Other Things Kelly Clarkson Could Not Purchase

Following reports that Kelly Clarkson was denied the opportunity to purchase a mechanical singing bird from Brooklyn’s Art of Play, our investigative team uncovered what appears to be a decades-long pattern of merchants refusing to sell her things simply because those things aren’t for sale. Our investigation reveals a disturbing conspiracy involving retailers and governments, all apparently united in their belief that having money doesn’t automatically entitle you to every fucking thing in existence.


The mannequin at Nordstrom. She liked how the dress looked on it and didn’t see why the two had to be separated.


The rotating hot-dog machine at Costco. She didn’t want the hot dogs. She wanted the infrastructure.


A Sephora employee’s name tag. She thought “Jessica” was a beautiful name and wanted to give it to someone for Christmas. The employee explained that Jessica was her actual name. Clarkson offered an additional $200 for the exclusive naming rights and suggested the woman could simply go by “employee” until she found something else.


The automatic doors at Target. She liked how they opened for her without making a big deal about it. The manager said they were necessary for customers to enter the building. Clarkson suggested he hire someone to hold the fucking door like people did before electricity.


The smell inside a Cinnabon. Corporate insisted that the aroma was not merchandise. Clarkson offered $10,000 for exclusive rights to the scent within a fifty-mile radius, effectively forcing every mall in the region to smell like wet carpeting and divorce.


The moon from the opening credits of DreamWorks movies. She offered cash and was referred to Steven Spielberg’s attorneys. Clarkson demanded to know why a man who’d made billions selling imaginary dinosaurs was suddenly being such a tight ass about imaginary celestial real estate.


The actual Liberty Bell. The National Park Service explained that it belonged to the American people. Clarkson offered $50,000 and pointed out that Americans had already demonstrated a remarkable willingness to sell their national heritage for considerably less.


The number seven. Mathematicians explained that numbers cannot be privately owned. Clarkson offered to lease it with an option to buy, then threatened to purchase six and eight and make seven’s life a living hell.


Thursday. Not every Thursday. Just the good ones. The International Organization for Standardization declined her offer, explaining that days of the week were not commercial property. Clarkson demanded to know why Tuesday was still being allowed to operate at a loss.


The gravitational pull of Jupiter. NASA explained that removing it could destabilize the solar system. Clarkson said she’d only be using it on weekends and suggested that if NASA couldn’t keep eight fucking planets organized without Jupiter, perhaps it was time to bring in private management.


The entire population of Belgium. Belgian authorities explained that their citizens were not for sale. Clarkson clarified that she wasn’t interested in the people individually, just the complete set, preferably in the original packaging. When Belgium invoked international human-rights law, she asked whether Luxembourg was available as a floor model.


The concept of regret. Philosophers explained that regret was an intrinsic part of the human experience and could not be removed from existence. Clarkson offered $100,000 to have it discontinued retroactively, preferably before anyone remembered “From Justin to Kelly”. When told that history could not be rewritten, she demanded to know what the fuck Hollywood had been doing for the last thirty years.
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