These are the continuing adventures of Mustard Man, a corporate mascot who is often mistaken for a superhero.

Let's go over this one more time.

Mustard Man looks like a superhero, but he's just a mascot.

There are two key differences between a superhero and a mascot:

• Corporate sponsorship
• Super powers

So, when you run out of mustard, call Mustard Man. In a real emergency, scream for Superman or use the Batsignal or dial 911.

Yes, Bobby, both can have sidekicks. But Dijon Lad doesn't have super powers either.

Don't you feel silly now?

Good.

Now do your pal Mustard Man a favor and get help. This girder is really heavy and I can't feel my legs.

No, this won't grow old quickly.

These are the continuing adventures of Mustard Man, a corporate mascot who is often mistaken for a superhero.

I have no idea why anybody would kidnap Dijon Lad. Maybe if his parents were divorced and one of them wanted custody, sure, but the guy who they hired to play Dijon Lad is 23 or 24.

As for the 30 million dollars they want, there's no way the company will pay that. Sure, it's a huge company that owns Mustard Man Mustard, but they can always hire another actor to play that role. Or they'll just go with a CGI character mascot.

Maybe they'll kidnap me too.

I have no illusions. Life is brutal and short.

Care for some mustard?

I never did resolve how Dijon Lad got away.

These are the continuing adventures of Mustard Man, a corporate mascot who is often mistaken for a superhero.

So, you want to know the truth?

Fine. I don't like mustard on my hot dogs. There. I said it. I'm a sauerkraut and relish kind of guy.

Happy now?

On hamburgers, give me ketchup, grilled onios, and maybe those bean sprouts they like in California. Or perhaps some guacamole.

After watching Pulp Fiction, I started dipping my fries in mayo. Before that, I'd drown them in nacho cheese.

The last Mustard Man put mustard on everything. And when I say everything, I mean everything.

However, the three teenagers they arrested him with in Bangkok looked more red than yellow.

Not every corporate shill is a loyal user.

These are the continuing adventures of Mustard Man, a corporate mascot who is often mistaken for a superhero.

Yes, I'm on call, but there is no Mustard Signal.

All I have is a numeric pager. No cell. No alpha.Just a callback number.

When they need me, they page me. Usually, I get a day or two advance warning, but there's been emergency gigs.

Those pay double, and they usually involve Dijon Lad, too.

By the way, that porn video you've seen around the Internet? Hoax. Not only is that guy fat, but a mustard packet condom?

That's way too small for the real Mustard Man.

Also, Mustard Man wouldn't touch Paris Hilton with a ten-foot sausage, either.

Nobody would.

Posted to 100 Words Or Les Nessman originally, this is the fifth chapter of the Mustard Man Chronicles normally seen on This Blog Is Full Of Crap. Try not to be too terribly disoriented by the posting of this episode out of order.

Dear Justice League of America,

It is with much regret that I must decline your invitation to join your esteemed organization. Not only am I an ordinary person who lacks superpowers or technological wonders to simulate superpowers, but I am under exclusive contractual obligation to the Mustard Man Brand Mustard Company.

However, should the world be under attack by mustard-vulnerable alien invaders, much like the Martians in the "War of the Worlds" story were fatally vulnerable to the common cold virus, then please do not hesitate to call upon me through my numeric pager.

Regards,
Mustard Man

Enclosed: sampler package.

The other four will be on the site shortly.

You have been wondering where Mustard Man went. Well, now you know. And he thanks you for your concern. No, really.

Dear Loyal Fans,

Mustard Man would like to thank all of you who have written him in the past three months.

This has all been one huge misunderstanding. What I thought was a sampler pack for a condiment manufacturer's convention in Istanbul turned out to be 10 kilos of high-grade heroin.

This was not my heroin. Mustard Man is strictly a coke and pot kind of guy. Needles are disgusting, messy things.

I'm sure that this will all work itself out. My lawyer assures me.

Once again, I thank you for your support.

Yours truly,
Mustard Man (aka "Prisoner 0175236")

Don't get shivved, Mustard Man!

So, what's Mustard Man up to today? Well, it's probably something awful and hideous, considering that he's no superhero. He's just a corporate mascot.

Just like Heinz marketed green ketchup for kids, there was a blue Mustard Man as well.

It looked cool and it glowed in the dark, but it tasted revolting. But not as revolting as the music they used in the commercial.

Take the rhyme "The Muffin Man" and substitute "Mustard" for "Muffin."

Sing that six times in a row without gagging. I dare you.

They stopped making it when the glowing blue dye was found to cause blindness in laboratory rats. Or was it ovarian cancer?

Something like that.

We lost a fortune on it.

Still, it looked pretty cool.

Blue dye is tasty!

I'm going to try something different and post the text of the 100 word story here... it's yet another chapter in the sordid tale of everybody's favorite corporate mascot who isn't a superhero.

Just as Mrs. Butterworth's bottle has a human shape, so does Mustard Man Mustard. But it's not the shape of Mustard Man.

It's shaped like Howard B. Kremple, former vat inspector. His untimely death resulted in a large settlement with his family, the disposal of three tons of Mustard Man German-Style Mustard, and the distinctive shape of the Limited Edition bottle.

It resembles Kremple in all but two regards:

Howard was completely bald.
Howard wasn't smiling like that when they pulled him out of the vat. His face was locked in a hideous, silent scream.

Still, it's better than nothing.

Since posting the full text of the story here seems to have provided a bit of incentive for people to come here to read and listen, I think I'll do it again for the next chapter of Mustard Man...

This time, Mustard Man reveals a factory secret about the production process.

Every seventeen days, a rabbi comes to the factory to look over our machinery, inspect the mustard seed and other ingredients, and then tell us that with absolute certainty that Mustard Man mustard is not Kosher.

Well, duh.

It's not like we hired him to do this. One day, he just showed up and wandered around before saying something rude in Yiddish and stomping off.

Who is he? I'm not even sure he's a real rabbi.

Do they have badges or licenses? Is there a serial number in that beanie thing they wear?

I think he's an escaped mental patient.

I hope you liked it. I had a lot of fun writing this one.

Ripped from the headlines, Mustard Man confronts a horror in his own house. However, I'm not so sure he's terribly reassuring with his public statement.

I'm sure you're aware of the news of a woman who found a fingertip in a bottle of her Mustard Man mustard.

It's all a lie.

I'd like to state for the record that it did not get in there at the factory. We have high quality standards for our mustard and make every effort to filter out severed body parts well before the bottling process.

I'm sure that it fell in there at some kind of dinner party. Happens all the time.

Especially in leper colonies.

We sell a lot of mustard to leper colonies for some strange reason.

Blech.

The current Mustard Man isn't the first Mustard Man, you know. Every non-superhero has his origins, and the origins of Mustard Man are just as epic as Batman's, Superman's, or Donald Trump's.

The original Mustard Man was Dr. Charles Manning III. He made mustard for neighbors using an old family recipe in his garage, bottled it, and eventually sold it to drugstores around Ohio as "Manning's Mustard Tonic."

It was reputed to cure all ills, from the common to the deadly, but it was really just a simple table condiment. Still, Manning believed his tall tales and ate a tablespoon every hour.

Manning died of liver cancer. Seems that he used a lead teaspoon to consume his mustard.

We keep that spoon in the Mustard Man Factory Museum.

Tours are available daily.

Want tickets?

You're probably wondering about The Mustardmobile.

You know, like the Batmobile for Batman?

Well, here's the awful truth about the Mustardmobile

I get asked about the Mustardmobile a lot.

Know what? There is no Mustardmobile.

Surprised?

If there were one, I'd hope it would be as nice as the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile.

Man, is that one sweet ride. I remember a baseball game where Mustard Man Mustard and Oscar Meyer were doing a joint promotion, and the Oscar Meyer guy let me drive that thing.

Okay, I'm a really lousy driver, and I ran over some old woman.

Thankfully, we covered that incident up and kept it out of the papers. To this day, she thinks a cab ran over her.

You just had to ask.

Does Mustard Man ever fight crime?

No, but Dijon Lad does. Well, sorta.

I don't consider myself a hero, but there are times when I feel good that someone has something to dip a chicken nugget into or for a hamburger.

It probably doesn't make much of a difference, though, so I do my best to remain humble.

Dijon Lad has issues, though. He goes out at night in costume, fighting crime.

He sometimes shows up for work with his arm in a sling or with a black eye.

He's been drinking more than usual, too. White wine and Dijon mustard are good for grilling, but bad for a commercial shoot.

Foolish kid.

I think Mustard Man is going to take a break for a while. He'll be back eventually.

Today's theme was about condiments, so I went ahead and posted a new Mustard Man Adventure... without Mustard Man?

"Justice League isn't answering, Mayor Bloomberg," said the assistant.

"Have you tried paging?" said Bloomberg.

"Twice," said the assistant. "Most are old numbers. One was a pizza delivery guy, and another was someone offering me a dimebag."

"Have you tried calling that Mustard Man?" said the mayor.

"Um, all he has is mustard," said the assistant. "No super powers."

"Just mustard?" said Bloomberg. "Then why is he a superhero?"

"He isn't," said the assistant.

The mayor leaned back in his chair and sighed. "What's the number of the guy selling weed?"

"The usual?"

"Yeah," said Bloomberg. "And a pizza, too."

And not a single mention of Dijon Lad. He's gonna be pissed.

It's been a ong time since the last episode of Mustard Man, but with 100 Words Or Les Nessman going dark over the weekends, I might as well make Mustard Man my feature for Sundays from now on...

You're probably wondering where I've been.

Well, the recent earthquake in Pakistan and India affected a lot of the mustard crop. A lot of the world's mustard supply comes from those two rival countries.

Did you know that? I did.

And that's why I went. Not just to lend a helping hand to the human victims of the tragedy, but to make sure that the mustard supply wasn't endangered.

Because after those two countries, we'd have to rely on Canada.

If there's one thing I've learned in my years as Mustard Man, it's that you can never rely on Canada.

More to come.

Mustard Man is the star of this site every Sunday, and today's no exception. Let's explore his history with Mustard Plasters...

Before the days of over-the-counter cough syrup and inhalers, people used something called a mustard plaster.

To make them, they'd grind up mustard seed and mix it with flour and water to make a paste. Then they'd put that stinky goop on a towel and hold it to their chests.

The warmth and aroma helped people breathe. Although it did sometimes burn the skin because it was left on too long.

These days it's pretty rare that someone knows how to make a good mustard plaster.

I know how to make them. Why do you think my breathing's so clear?

Tune in next week for another episode of Mustard Man!

You'd think I'd run out of things to say as Mustard Man, but it's Sunday, and while the Lord rests, I'm thinking up yet another chapter in his ongoing saga...

Whether you call it Sulfur Mustard or Mustard Gas, it doesn't matter. It's a chemical weapon with no relation to mustard itself besides the slight mustard or garlic like odor if it's impure.

Otherwise, it is odorless and tasteless. There's absolutely no warning you've been exposed to it until your skin blisters a few hours later.

Or when you die.

On the other hand, Mustard Man Mustard has a savory bite to it. And it doesn't make your skin blister. Most of all, it won't kill you.

Unless someone crushes your skull with a jar of it.

Be careful, okay?

If you'll excuse me, it's time for my daily mustard packet. Mmmmmmmm... mustard!

It's Sunday, so that means it's time for another thrilling episode of Mustard Man!

Why did I follow that star to Bethlehem?

I packed a sampler of the finest the Mustard Man Company has to offer, and the next thing I know I'm watching Jesus' birth.

You say there's only three Wise Men? Well, let's see…

Gaspar brought gold. Not a bad present at all.

Bartholomew brought myrrh. Not sure why. That stuff stinks.

What's-his-name brought frankincense. It stinks worse than the myrrh.

And then there's me. I brought mustard.

I never did find the star back. So I crawled in a cave and slept 2,000 years.

What? I'm not in the book?

Crap.

Perhaps there was a fifth man there by the name of Abe?