They Are Watching You: A Scholarly Dissection of the New Riddlesbrood Logo

It is with a trembling yet resolute hand that I once again take up the pen of truth—nay, the broadsword of truth—and plunge it into the soft underbelly of deception that is the Riddlesbrood Touring Theater Company. Tis I! Professor T. Halberd of Extempory College, scholar of ancient linguistics, and now—reluctantly—amateur semiotician. I say reluctantly because semiotics is, in the main, the province of French men in turtlenecks, and I have sworn off turtlenecks since the incident of 2009, which we shall not revisit here.
But reader, I digress. There has been a development. A sinister, grinning, wide-eyed development.

The Riddlesbrood has unveiled a new long-form logo.
I became aware of it last Tuesday whilst standing in a ShopRite parking lot, having just received a notification on my cellular telephone from the Riddlesbrood's infernal email list—which I remain subscribed to for research purposes only. The notification contained an image of the new logo. The logo stretches their accursed name across a horizontal field—"Riddlesbrood"—rendered in a manner I can only describe as aggressively decorative. At first glance, one might remark, "Oh, how charming! A new logo! How festive!" To such naïve bumpkins I say: YOU ARE ALREADY UNDER ITS INFLUENCE!

Look closer. Examine it, if you dare. The logo stretches across the horizontal plane like a proclamation nailed to a church door by a deranged monk. The lettering is rendered in an eerie woodcut style—the precise aesthetic favored by 18th century secret societies when printing their grimoires and manifestos. This is no coincidence! Flanking the wordmark on both ends are illustrated creatures, writhing and curling like sentinels—or horns. Yes. Step back. The entire logo is a face. And at the center of it all—the eyes. But here is what chilled my very marrow: the two O's are not the same. One is decorative. The other contains a fully rendered pupil and iris. Reader. It is winking. And a wink does not say "I see you." A wink says "I’ll GET YOU!". The logo has a face. And that face is smirking at you the way a cop smiles at a driver he has just pulled over—towards the end of the month! I stood there in the parking lot for some time, staring at my phone. A shopping cart drifted into my shin. I barely noticed. My mind was already churning with dark calculations. Then, steeling myself, I proceeded into the ShopRite. I had come for a very specific product—a rainbow mouthwash I had read about in a Bluesky post—and I was determined not to let this ocular trickery derail my errand. But Reader, I was not prepared for what awaited me inside!

The Double-O Gaze: A Weapon Hiding in Plain Sight

Now, I am a man of science, and so I shall not merely scream about faces in logos without arming you with the relevant scholarship. In the fields of graphic design and consumer advertising, there exists a documented phenomenon known amongst art directors as "The Double-O Gaze." The mechanics are as follows: when a brand name contains two circular letters—two O's in close proximity—a trained designer can manipulate them into a pseudo-face, a simulacrum of a human visage that the consumer's brain, hardwired over millennia to recognize faces, cannot help but perceive as a staring entity. The result? The product on the shelf appears to be making eye contact with you. And we, poor credulous apes that we are, respond to eye contact. We engage with it. We trust it. We buy it!

I had not taken six steps past the automatic doors before the assault began. Google. Two O's on a promotional display near the pharmacy kiosk—wide, cheerful, unblinking. Have you ever felt like Google was watching you? You were right, just not through their algorithms, but via their occult double 'o' logo! I quickened my pace toward the oral hygiene aisle. I did not make it. There, stacked in a towering promotional end-cap, were cases upon cases of Yoo-hoo chocolate drink. Yoo-hoo. Two O's in the first word alone—and then, almost sadistically, the brand felt compelled to append a second one, as if to say "Yoo hoo, we see you." The entire display seemed to lean toward me. I broke into something between a walk and a controlled trot. An elderly woman with a hand-basket gave me a rude stare and a wide berth. I found the personal care aisle and began scanning for the rainbow mouthwash. I could not focus. On the shelf above: Woolite. Two O's peering into my soul. On the shelf below: Boost protein shakes, scanning my very thoughts! Across the aisle, the most intrusive of all—an end cap for Froot Loops! Ah. Froot Loops. The most instructive case—the one that I'd spent untold late-night hours cross-referencing in archived cereal commercials. The "OO" in the unreal word word "Froot," and again in "Loops"—four circular eyes across the brand name, a veritable phalanx of ocular manipulation. And Toucan Sam, the brand's mascot? Oh he insidiously interacts with those loops. He peers through them. He holds them up to his face like spectacles-- evil eyes! In animated commercials, they have been made to blink. That keel-billed bastard makes US the Birdbrains! The cereal—the cereal itself!—winks at children. Children, who are defenseless against such tactics! I find this unconscionable, and I am not even a parent! (Kids are expensive, I cannot forgo my extravagant, yet lonely, overnight stays at the Inn of the Dove.)

But standing there in aisle seven of a South Jersey ShopRite, suddenly surrounded on all sides by circular, staring brand identities, I felt—for the first time—the full, suffocating weight of it. Every box. Every label. Every promotional hanging sign dangling from the ceiling like swarming night-gaunts. Even the box of Goobers devoured me with its eyes! They were all watching me!
The rainbow mouthwash was nowhere to be found. I may have been in the wrong aisle for oral hygiene—I cannot say with certainty.
What I can recount is that by the time I reached the cheese section—I have no memory of choosing to go to the cheese section—my hands were shaking. I looked down. I was holding a wheel of camembert. I do not know how I got there, but I understood, with a cold and absolute clarity, that I needed to flee immediately.
I left. With the camembert. I did not pay for the camembert. This is not something I am proud of, but I include it here in the name of full scholarly transparency. I ate the entire thing in my car, hoping to drown away the psychic pain in cheesy goodness!

What, Then, Are We to Conclude About Riddlesbrood?
Here is what we know: A secret theatrical order, long suspected by this scholar of harboring nefarious metaphysical objectives, has now deliberately engineered a new logo in which the final two letters of their name have been transformed into a pair of staring, calculating eyes, above a typographic arrangement that communicates—to any trained observer of visual rhetoric—a barely-suppressed smirk. They are not merely performing dinner theater. Their gaze is fixed upon us all. They are watching you click the link, enter your credit card, choose your entrée. And all the while, from every poster, every webpage, every email header and social media post, that long-form logo grins its silent, circular grin.

This is not mundane marketing. This is a surveillance apparatus disguised as whimsy. A scholar's duty compels me to warn you. And yet—I confess—some morbid fascination compels me to keep looking at the logo. Never mind; Moving on.

Newly Uncovered Brooding Vocabulary: The Language of the Face

In the course of my investigations, I have recovered—from a crumpled coupon booklet discovered discarded in a shopping cart at the aforementioned supermarket—several new entries in the accursed language known as Riddlesdiculous, specifically pertaining to the vocabulary of sight, vision, and ocular anatomy. I have worked tirelessly to translate these, pausing only for meals and one ill-advised nap in my car. I present them here, for the benefit of an alarmed public:

loonee adj. optic, optical, eye-related.
pook n. small ball.
looneepook n. eyeball.
booth n. cavity, hole, pit. Syn: room, braenam
looneebooth n. pupil (of the eye). Syn: pooleebooth
pool n. colorful field, swatch, patch of color.
looneepool n. iris (of the eye).
room n. socket, plug, hole, space. Syn: booth, braenam
looneeroom n. eye socket, orbit.
hood n. covering, casing. Syn: faebran, tuhng
looneehood n. eyelid.
aitleek n. tear, tears. Syn: deeyoon
dendin aitleekee n. tear duct. Syn: aileektoob
aileektoob n. tear duct. Syn: dendin aitleekee
aitleekee adj. lacrimal, tear-related.
toob n. ditch, culvert; duct, canal.
woozee adj. bloodshot (of eye).
moodee adj. bleary (of eye).
zawnad n. redness; rouge, red pigment; red (as a color).
buhloom n. blush, red complexion; red eye; inflammation.
buhloomee adj. flushed, inflamed; red-eyed.
mainoot n. small or narrow eye, beady eye.
mainootee adj. beady-eyed.
askyoo adj. cross-eyed.
awsuhnoop vi. to look around, to survey.
skoot n. eye-roll.
oskoot vi. to roll one’s eyes.
chooz n. squint.
osenchooz vi. to squint.
ogooguhl vt. to examine, to scrutinize.
oloonoten vi. to open one’s eyes.
deeyoon n. tear, teardrop. Specifically, a teardrop that is resting on the eyelid but has not yet fallen. Syn: aitleek
oboohooh vi. to cry, to weep, to sob. Syn: aileek
oosuhmooth vi. to rub one’s eyes.
awshooh vi. to cover one’s eyes, to hide one’s eyes.
awloosen vi. to dilate (of pupils), to widen (of eyes).
kloo adj. retinal, relating to the retina. Syn: kloonee
kloon n. retina.
kloonee adj. retinal. Back-formation from kloon. Syn: kloo
pooleebooth n. pupil (of the eye). Syn: looneebooth
poolee adj. iridial, related to the iris.

Here are some other words that I deciphered last month. I was going to write of them in a separate transmission but after that supermarket incident, I believe I have come down with Hypervigilant Neurocognitive Paralysis Syndrome with Comorbid Existential Dread Amplification and a touch of long Covid. 

boom n. volcano.
boomee adj. volcanic.
boob n. peak, summit.
boomeeboob n. volcanic peak, cone of a volcano.
skoop n. crater.
boomeeskoop n. volcanic crater, caldera.
floom n. lava.
eefloom vi. to flow (of lava).
soot n. ash, ashes.
shoot n. obsidian, volcanic glass.
choot n. pumice, volcanic rock.
boomeesoot n. volcanic ash.
uhspeeyooh vi. to erupt.
uhtspeeyooh n. eruption.
guhloom n. layer of volcanic material.
awguhloom vt. to cover with volcanic material.
soonee adj. active, on-going, open (of an investigation, &c).
suhnoozee adj. dormant, inactive, cold (case or investigation, &c).
sooneeboom n. active volcano.
suhnoozeeboom n. dormant volcano.
leftageeboom n. extinct volcano.
buhloo adj. blue (of the sky), sky-blue; sky-like, celestial, aerial.
soop n. atmosphere. Syn: breeth
shoos n. ozone.
lagoon n. space, outer space.
poof n. sun, Sol.
poofee adj. solar, sun-related.
poofeenad n. Solar System. Referring to our own planetary system.
nad poofee n. solar system, planetary system, star system. Referring to a star system other than our own.
woolee adj. cloudy, murky.
taatoo adj. star-studded, star-spangled.
root n. horizon.
aafuhnyood n. point on the horizon. Collective form aafuhnyoo translates to ‘skyline’ or ‘horizon’.
moon n. celestial object, orb, sphere.
broom n. aurora.
koot n. raptor, bird of prey.
kuhroon n. bird, songbird.
kanook n. waterfowl, water bird.
pooduhl n. fancy bird, show bird, peacock. Refers to a peacock or other type of bird domesticated for its plumage or other visual attributes.
baboon n. quadruped, mammal or reptile, non-bird animal.
atral n. breath.
andral n. breath, breathing, respiration.
ooguhloop vi. to hold one’s breath.
tishoof n. whiff, sniff.
awtishoof vt. to sniff.
oopes vi. to gasp, to make a loud intake of air. Syn: esar
ootpes n. gasp. Syn: etsar
etsar n. gasp, moan, sigh, loud breathing noise. Syn: awt’hoot (sigh), awtuhdroop (wheezing), ootpes (gasp)
imauspaed vi. to exhale, to breathe out.
ootoot vi. to blow. Syn: esar
awhoot vi. to sigh. Syn: esar
awt’hoot n. sigh. Syn: etsar
awdroop vi. to wheeze, to struggle to breathe. Syn: esar
awtuhdroop n. wheezing, wheeze. Syn: etsar
abeeyooz vi. to pant, to breathe heavily. Syn: esar
andbeeyooz n. panting, heavy breathing. Syn: endsar
uhnoos vt. to choke, to cause to suffocate.
reboot n. recovery, healing.
osenreboot vi. to recover, to get better.

The logo is not a new logo. The logo is a confession!

I urge you, as always, to exercise extreme caution. Do not stare at the logo for extended periods. Do not let it make eye contact with your co-workers. And under no circumstances should you visit their weird webpage about their Harken Logo, or whatever suspiciously entertaining shows they may currently be running in New Jersey and beyond.
You have been warned. — Professor T. Halberd