The late Graham Chapman was said to be enamoured of situations where bad taste held sway. (Fellow Python John Cleese said that, by way of explaining why he recited a monologue version of the “Dead Parrot” sketch at Chapman’s funeral.)

If so, then Chapman would be having a ball in Milford, Michigan, where a recent and much-publicized FBI investigation for the remains of Jimmy Hoffa spurred a cottage industry of trinkets poking fun at the prospect of the dead Teamster as the town’s claim to fame.

Those cupcakes pictured above say it all. The ghoulish green candy (or plastic?) hand, emerging from the dirt-colored chocolate frosting. Classic. Beats any tshirt.

Too bad that it’s looking like Hoffa isn’t in town. A reporter I knew long ago in St. Petersburg, who hailed from Buffalo, once told me that he had had it on some authority that, while he couldn’t say just where Hoffa’s final resting place was, that it definitely wasn’t under Giants Stadium, contrary to popular notion/humor. The search goes on — as does the merchandising.