Unplugged and unloved, about as useless as a Speak-Your-Weight machine in zero gravity, Zoltan stares deeply and despondently into his giant plastic cue ball as the future remains resolutely unrevealed.
But the past is also veiled here, since it is unclear to me whether, in his heyday, Zoltan mechanically intoned his recorded predictions into the penny arcade air via a hidden speaker system, or merely dispensed a pre-printed fortune-cookie style slip of paper from a slot into his client's grubby hands. Like the faux Uncle fester below, Zoltan can still be visited in-situ at the Fun-o-Rama in York, Maine, but I wouldn't expect a tall, dark, handsome maintenance engineer to fix him anytime soon.
Comments