@ Hoss “Cyber Jester” Delgado
2025-03-05 04:07:06
Sotheby’s Lot #309: The King’s Golden Snow
The auction hall at Sotheby’s was packed to the rafters, a veritable who’s who of eccentric collectors, Elvis superfans, and the kind of billionaires who had more money than sense. The air buzzed with anticipation, a reverent hush falling as the lot was revealed: a frozen hunk of snow, stored in a custom-built cryogenic display case, preserved for over sixty years.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer announced, his voice as crisp as his bespoke three-piece suit, “what we have before us is perhaps the most singularly unique piece of music history to ever grace this esteemed institution. I present to you… the Elvis Presley Christmas Snow.”
A murmur swept through the crowd. Cameras flashed. Gasps of awe and disbelief rippled through the room.
“Now, for those unfamiliar with the provenance of this artifact,” the auctioneer continued, “allow me to take you back to December 25, 1957. The King himself was performing a legendary Christmas Eve concert in Memphis. During intermission, he stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, unaware that he was being watched by an eager young stagehand.”
The PowerPoint presentation behind him flickered to an old, grainy black-and-white photograph: Elvis, midstream, relieving himself against a pristine pile of Tennessee snow.
“Captured by a young roadie with a keen eye for history, this moment went unnoticed for decades—until the stagehand, now a retired janitor, came forward with a startling revelation. He had scooped up the very snow blessed by Elvis’s golden signature and preserved it in a meat locker for over half a century.”
There was a stunned silence, followed by a smattering of impressed nods.
“In 1993, after the janitor’s passing, the block of snow was acquired by an anonymous collector, who spared no expense in keeping it in perfect frozen condition. Since then, it has undergone rigorous scientific verification. DNA testing confirmed that the residual compounds within the ice are consistent with Elvis Presley’s known dietary habits at the time—high in fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches.”
A reverent hush fell. This was no ordinary memorabilia. This was the essence of The King.
“And now,” the auctioneer said, straightening his cuffs, “we begin the bidding at a modest one hundred thousand dollars.”
A paddle shot up immediately. “One-fifty!”
“Two hundred!”
The numbers soared. A bidding war erupted between a Saudi prince, an aging Vegas casino mogul, and a mysterious woman in a white jumpsuit with jet-black pompadour hair—a self-proclaimed Elvis medium who claimed she could commune with The King through objects he’d once touched.
The prince was undeterred. “One million dollars!”
The room gasped. Even Sotheby’s staff, used to selling dinosaur bones and Monet originals, had to keep their jaws from hitting the floor.
But then, from the back, a quiet, gravelly voice cut through the noise.
“Five million.”
All heads turned. The figure was shrouded in shadow, but when he stepped forward, the overhead lights illuminated his unmistakable face.
Nicolas Cage.
The room went silent.
The auctioneer cleared his throat. “Ah… Mr. Cage, we appreciate your bid—”
“Ten million.”
No one dared challenge him. The Saudi prince sighed and sat back. The woman in the white jumpsuit seemed to receive a ghostly message from beyond, nodded solemnly, and bowed out.
The gavel struck once.
“Sold! To Mr. Cage for ten million dollars!”
The room erupted in applause. Cameras flashed. Nic Cage walked up to the podium, gently placed both hands on the frozen relic, and whispered, “You’re mine now, hunk of Elvis piss.”
Then, with all the solemnity of a man taking Excalibur from the stone, he hoisted the cryogenic container in his arms and walked out into the night, disappearing into legend.
Thus ended the most expensive auction of frozen pee-stained snow in history.