“I want to be big” ~ Tom Hanks’ character, “Big”
WE’RE probably going to hell for today’s post, but, unless we miss our guess, we’ll be surrounded by a number of happy… faces. Heh heh. In case our title is too subtle, the topic du jour is, um, “enhancement techniques specific to a certain male body part that managed to go unnamed last week and will remain as such for a moment or two longer.” Did we just say longer? Heh, even if you’re not laughing, we’re truly cracking ourselves up. “Up“? Heh… there we go, again. “Go again“?? Hahaha, we could do this all day. “Do this all day“??? Oh good grief, just shoot us now, and put us out of your misery. Now where were we before we interrupted ourselves with the ADD drivel that plagues us like Erectile Dysfunction used to plague Bob Dole? Oh yeah… “enhancements”.
BELIEVE it or not, even before CRUMMYJOEL’s completely hilarious post Tuesday — in which he eloquently and/or handily gave the “what for” to spammers offering, among many things, ways to make his “what not” bigger — we’d planned to do a follow-up to our own modest post from last week. Mostly because a certain “cheeky” PENGUIN reminded us of an especially funny clip from one of our favorite films, which, for the sake of today’s topic and/or your amusement, can be viewed here:
NATURALLY, that clip led us to hunt around for this next one:
…and the rest, as museum curators say, is history. What the hell does that mean? It means we thought it would be fun to share a couple of archaic (i.e. historically bizarre) methods for the aforementioned “enhancements” that might make a few guys cringe, even as it causes the rest of us laugh out loud. Once again we must thank our veryverysmart sister for exposing us to this “helpfully” intimidating info.
FIRST off, allow us to provide some size-related perspective:
- The smallest natural (and functional) penis on record is: 5/8 inch (eek)
- The largest natural (and/or functional) penis recorded is 13.5 inches (yowie)
- Over 75% of all men fall into a range between 4.5-6.5 inches. And, oh, by the way, the range between 5-7 inches is considered large. (whew)
- Most partners say it’s not what size, but the “right” size that matters (whoa)
- We have NO interest whatsoever (zip, zero, nada) in knowing how large anyone’s you-know-what is. Just saying, don’t bother offering up info, for we will delete with gusto and/or great glee! (bitches)
NOW then, after sharing the Austin Powers’ Swedish Penis Enlarger, we suppose we should mention that even in 2007, such an item (minus the Austin Powers seal of approval) is a hot commodity. That’s right, believe it or not, there are lots of guys willing to pay between $20-150 and up to $500 in order to pump “it” up. Perhaps something to consider, ladies, next time your guy volunteers to do the “vacuuming”. If he insists, be sure to warn him of the dangers, which include bruising, broken capillaries, blisters, and, gee, will ya look at that? Impotence. Yep, we always knew housework sucked, but until now, we didn’t know how much.
AH, but less-than-gifted men need not resort to scary devices in order to “impress”. Or so we assume, based on Very Useful Advice offered up in The Karma Sutra:
First rub your penis with wasp stings
and massage it with sweet oil.
When it swells, let it dangle for ten nights
through a hole in your bed,
going to sleep each night on your stomach.After this period, use a cool ointment
to remove the pain and swelling.
by this method men…of insatiable
sexual appetite, manage to keep
their penises enlarged throughout their lives.
OKAY, wasp stings? Ouch. Not to mention eww. That said, perhaps you all remember the fabulously funny guest post by The Drive-by Blogger a couple of months ago, in which we learned about the potentially magnificent effects of spider bites. Those Brazilians. In the 16th century one tribe also enlisted the aid of snake bites to, um, help their “little” friends along. The 6 months of penile pain that followed the aforementioned love bite notwithstanding, those submitting to the serpent fangs were rewarded, um, impressively. Whether these tribal “members” ever functioned normally is unknown. But that’s beside the point. The point, which will soon be stabbing into our eyes once we re-read this post, is that a big dick is a lot of work. At least it is for those not born with one, in the first place.
AS you would imagine, Surgery is another option for stretching the “truth”. “Another option”, that is, if the idea of having some guy named Dr. Dick slice into your manhood in order to sever a ligament, then having to hang 2-10 pound weights on Wee Willie for a few months so “gravity” can work its magic seems like a good choice. (“Alex, I’ll take Shredded Schlongs for $5000“)
ANYONE still reading? Oy, we were afraid of that. Suffice it to say there are many MANY means for “magnifying” one’s “member”, including — but not limited to — acupuncture, fat injections, and/or penis/thigh slappings. Whether any of these things work or not is for us to decide. Or not — because, quite frankly (heh) we have no desire to involve ourselves in anyone’s protrusile-related decision making process. We can tell you there are a couple of non-surgical and/or relatively painless things worth trying before undergoing the knife and/or flying down to the Amazon in hopes of landing a bigger banana:
- Shave
- Lose weight
THAT’S right, a little less hair “down there” will make Junior look much more grown up (read: formidable). And, get this, doctors say every 35 pounds gained represents one inch lost, if you catch our “drift”, and we know you wish you didn’t.
NEEDLESS to say, there’s a LOT more to this size thing than meets the monster’s one eye, but since this post is getting longer by the moment, we’ll leave the rest of our hefty load of information for another day. Another day in the far distant future, that is, because, honestly, we’re gettin’ tired of going on and on and on about these things. Maybe if we had one we’d feel differently, but somehow, we doubt it.
~snuppy
The laughs on Humor-blogs.com are bigger, longer, and uncut.
Filed under: funny...
SOMETIMES, when we get Really Bored, and we don’t think anyone’s looking, we read our “spam”. Mostly, because we like to make sure one or two “real” comments haven’t fallen through the Spamcatcher’s Large Net. But also, because some of the e-mails we find in there are flat out hilarious. Spamilarious, if you will.
SOMETIMES, when we’re suffering from the Worst Writer’s Block Ever, and we don’t think anyone’s reading our drivel, anyway, we like to offer up the “spam”, in lieu of a cleverly worded post. Mostly because we’re hoping the folks out there who could stop by will think this stuff is as Spamilarious as we do. Otherwise, we might have to talk to our “doctor” about changing up our meds.
SOMETIMES, when we get in the mood to substitute Silliness for Intelligence, we imagine putting some of the strangely altered “wise sayings” on posters, t-shirts and/or creating our own crappy line of Inspirational Greeting Cards. Or, better yet, using them as future captions for one of DIESEL’S CONTESTS*. We also planned to send a few of the “choice” items to CRUMMY(yet not)JOEL, in hopes he might use ’em to craft a witty/hilarious “Dear Crummy Spammer” letter. Unfortunately, he came up with his own Spamtastic Version before we could get around to telling him about our Spamtabulous Idea. Not that we minded — truth be told, we were relieved to discover we’re NOT the only ones being Spamindated with this stuff.
NOW, the following are but a few of the crazy “sayings” we’ve received, of late — attached, of course, to links for sites featuring such things as “doctor booty good”, “frat-party-porn” and one of our favs, the “nude granny cam”:
- Have a head like a sieve
- Every seed knows its time
- A bird may be known for its flounder
- Leave one’s cheese in the wind
- He who would eat the fruit must spit the seed which knows its time
SOMETIMES we read this stuff and just scratch our fragile little heads in confusion — then we laugh. But one day, mid-chuckle, we started to wonder: how the hell do these “Spaminators” come up with such skewed versions of what we can only imagine were once choice Words of Wisdom? The answer, of course, was simple: Babel Fish Translator. One phrase in one language, poorly translated, yields another phrase fit for the Spamcatcher. “Wowie!”, we thought, “that’s kind of cool.” (have we mentioned lately how easily we’re amused?)
To test out our Spamirific Theory, we plugged in: “A rolling stone gathers no moss”, and after translating it into French and back again, we wound up with: “A stone of bearing does not collect any foam.”
Doing the same thing with “The early bird catches the worm” — only in German and back — turned into: “The early bird gets caught the continuous screw.”
And, finally, in Japanese, “don’t look where you have fallen, but where you slipped” became: “Time the ぶ at the place, being the place where you inserted, you do not have to see.”
OKAY, that last one was just weird, but it doesn’t mean we didn’t laugh. Trust us, we could have gone on all day (we’re lame like that), but then our mom called, and we had to stop, because she has that effect on us and/or our fragile sense of humor.
BY THE WAY, sometimes we honestly don’t know where the ridiculousness stops, and our own Bizarre Sense of Humor and/or Bad Timing begins. Pretty sure we’ve covered any and/or all aspects related to “spam” by now. That said, and speaking of timing, this year happens to be the 70th anniversary of the questionably nutritious product the questionably “valid” e-mails and/or comments are named after, i.e. SPAM. Happy Birthday, Spam. Blah blah blah, and all that crap.
~snuppy
Laughter is of good reading medicine in Humor-blogs.com.
*Normally we’d have pimped the fact that one of us has a caption in this week’s “contest” and begged you all to vote. But, thanks to some lady wearing ELASTICWAISTBANDEDPANTIES, we aren’t going to. It seems she is the only one allowed to use the word “poop” in a caption, and has accused us of *gasp* plagerizing her offering — which didn’t make it into the top 10. What can we say? Some of us are able to use Poop in a phrase better than some of Diesel’s other readers. But don’t tell that “lady” what we said — last thing we need is for some chick to get her panites in a wad over one of our pathetic-yet-fragile little whinings.
Filed under: Teh Penguin
In exactly 9 hours and I can’t fall asleep. Nurse Practitioning, here I come. University of Iceland. I feel teleported right back into childhood before a new school year starts. My folders are marked, my pencil case’s sorted and the first chapter of every book is read, high-lighted and summarized. Yes, I was a good student, always. *dares everybody to use another term*
I loved going to school, even as a little girl. Well, except for the boys…they were weird. Little Steven used to run after me during breaks, lift up my skirt and say: “Lid up, water’s boiling!” Or that stupid Heinrich, who used to stick his pencil into my back whenever he sat behind me and when I’d turn around he’d grin like he had had too much sunshine.
Once, one of them took my nature booklet from my table and they started to throw it between them and I tried to catch it, but they were taller than me…so I kicked the nearest boy…he yelped…the teacher came and pulled me by the ear into a corner where I had to stand for the entire class, my hands balled into fists… I also went home with a note, something about aggressive behavior. My nature booklet was never subject for throwing exercises again.
I always got along well with my teachers, though. And silly little boys didn’t spoil masculinity for me, at all. When I was 14 I had my first crush on my history teacher. Boy, he sucked at teaching…didn’t learn much about Napoleon, but that teacher sure marched all over my mind. He always wore black, emptied his pockets before every class and then words left his mouth, all I ever catched was that “Did you know that something really boring happened to somebody really ugly, in the Middle Ages?!” I eventually banned him from my mind when I turned 16.
Then at university, I changed course. I developed a crush on a fantastic teacher and his subject. Linguistics. Many nights were spent feverishly scanning over his handouts of sentence negation and sub-clause movement. I got a perfect grade in each of his courses. I know what you are thinking: to get over him I got under him…nope…he was driving his car on the other side of the road. He’ll always remain the teacher that inspired me the most. I still love Linguistics and check out a book every now and then for a bit of light reading.
This time around all my teachers are female. Any development of a crush would involve a major life-style choice. In case it happens though…I’ll be able to take my pulse and know the right medication to keep my blood pressure down.
Wish me luck… with the studies, of course!
~ Penguin out
We have a crush on everyone at Humor-blogs.com.
Filed under: crummy letters
No.
No, I do not want to “3nlaarge my Peni5”. Thank you for caring enough to email me about it no less than three hundred and fifty-six thousand four hundred and twenty-one times, but I’ve had quite a number of opportunities to mull it over and I think that I’m going to stay with the current downstairs configuration. Thanks, though. And by all means, you can stop sending the offer to my wife. She’s not interested at all.
I’m gonna have to go with the same response when it comes to the discount software, too. I know the brand new “Windows V1sta” for $1.99 (plus shipping) seems too good a deal to pass up, but I gotta tell you that I’m a little worried that the “plus shipping” is going to add up to oh, I dunno, $461.83, or possibly my firstborn child’s kidney or something. Perhaps if you actually knew how to spell the product that you were trying to sell me I might be instilled with a little more confidence, but as it stands now I am going to have to stick with my tried-and-true XP. And, were I still using Windows 3.1, I would have to stick with that as well.
You also seem to be mistakenly under the impression that I might begin pursuing a Master’s degree soon. Not to mention the mistaken impression that were I to pursue a Master’s degree that I would want to pursue it from a University I have never heard of located in some foreign country I have never been to. Along this same thread of mistaken impressions about a Master’s degree lies your mistaken impression that your own personal testimony of the Master’s degree you received from said University in said unvisited foreign country will positively persuade me. If the Master’s degree worked out as well for you as you claim it did, perhaps you wouldn’t have to spend twenty-two and a half hours per day emailing me about this Master’s degree that you claim you have and mistakenly believe that I am in the market for. If you get the impression from this paragraph that you are mistaken about a lot of things regarding my desire for a Master’s degree, then you are not at all mistaken.
Finally, I would just love to help you out with that wire transfer. Really, I would. I have this personal policy, though, about paying out ridiculous sums of money to receive an even more ridiculous sum of money. I don’t play the lottery, I don’t gamble on the NBA, and I don’t send money to complete strangers in Nigeria. Call me crazy, and perhaps I am missing my gravy train, but that’s my strictest of policies. Not to say that I don’t trust you, but my guess is that if someone were actually a member of a royal African family, they could probably land an email account from some place other than “Yahoo!”. Oh, and they would probably learn how to spell, too.
Sorry to disappoint you! It looks like all the time spent emailing me today will prove fruitless. What a shame that truly is. Now I will say this…if someone could land me a large wire transfer AND a Master’s degree, all as a plug in to Windows Vista that at the same time enlarges my…..well, you get the idea. I might be interested then.
PS: Humor-blogs.com just asked about the enlargement process…I’ll forward them your email.
LAST year, we stumbled on a happy-yet-geeky little song that caused us to giggle, chortle, and snort in delight. Mostly, we fear, because it reminded us of our not-so-young sons, and their penchant for all things “geeky”. That is, of course, if one considers computer/video games, science fiction movies, and/or non-stop IM’ing “geeky”, and we kind of do. The fact that we, too, happen to enjoy those things, is beside the point. The point, which will garner us access to the castle, once we complete this level, is that some of us have a life outside of our geeky inclinations, and are, therefore, a whole lot more well-rounded. (Say one word about our state of “well-rounded-ness” as it relates to those extra pounds we gained a couple of years ago, and we will so smack you upside your greasy head with our TiVo remote.)
WHATEVER… we didn’t give the aforementioned song another thought until we read THIS POST by our harmonica playing friend, Jeff. Thanks to him, we were reminded (in part) of how much we laughed the 1st 7 or 8 times we heard “Make You Happy Tonight“, and we wondered if a few Snark “newbies” might not enjoy it, too. And — bonus — the fact that the following is a different, more “produced” version makes it newish to those of you who saw it here, last year. Considering the charming artist featured by the clever and even more charming DJ LAMPSHA in this week’s spin, we’re pretty sure you’ll all agree that the following number is as good a Musical Opposite for the Sake of Cheap Laughs as any we’ve forced you to watch shared.
THE name of this clever/talented group, by the way, is TRIPOD. A true geek (we suspect at least ONE or TWO of our favorite contributors fall into this category) would definitely want to check out Tripod’s website, if only to see how far a group of Australian comics with too much time on their hands — and/or interest in Dungeons and Dragons — can do with a few 1’s and 0’s. We don’t know what that means, since we have no idea how to program anything but the aforementioned TiVo, but we’ve been told 0’s & 1’s are kind of important in the world of computer programming. What can we say… it’s all “geek” to us.
~snuppy
“Ghic chic” ~seen on t-shirt worn by a “regular” at Humor-blogs.com
Filed under: Lampsha Spins
Reminder: Make sure you put on at least 30 SPF sunscreen before stepping on sand, even if it is a cloudy day. Only somebody very careless (and perhaps a tad stupid) would do so and risk sunburn. Ouch. Pass the aloe vera.
Okay, never mind sunburn; let’s listen to somebody whose music would shine through on any cloudy day – Kathleen Edwards, a Canadian singer/songwriter. In reviewing her debut album, Failer released in 2003, Blender Magazine said that Failer’s songs “possessed an indefinable pull that makes you love the characters they describe no matter how f*#&ed up (my kids watch the vids) they are.” I’d have to agree.
She’s been nominated for a Juno Award and the critics love her. She’s also been hailed as one of the most distinctive upcoming songwriters. Hey, no pressure or anything Kate.
This song featured in the video is In State from her last album released, Back to Me (2005). Just a quick link to her site, where a click on the “Music” tab will lead you to more of her wonderful music. I’m a little partial to One More Song the Radio Won’t Like from her Failer album.
Here’s her MySpace, which has a song or two.
Have a great weekend. I’m heading out to our favorite beach spot tomorrow with the family for a little vacation. I of course have surf shirts, SPF 30 shirts, hats and SPF 50 because we certainly don’t want to get any more burned!
~ DJ LAMPSHA
PST: Speaking of characters that pull you in, head on over to Humor-blogs.com where the sun never burns (but the humor scorches).
“Why do men name their penises?” “So they can be on a first name basis with the one who makes most of their decisions.” ~ Classic Penis Joke
WELL, um, er, ah… ya see it’s like this: we thought it might be fun to write a post featuring information from a certain book* written by the veryverysmart woman related to one of us, in hopes three or four of you might be impressed and/or amused. Especially since the primary focus of the aforementioned book is, um — gasp — private parts. But then we got, uh, kind of embarrassed, because we planned to discuss a certain dangling part(iciple) that roughly 50% of the population possesses, and we weren’t quite sure it was appropriate to — ahem — put out there (and/or here). Not that there’s anything wrong with that “part”, mind you, not that we know of, anyway. Of course, some of us don’t happen to, er, have such a utilitarian organ flopping around between our legs, so what the hell do we know? It matters not, we’ve cast the dye and/or die and/or made our bed, and now we have to roll around in its colorful-yet-damp messiness.
ANYWAY, despite our desire to talk about this “part”, we find ourselves somewhat reticent to mention it by name, for fear we’ll land smack dab in the middle of Spam Hell (this “item” is a popular search term). So we’ve decided to do what any blog armed with a book loaded with “nicknames” might do, and only use those terms of endearment others have affixed to this “thing” which represents “manhood”.
BUT what word to use? The choices, it seems, are infinite. Okay, maybe not “infinite”, but there do seem to be an awful lot of ’em. We debated well into the night, going back and forth and back and forth, until we finally came to a decision: we’ll use ’em all. Or at the very least, a bunch of ’em. Then it occurred to us we might find something funny on YouTube to help “illustrate” the nature of “nicknaming” Dick’s “johnson” and/or John’s “dick”. Imagine our surprise, then, when we discovered there wasn’t just ONE willie-related ditty out there, but dozens. Needless to say, it was exhausting — and more than a little disturbing — to sift through some of this stuff. But we did it so you wouldn’t have to. Some of our favorites (featuring some surprising artists) can be found HERE, HERE, and HERE. We rather enjoyed THIS ONE, mostly because it covers about as many nicknames as any we could ever hope to know. On the other hand, THIS ONE kind of creeped us out, despite the fact its focus is on the concept of using “proper names” when referring to the body. Then, of course, there’s the one you’re about to watch (sung by Monty Python’s Eric Idle) — an homage, if you will, that’s the least “offensive” of ’em all — even as it helps to reinforce the point that a lot of folks are completely obsessed by their “thingies”.
WASN’T that lovely? Alrighty then, since this post is starting to give us a headache, we think we’ll let YOU take over, maybe share a few of your favorite “organic” monikers. But take care, we’re NOT looking for anything yucky and/or inappropriate here. Offend and/or piss us off, and we’ll go Lorena Bobbitt on your ass faster ‘n you can say “Hey, honey, have you seen my…?”
*BEFORE you get any wrong ideas about the potentially salacious nature of the afore-aforementioned book, let us be quick to point out that the veryverysmart person who wrote it is a certified sex therapist and was a college professor for many years. Her decision to write a comprehensive missive related to “genitalia” came after much prodding by a “certain” nagging sister, who thought it would be, and we quote, “…hilarious to write a book listing many of the ‘nicknames’ for the Male Organ that your students were required to come up with, as part of an exercise demonstrating how difficult it is to discuss sexuality!” (the actual suggestion was worded differently, but you get the idea) What was a sister to do, but pull out (heh) her long list of monikers, and set pen to paper? We’ll tell you what she was to do, she was to spend 2 years researching and/or triple checking resources, in order to provide a comprehensive volume on facts, fancies, legends and/or oddities related to private parts belonging to both genders. But that’s beside the point. The Point, before it shrivels up and becomes impossible to see, is that she wrote this very wonderful book, and, despite all our “help”, we never saw a nickel of profit from sales (national or foreign, hard cover or paperback). Shouldn’t we be allowed to glean a little inspiration from its pages, in order to provide fodder for a post, or three? Yeah, we think so, too.
~snuppy
“Et tu, Brute?” ~ Biggus-Diccus, while standing next to his well-endowed buddy, in the men’s room at Humor-blogs.com.
Filed under: funny..., music music, Pop! goes the Diesel | Tags: MOCL
IF it’s Thursday, it must be time to mock DIESEL. Why? Because we want to… and, more importantly, because we can.
WE’VE grown used to pulling up next to the empty parking spot reserved for our so-called friend, Diesel. We’ve grown into the habit of pimping his blog/t-shirts and/or “book“. We’ve grown old waiting for that e-mail telling us he’s finally written another winning clever and/or hilarious post. That said, we have NOT grown accustomed to pulling a topic out of our asses and/or thin air. Which is why, we suppose, on days we’ve got nothing worthwhile and/or hilarious to say, we’ve grown to rely heavily on YouTube.
YESTERDAY, our beautiful friend and bloggy-co-conspirator, TEH PENGUIN, asked the question “How Stupid Are We?”. Tho’ we don’t have the answer, we do know there are a lot of incredibly stupid people out there. For example, close to 7 million folks have already tuned into the following video (without the benefit of even one crummy commercial, CRUMMYJOEL), which, as you’re about to discover for yourselves, is “stupid”, at best. Here’s what we know after listening — there are literally millions so desperate to be “entertained” they’ll watch and/or listen to anything. Sadly, we can now be counted among them. Blame Diesel for abandoning us in our hour of need, forcing us take drastic/desperate measures in order to provide a small amount of amusement. Then, enter the musical abyss known as: Tay Zonday’s Chocolate Rain.
MMM. Chocolate rain. In theory, sounds so tasty, in this song, so… wrong.
*Please note: we entitled this post “Oh Tay” and featured the picture at the top of the page for 2 reasons: 1) Tay is the first name of the kid responsible for this stupid song (duh) and B) “Oh Tay” reminded us of the hilarious character created by Eddie Murphy for SNL, back in the 80’s, “Buh-weet” — based on the beloved character “Buckwheat” (played to enduring/endearing adorableness by wonderful child actor Billie Thomas) featured in a show we watched with great glee when we were growing up, Our Gang (aka The Little Rascals). Oh tay? Oh tay!
~snuppy
It’s raining chocolate-covered HAHAHA’s at Humor-blogs.com.
Sometimes I see things and they just annoy the hell out of me. When I was in Germany last month I saw for the first time this very popular “Boys are stupid…throw rocks at them!” merchandise. Girls were walking around in those t-shirts, having a key chain with similar dim messages dangling from their pants. A huge smile of “I am so above you!” gleaming on their faces. Are you thinking? And if you are, I would get my neuro-transmitters checked!
Not only is this offensive to boys, imagine the message would target the other gender! A boy running along in a t-shirt stating: “Girls are air-headed … give them a bag to hyperventilate or cover their head!” the world would be in uproar.
Even worse, this particular message makes girl seem silly. Just because boys are stupid (and we all know they can be at times), we’ll resort to throw rocks at them? How childish is that? Beam me right back to kinder garden, Scotty! Aren’t we supposed to be climbing up the ladder of intelligence, not plunge down it?
Last but not least, I -as a woman-certainly don’t feel more empowered by putting down the other gender! Picking on someone else to make yourself feel upgraded is so last year….or the year before that.
And I am not blaming those easy-to-impress teenage girls, we all can journey back and remember our own foolishness at times, but these “lines” were designed by, dare I say it, people past their 30’s.
Grow up, will ye?
Where silliness is concerned Iceland is never far behind …here is the latest, most stupid thing I saw here, just a few days ago!
Fresh Mountain Air. There are no words, so I’ll let the backside of this can speak for itself!
Fresh Mountain Air in a can…sold to tourists! I realize that a while ago people thought bottled water wouldn’t make it and we have been proven wrong. But this? I am picturing a scuba diver with a line of these cans tied to him while diving. Another head image at the moment is a bunch of people in hospitals attached to these cans rather than say, oxygen masks. Neat!
Should we suggest to add flavor? How about citrus or a papaya- aloe vera blend with a hint of jasmine? We all know how good that stuff is for you…
Enough with the silliness…let’s put caned air back where it belongs: Space Balls!
~Penguin out!
If you really need to giggle though (and I hear a high level of canned oxygen can do that to you) evaporate over to HUMOR-BLOGS!
Filed under: crummy letters
We need to set some things straight. You see, it turns out that I am not in fact a complete friggin’ idiot. It could be that you are dealing with outdated data, as there was a time in my life when I could have been considered an idiot (ages 2 through 4, to be exact); but that was some time ago. It’s time to change your marketing campaigns based on this new information, because recently you have completely lost me.
Sure, some of your output is enjoyable. I like the Gecko. The Beer Delivery man amuses me. Of course, these campaigns don’t persuade me to start using the products they advertise, but they are at least passable entertainment in between real television shows. The pickins are quite slim after that, however.
Take, for example, the distinguished graying gentlemen on a commercial I recently had thrust upon me. After realizing that people were shunning him for his gray hair, the elevator he was riding on began to plunge uncontrollably down the elevator shaft. Floor after floor he fell, his life flashing before his eyes, remembering mostly those better days when life had meaning, his hair was a deep, rich chestnut brown, and swimsuit models flocked to his side. Only after he accepted the Gospel of Just For Men into his heart to forgive his Follicle Sins did the elevator halt its plunge and the swimsuit models return.
I’m graying. I don’t plan on using your product. Should I save some time (not to mention the collateral damage) and just throw myself down a nearby elevator shaft? Has all hope been lost? Has any thought of a workplace promotion faded like the hair on my head? Or am I about to lose my job entirely? Is my long, storied history with swimsuit models now at and end? Will women (and children) now instead cross to the other side of the street just to avoid being confronted with my hideous graying visage? Turn away!! TURN AWAAAAAYY!!
As it turns out: no. The next commercial I saw told me that compared to my hair loss problems, the graying is just a proverbial drop in the bucket of Brylcreem. The problems outlined in the previous paragraphs are a picnic compared to what is in store for me now. My hair loss issues will likely cause my wife to leave me and my pets to shun me, not to mention the implied possible harassment from the IRS, increased stops for traffic violations, likely deportation to Bhutan, and nightly alien anal probes. The fact that I’m graying and losing some hair, and it’s any wonder that I’m even vertical and coherent what with all my impending doom and whatnot.
Except here’s the thing I’ve noticed…NOBODY SEEMS TO GIVE A FLYING &^&*^ ABOUT MY HAIR!! Least of all me, and certainly not my wife, my friends and family, the IRS, the traffic cops, the border patrol, or even the anal-probing aliens. It turns out that most of American society is able to rub two brain cells together to cause enough of a spark to realize that graying and/or losing of one’s head covering is not necessarily an indictment of the gray matter inside said head. Perhaps thousands of years ago, the first homo sapiens sacrificed those with gray heads to their primitive gods, but I’m pretty sure that practice has been halted for at least the last couple dozen years or so (except maybe by the Scientologists, I‘ve never really understood how they operate…)
So here’s an idea for you: Get off my television screen. I don’t need you to tell me that my life is incomplete because of my lack of Rogaine or Just For Men or whatever magic witch’s brew you’ll cook up next. I know this for a fact: I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, the anal-probing aliens love me.
PS: Humor-blogs.com would like to note that despite the implications of the above letter, CrummyJoel is still a damn fine looking dude.
Central Snark 