Christmas. A time of year when people not only stuff oversized socks with future landfill for their loved ones, but overstuff their swollen oesophagi with edibles to the point of repulsive gluttony. This festive ritual of gut loading has given rise to an industry deadicated to yuletide sacrifices for the stomach. Little person shaped biscuits (that's cookies to all my Stateside luvs, but you know that) are cultivated within battery farms to cater for the mass festive sacrifice. After a year of being corn fed, they're suffocated in plastic before being delivered to the population who masticate their tiny bodies until temporary coma inducing levels of insulin are produced, allowing bear-like hibernation right through to a new year full of ultimately unrealised promise. Happy Christmas.
To celebrate/commemorate this annual cull of gingery friends, these unfortunate fellows have been immortalised in metal and enamel by me, JB. Say hello to The Gingerdead Men.
There's the Golden Brown version stamped in shiny gold metal for the purists and the Burned Black edition stamped in black metal (duh) for those dark hearted humbugs who prefer razor blades hidden in their Christmas puddings instead of coins. 60 of each exist and they're about 35mm tall. Don't choke on 'em.