One cannot help but observe with a certain melancholy how the gentlemen of our current age find their purpose in the most trivial of pursuits. It has come to my attention that a certain advertising specialist, a resident of the great metropolis, has seen fit to petition the authorities for a trademark of the name 'Puhosos'—or, as we might call it in our more refined tongue, the 'Down-Sucker'.

Imagine, if you will, the scene: a gentleman, perhaps wearing a waistcoat of the most daring fashion, deciding that the world simply cannot proceed without a legal claim to a name inspired by machines that devour poplar fluff from the streets. This application, submitted on the tenth of June, now lingers in the chambers of the patent office, where officials are currently pondering whether such a linguistic curiosity deserves the protection of the Crown's laws.

It appears this aspiring proprietor wishes to outpace the original creators of a most amusing visual trick. You see, some years ago, a certain agency sought to experiment with those phantom images we call 3D graphics, creating mechanical creatures that resembled delivery-automata but functioned as street-sweepers. The public, ever fond of a spectacle, fell into a positive frenzy. Even the esteemed speakers of the St. Petersburg parliament felt compelled to comment upon these 'Down-Suckers,' as if it were a matter of grave state importance.

Indeed, the streets of Moscow have recently been graced by actual vacuum-carriages, which suck up the drifting fluff with an efficiency that would make a butler blush.

One cannot ignore the trend of this particular brand of madness. Only last year, our salons were abuzz with whispers of нейро-creatures—most absurd beasts generated by some invisible alchemy. I recall a shark in the sporting footwear of a certain house of Nike, known as Tralalero Tralala, and the formidable Bombardiro Crocodilo—a creature that was simultaneously a crocodile and a bombing-aeroplane. There were, of course, businessmen who believed that such a monstrosity was a commodity worth patenting.

It is a fascinating study in the bourgeois spirit: to see a world of such chaos and decide that the most prudent course of action is to ensure that no other gentleman may profit from the name of a fluff-eating machine. A most exquisite absurdity, is it not?