Japan Business Systems Technology Brochure

Client: Japan Business Systems Technology
Brochure
2006

ICYCOLD Keg and Cooler Packaging

ICYCOLD

Client: Turbo-Tek
Retail Packaging
2007

The Alphabet Party

The Alphabet Party
by Jace Daniel

Once upon a time there was the letter A. Abiding alone in an apartment ample enough to accommodate his abundant arrays of attractive artifacts, he aspired to arrange an assembly for amusement and sent out an abbreviated email of acronyms to allure all his acquaintances:

FYI:
Party at my place tomorrow night. TGIF.
BYOB (JK).
BTW, RSVP ASAP. KIT.
GTG, BRB, TTYL, TTFN.

Awaking in the A.M., A arose in anticipation to adjust his appealing abode for the affair. As an accomplished afficionado of asparagus and artichoke appetizers, he artfully adorned his activity area with ambrosial aliments after attacking an army of ants. At about dusk, his guests began to arrive.

The first guest to show up was B, A’s best buddy and bona fide bouncer from Brooklyn. “Aloha,” addressed A.

“Backatcha, bro,” bellowed B, boasting a six pack of beer and a bottle of champagne. “Brought brew and bubbly.”

“Appreciate it,” A acknowledged.

In came C, A’s Cambodian Catholic cousin and croquet coach. Clever, content, and conspicuously chipper, C was comparable to a cheery cherub cloaked in camouflage. A chef and connossieur of cuisine, he carried a crate of chocolate chip cookies, Chinese chicken, and a curried clam concoction, complemented by cans of cinnamon citrus cider and cocktails.

“Contributions for the celebration,” claimed C, casting his Chevron cap in the corner.

“Awesome,” answered A. “All good?”

“Can’t complain,” chimed C.

A delightfully democratic developer of delicious donuts dove through the door. “Dudes!” he declared directly.

“All,” dictated A, “This is D. He lives down the drive.”

“Cool,” claimed C, cross-examining. “Career copasetic?”

“Day by day,” disclosed D. “Do disregard that I’ve been dabbling in Danish distractions for decades. Now I’m delving into dispicably dishonest deeds done dirtier than the devil.”

“Bastard,” blubbered B as another guest emerged.

“At last,” articulated A expressively. “Everyone, enter E. The evening’s entertainment.”

After the ensuing exchanges, E, an emotionally eradicated engineer from Ethiopia, eventually exited to the kitchen, escaping everyone to experience the enjoyment of eating every entree else evade energetic euphoria.

In flew F, a freeloading frog-legged Filipino fisherman from Florida. With a funky forehead and fat forearms, he frankly flaunted a fondness for full-blown festivities.

“There’s F,” announced A, almost affectionately. “Actually arrived!”

“Fuckin’ A!” flourished F.

Then the oddest of couples came through the door: G, a gullible German geographer gone giddy with glee, with his girlfriend, H, a hot hula hoedowner from Hawaii.

“Howdy!” H hailed, offering handshakes and high fives. “Hello!”

“Aloha,” acclaimed A.

“Howzit!” heralded H honestly.

“Buenos noches,” beckoned B.

“Hola!” howled H.

“Cheers,” chanted C.

“Ha!,” hollered H. “Hip, hip, hooray!”

“Great,” guffawed G gregariously, greeting the guys and girls.

In walked I, an Icelander illustrating an interesting and inspiring imitation of an irritatingly irate Irishman. “Idiots!” he insulted.

A jubilant jive-speaking Japanese Jehovah’s Witness jacked back. “Jerk.”

“Ignorant imbecile!” invoked I.

“Jo mama,” J justified in jest. “I be a jolly judo instructor from Jerusalem. And all that jazz. No joke.”

E walked up with a platter of snacks, attempting to cool the situation off. “Eggplant?” E offered enthusiastically.

“Colossally considerate!” chatted C, consuming eleven expeditiously.

“Easy!” exhorted E, eating equally enough.

I immediately interfered, incriminating, “Incompetent individual! I before E.”

“Except after C,” countered C cockily.

Chewing conditionally, C carried the chow to I.

“Ick!” insulted I. “Inadequate.”

J jumped in joyfully. “Jalapeños!”

In walked K, an know-it-all keeper of kaleidoscopes from Kuwait, with his landlady L, a luciously loud lollipop-licking liaison from Lithuania.

“Little late, love,” leaked L.

“Keep it kind-hearted, kid,” laughed K.

In walk M, N, O, P, and Q, five middle-aged single letters on the prowl for action.

“Mama mia!” marveled M, the mature mistress of metaphysical musings. “What a monsterly massive mob! My moment to mingle!”

“Nonsense,” negated N nymphomaniacally, nearly nicking her nail on a nice Nagel. “Nearly not ’nuff.”

“Objection,” opposed O, an obese oceanographer and overly-ordinary optimist. “Opportunities. Options.”

P, a pompously provocative Polynesian pixie in permed pigtails and a purple pullover, praised in parallel. “Phenomenal possibilities.”

Q quaked in a quiet quandary. No quarrel, no quibble, no quip.

“Righteous!” roared R, recklessly rumbling into the room like a random runaway railroad rig, reaching P. “Rendezvous?”

“Preposterous plan,” perceived P purposefully.

“Rejected!” rooted R.

His sidekick S, a sassy snakelike Swiss swinger from the South sporting sixty-seven Sterling silver stickpins in his Stetson, smirked. “Shunned,” he snickered, smiling. “So sad.”

Then and there trekked a tall and talkative theologian from Tibet toting tremendously tactless things of taboo. Tools of the trade.

“Illegal intentions!” invoked I. “Inform the inspectors!”

“Chill,” consented C. “Calm down and condone.”

“Flex your freedom,” fortified F.

“Granted,” giggled G. “Give the guy grace.”

“Tattletale!”, taunted T truthfully, turning to the tyrant. “Try tolerance. Tell that to thy trooper, twit!”

“Absolve,” advised A, admirably amending the altercation, adding, “Accept, admit, approve, and authorize. Admonish abominable abuse at most.”

“Hear hear,” harked H happily.

“Everybody endure,” echoed E.

“Oh, oodles,” observed O. “Are those Oreos?”

K and G each remained silent, which is something they’d do from time to time.

U, an understandably upbeat umpire from the unit upstairs, entered the party unpunctually with his two lady friends, V and W.

Q, on a quest, quoted quirkily, “I need you.”

“Unlikely,” uttered U uncertainly, veering to V and winking at W, “Unlimited underminings.”

“Vodka?” voiced V vivaciously.

“Wine?” wailed W.

“Unsure,” undertoned U.

In walked X, an extravagant xylophone-playing Xerox expert from Xanadu, and his ex-wife Y, a young yodeler from Yugoslavia.

“This is the spot,” exclaimed X.

“Yep,” yelped Y.

“Y, you’re here!” applauded A, appropriately astonished. “Accompanied by?”

“X,” explained X, extending his hand excitedly.

“Exactly,” yelled Y. “My extroverted ex-husband. The exploiter of Xanax.”

“Aha,” apologized A, attentively aware. “And where’s your new boyfriend, if I may ask? The zealot of zebras I met at the zoo?”

“You mean Z, the zesty zoologist from Zimbabwe?” yodeled Y.

“Affirmative,” asserted A.

Y yawned. “He’s sleeping.”

The Giant and the Midget

The Giant and the Midget
by Jace Daniel

Once upon a time, in a land not that far away from where you are now, there lived a giant, all alone. Not your ordinary giant, mind you; not the kind of giant you’ve read about in storybooks and fairy tales. This giant was different. He was only three feet tall.

Every day the giant took a walk through the fields near his home, overlooking the sea.

“I must be the biggest giant in the world,” he thought. “Why, there couldn’t possibly be any giant bigger than me.”

Once upon the same time, in a land not that far away from where you are now, and not that far from the fields near the giant’s home, there lived a midget, all alone. Not your ordinary midget, mind you; not the kind of midget you’ve seen in movies and television shows. This midget was different. He was ten feet tall.

Every day the midget took a walk through the fields near his home, overlooking the sea.

“I must be the smallest midget in the world,” he thought. “Why, there couldn’t possibly be any midget smaller than me.”

One afternoon, the giant went for his daily walk. Deciding to try something new, he wandered through the fields near his home, and kept going, and kept going, and soon, he wasn’t near his home at all.

That same afternoon, at the same hour, the midget went for his daily walk. Deciding to try something new, he wandered through the fields near his home, and kept going, and kept going, and soon, he wasn’t near his home at all.

It wasn’t long before the giant saw a ten-foot man walking toward him through the fields, overlooking the sea.

“Wow,” thought the giant. “I’m not the biggest giant in the world after all.”

It wasn’t much longer before the midget saw a three-foot man walking toward him through the fields, overlooking the sea.

“Wow,” thought the midget. “I’m not the smallest midget in the world after all.”

And the giant waved to the midget.

And the midget waved back to the giant.

And they both went home, walking through the fields, overlooking the sea.

The Punctuation Therapy Group

The Punctuation Therapy Group
by Jace Daniel

Once upon a time there was a comma. He had a way with words, and always made it a priority to communicate himself well. He sincerely cared about others, and was dismayed at how badly individuals related to each other. Like all commas, he had only the best of intentions.

One day, after seeing how poorly others communicated without him, he decided to create a therapy group. He put an ad in the paper:

PUNCTUATION THERAPY GROUP
All types welcome
Thursdays, 8PM, Keystroke Coffee House

The first Thursday arrived. Getting to the coffee house an hour early, the comma rounded up all available chairs, stools, and some cushions, creating a large circle in the room.

Before long, a question mark entered the coffee house holding the newspaper ad. “Is this where the Punctuation Therapy Group meets?” the question mark asked.

“Well, it sure is,” replied the comma. “Tonight, next week, and hopefully forever.”

Other individuals of different shapes and sizes began pouring into the coffee house. Ordering their beverages, the respondents each took an available spot in the therapy circle.

The comma was amazed at the turn out. Gee, this is great, he thought.

The coffee house was soon packed. Looking at his watch and noticing it was 7:59 PM, the comma stood up in the middle of the circle to make an announcement.

“First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming,” he said. “After many years, I’ve felt a calling to create a support group like this one from the bottom of my heart, the top of my head, and the core of my soul. My watch shows that we still have a minute to go before eight o-clock, but I suppose we could start early.”

A period sitting on a lounge chair spoke up. “I’ve got eight on the dot.”

“Okay, sure, I suppose we’re good to go then,” said the comma. “Before we begin, I figure it’d be a good idea to go around the room and introduce ourselves. We’ll start with me, and go counter-clockwise.”

The group went silent, giving the comma the floor.

“I’m a comma, and have always been,” said the comma. “For a long time, since, say, I was about, oh, this tall or so,” the comma held his hand, palm down over the floor, “I’ve noticed that individuals, large and small, old and young, wide and thin, tall and short, can often have difficulties being clear, concise, and to the point. The purpose of this therapy group, or meeting, if you will, is to provide support, encouragement, and fellowship for all of us through the sharing of our experiences, fears, challenges, and concerns.”

The group nodded in agreement.

The comma concluded. “So, that said, I’d like to thank you all for coming, and, for what it’s worth, please feel free to contact me personally after the meeting in person, via email, or on my cell phone. My business cards, an entire stack, are there by the door next to the sugar, napkins, straws, and cream.”

The group clapped with approval.

“So, I suppose now would be a good time to meet the individual to my right, who’s been sitting there patiently.”

The individual to the comma’s right took the floor. “Thanks. This is great. I’m a period. Nice to meet you all.”

The comma smiled. “Well, thanks for coming. Your self introduction was short, brief, and abbreviated. A real whirlwind of an entrance, as it were. Is there anything else you’d like to convey, demonstrate, or otherwise tell us?”

“Not right now.” said the period.

“Okay then, we’ll move on,” said the comma. “Young lady, you, there, lying on the couch, please tell us a little about yourself.”

“What-you-see-is-what-you-get,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m a hyphen, tried-and-true. While other individuals may be more of the plug-and-play type, I’m more of a pedal-to-the-metal diamond-in-the-rough.”

“That, my friend, is fantastic,” said the comma. “What brings you here, if I may ask?”

“It’s my over-the-top boyfriend,” said the hyphen. “He’s an apostrophe.”

“And has he harmed you, or hurt you, or abused you in any way, whether physically or verbally?” asked the comma.

The hyphen sat up like a jack-in-the-box to answer.

“It’s just that he’s so possessive. I mean, really possessive. Honest-to-goodness. We’re talking no-holds-barred take-no-prisoners balls-to-the-wall possessive.”

“Wow!” exclaimed a tall figure standing in the corner. “I know exactly what you mean! Holy cow!”

The comma mediated patiently, “Well, I know we were going to be doing this in order, but I suppose, when it’s all said and done, we could jump around from here, to there, and back again.”

The comma turned to the tall figure in the corner. “Sir, what brings you here?”

“I’m an exclamation point!”, he exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anything like this! This is terrific! Go on! Please! Somebody! I don’t have anything more to say! I’m just watching! And waiting for my latte!”

“Well, thank you very much for coming,” said the comma. “We can all learn from each other, and grow, and evolve. What’s important in this life, and in any other, is to make our mark.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked the question mark.

“It depends,” said the asterisk.

“But…” began the ellipsis.

“It’s like this: utterly genius,” interrupted the colon.

“That’s profound; you’re really on to something with that one,” added the semicolon.

“That’s a perfect example of wisdom/experience/insight,” offered the slash.

“That is of the utmost importance,” said the underscore.

“It sure is!” exclaimed the exclamation point.

The parenthesis and his twin brother stated in unison, “What a truthful (and honest) statement that was. It applies to all of us. (Or most of us, anyway.)”

A backslash sat there quietly on his laptop, preoccupied with thought, partitioning his C drive. His girlfriend, the tilde, sipped her cappuccino.

Two married couples sat there quietly, nodding. The comma noticed them.

“And you four, the two couples in the corner there,” said the comma. “What’s your story, and the reason you’re here?”

The left-most individual of the four answered, “We’re here because, quite frankly, we actually don’t really know what to do with ourselves.”

The comma smiled, “Well, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Talk to us, level with us, and we’ll do our best to get this sorted out, under control, and squared away.”

The left-most individual of the four continued, “We appreciate that, but I’m not sure if you can help. You see, I’m here with my wife. Sitting next to us is my cousin and his wife.”

The crowd smiled with warm hellos.

The left-most individual of the four continued, “We have no clear purpose. I mean, the only time we ever come in handy for anything is in really special situations. We’re not the types of individuals that are useful on an everyday basis.”

“That’s okay, and it’s something we can work on,” said the comma. “What, if I may ask, are you?”

The left-most individual of the four concluded, “My wife and I are the Brackets.”

The right-most individual of the four added, “And we’re the Curly Braces.”