finger prints. I certainly wasn't going to put Green Poison on my head. Its sandpaper-like skin hurt my fingers; I was definitely not going to stuff it into my ears.
I huffed over to the sink and flicked the dust down the drain.
My wife frowned. I was wasting it, she said, and licked my fingers. At least that part was nice.
Okay, so it's too greasy to put on my head, too abrasive to put into my ears, it has lousy signal reception (and, since I couldn't figure out its interface, I'm going to assume that its transmission is shit, too); I'm sure there's more, too.
For the past few days, I've soured at the thought of writing this review. And, probably sensing my hate, Green Poison hardened. That was when I got the idea that it wasn't what I thought it was.
This morning, my wife, said, "If you're not going to eat it, can I?"
"As soon as I finish the review," I said, thinking she meant the liquorice.
"Oh," she said. "Not even a bit?"
"Hmm?"
Wait... what? Surely she didn't mean Green Poison, did she? I was about to find out.
She did a weird dash toward the foyer, then flipped back, nearly catching me in the jaw with a freshly-showered ankle. By the time I recovered, it was too late: she was huddling next to the IKEA sofa, nibbling on Green Poison's jaw.
Poison.. No! Megumi!
By the time I reached her, her cheeks were already flapping, pain etched into every tooth. Green Poison looked no better. My wife had bit off its chin. Suddenly, she came to, tossed it to the plate, shook her head and said something bad that I've only heard in Western movies. Eventually, she smiled.
"A bit sour, but good."
That was when I grabbed Green Poison by the temples and squished. I put it up to my ears and squished. Nothing but the crumble. "Sugar-coated sourness like no other," said my wife.
There was nothing for it; I shoved Green Poison between my canines, and ripped. And ripped. And ripped. I drooled. I grimaced. My wife gazed on, eyes sparkly and tented fingers drumming one against the other. "That's why I got it for you."
So sour. So... good.
I plugged the Porta Pros into the Shozy Alien, and hit whatever the hell that centre button is. Was that a new briskness to King Britt's rap? Was that even deeper bass? I passed out around the time the Alien had rolled over to John Denver.
As a headphone, the Skull Candy Green Poison sucks. As an earphone, it's horrid. But suck on it, and wow, it really pulls out great detail from your music.
"Got me a fine wife, got me ol' fiddle..."
You betcha.
