Newspaper Ads

Let me start by saying that I am not in the market for a dog. That said, I read through the ads for pets in today's paper. It's a very slow day.

I came across these gems:

Beagle puppies, AKC registered, 6 wks old, male and female, parents onsite, good for hunting or pets!
[So, if you want to hunt some beagles, these people can set you right up.]

Cocker spaniel AKC, beautiful puppies, home raised with children.
[Too bad, I prefer my puppies cave-raised with wolves.]

Great Dane, AKC, female puppy, 5 mths old, Last of Liter.
[I really don't have anything more to add.]

Great Pyrenees puppies, 4 months old, male and female purebred, excellent as pet or guardian, gentle with children, raised with goat herd.
[Sound of Music, anyone? Ladee-o'deladee-o'delow]

Miniature schnauzer puppies, AKC, black and silver, this breed does not shed fur.
[What does it shed? Pounds? Chocolate?]

[Then, in the tradition of blending names to designate a new breed, as in Bennifer and Brangelina, we have the following:]

Shitzupoos, CKC registered, all shots and wormed.

[I 've decided that I can't own one of these dogs, because I'm not nearly mature enough to say the breed name out loud without chuckling like Beevis and/or Butthead.]

Again, it's a very slow, gray day.

Feminine Again

This week, I received an unsolicited publication in my mailbox. It came addressed to a previous occupant and rather than forward the publication, I brought it to my apartment. It's called Jezebel, a magazine about "Atlanta luxury living." I had no idea there was luxury living in Atlanta, much less an entire magazine devoted to it. So, with some interest, I flipped through the pages.

According to the magazine's tag line, it covers "homes, cars, fashion, celebs, travel, and culture." All the things that you'd expect in luxurious living. I glanced at pictures of the 20 most eligible men and women in Atlanta (lots of white teeth and big boobs), I learned about the newly renovated Rays on the River, and I read through all the upcoming events that I wasn't planning to attend. None of these features came as a surprise.

What did come as a bit of a surprise was an ad for "Vaginal Rejuvenation and Cosmetic Surgery." I wondered where this fit in "luxury living." The ad offered to help me "feel feminine again" and to "enhance the appearance of [my] female genital area to its more youthful state." I could accomplish this through the miracle of some really unpleasant-sounding surgical procedures. Now, not only do I have to worry about the rapidly aging parts of me that are regularly visible to the general public, I also have to think about the cosmetic appearance of my nether-regions? Fan-damn-tastic.

The ad raised questions that I can honestly say that I've never considered. For example, "Do you have feelings of embarrassment about the appearance of your genitalia?" Well, no, but now I wonder if I should. Who would I ask, other than these doctors? I mean, seriously, that's a tough question to ask someone. I'm not even sure how you'd lead into it. "So, speaking of the drought, do you think my genitalia are funny looking?" See what I mean.

But, the good Doctors Miklos and Moore (more what? ha ha ha) will solve all my "south of the border" troubles. They offer such things as vaginal rejuvenation. I didn't even know it was burned out. And, in what has to be the worst euphemism of all time, they'll fix vaginal relaxation, a condition usually caused by childbirth. Admittedly, I haven't given birth to any children, but from what I understand, it's anything but relaxing. And, honestly, I think after something like that, my vagina would have every reason to take it easy for a while. Wonder what they would do to tense it back up. Give it a really hard test? Make it go on a blind date? Force it to navigate through Friday afternoon rush hour traffic?

Among many other procedures, the good doctors can enhance my g-spot. Finally, something that sounds interesting. The most puzzling procedure is something called uterine suspension. Suspended where? How? And why? Did it throw spitballs in the cafeteria? Did it pull someone's hair? Oh, and they also offer uterine preservation - so all your future generations can marvel at your uterus, I suppose. As your children's children's children walk down memory lane, looking at old photographs, school awards, and sports trophies, they can also gaze upon your uterus, perfectly preserved in its "youthful state."

If you want more information about all of this, check out http://www.anewvagina.com/. No, I'm not making that up. If this is what it takes to live in the lap of luxury, I'll stay right where I am.

Boycott Charmin

Last night, I'd settled in to watch "Two and a Half Men." Yes, I know it's mindless, and yes, I know that most of the jokes are crass and rude. I still think it's funny. One word: Ducky. Anyone who has seen Pretty in Pink knows what I'm talking about.

I made it to the first commercial break and prepared to channel surf when I heard the Hallelujah Chorus. I decided to see which multinational, money-grubbing, capitalist corporation decided to defame Handel's masterpiece. I expected a ridicuously early Christmas commercial. What I got were 2 animated bears, one red and one blue, running down a beach. Apparently, the bears needed to find a stairmaster, because their flabby backsides bounced up and down with each step. I think it was supposed to be cute. It wasn't, not while I was listening to the Hallelujah Chorus.

The bears broke into smiles of relief as they spied their destination - 2 port-a-pots, one red and one blue. They ran over, threw open the doors, and reached a state of ecstasy as they discovered entire packages of Charmin inside. Rather than actually use the port-a-pots, they danced on the beach, caressing the Charmin. The Hallelujah Chorus continued.

I sat with mouth agape. Then, I started saying, "Oh my God!" and found that I couldn't stop. For a full minute, I continued to express my utter disbelief. This had to be the most egregious misuse of sacred music in the history of egregious misuses of sacred music. Yes, the Hallelujah Chorus is a song of celebration, but it's not about Mary and Joseph finding a port-a-pot at the end of their long journey to Bethlehem. And, yes, Mary did ride on an ass to Bethlehem. So I suppose in a roundabout way, the Hallelujah Chorus is about an ass, but it's not about Mary's fat ass. There are actual other words in the Hallelujah Chorus, none of which relate to port-a-pots, toilet paper, or animated bears. For example, Handel wrote, "For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth." Not, "For the Lord God Omnipotent gave us a port-a-pot." Not to mention, "And He shall reign forever and ever." Again, not, "And we shall wipe with the softest, most absorbant tissue forever and ever." Wrong on so many levels.

I called a friend to tell her of the travesty I'd just witnessed. She confirmed that the Charmin bears, the "shit bears" as she called them, were neither cute nor effective sales mascots. She was already one step ahead of me, having boycotted Charmin after the commercial where little bits of animated toilet paper get stuck to an animated bear's animated ass. (I have not seen that one, by the way. Not watching TV has its advantages.)

This is a perfect example of the devious nature of animation. When things are animated, we're supposed to automatically think they're cute, even if they're defaming sacred music by associating it with a necessary, yet disgusting, everyday activity. I don't care if there are fat red and blue bears running down a beach, I don't want to think about wiping my ass when I hear the Hallelujah Chorus. Is nothing sacred anymore?

Don't even get me started on the feminine product commercial where 2 women prepare for a surprise party by crouching behind a couch. When the birthday girl walks in, they jump up and yell, "Surprise!" while the voice-over announcer says something like, "Don't you wish you could count on your feminine protection all the time?" Eww.

Or the commercial for some bladder control medication, where some unsuspecting , weak bladdered woman walks into a surprise party at work and apparently doesn't lose control of her bodily functions. This remarkable achievement prompts one of her co-workers to remark, "You look fantastic!"

Lesson here: Don't have surprise parties because they may result in unintended and disgusting outcomes. And don't use animation and sacred music to thinly veil a disgusting topic. I'll admit that Charmin's advertising company has a tough task. They're not selling candy or coffee, after all. But, c'mon, they are selling a product that is absolutely necessary and I believe would sell itself, with or without advertising.

One last thing: Whatever happened to Mr. Whipple? OK, he was a little creepy because he hung out in supermarkets squeezing toilet paper, but no more creepy than 2 fat animated bears running toward port-a-pots on the beach.

Exploding food

The other day, I read the paper while having lunch. It's my daily routine. I read the local and national news thoroughly, paying particular attention to the Blotter, skip the sports section where columnists alternately celebrate football triumphs or disect recent losses, and finally turn my attention to the living section, where I find out about all the events I'm not attending, all the books I'm not reading and all the movies I'm not watching. After checking in with my horoscope to make sure I can safely leave the house, I close the paper.

I followed this protocol the other day, sure that there was nothing blog-worthy in the paper. I turned the last page of the living section and there it was: a full-page advertisement for organic, non-medicinal, herbal remedies. The reason I paid any attention at all was the headline, "Foods That EXPLODE in Your Bowel!" Needless to say, I was intrigued.

Despite the full-page ad, Frank K. Wood refused to tell me which foods might blow a hole in the side of my bowels. Instead, he offered a page-long list of other things that I'd never considered but am now really concerned about. If I want answers, I have to buy Wood's book, The Complete Guide to Digestive Health, for $9.99.

According to Frank, I'll be amazed by how many inexpensive, easy, natural cures I'll find all around me - in my pantry, garden, garage, and grocery store. He lost me at "garage." Garages are for cars, car-related products, and cover bands. Forget it, Frank, I'll take my chances. (I bet it's beans and peppers that cause bowel explosions. Those are evil foods that should not be consumed under any circumstances.)

Here are some of the things that Frank would like to enthusiastically tell you about:

• Two-cent colon cleanser! [That's really adding your 2 cents. Let's hope it's not 2 actual cents because that just sounds painful.]
• Belching and bloating - they could be warning signs of up to 7 hidden health problems. [Yes, but they also make you really popular at frat houses, or so I've heard.]
• Irritable bowel syndrome? Check here for another common disorder that could be your real problem. [Let's hope the "real problem" has a better name. I've had to deal with irritable people, but an irritable bowel sounds worse. Me: "Please digest my food." Irritable bowel: "No, go away, leave me alone. I'll do it when I feel like it."]
• How to prevent the embarassment of a leaky bladder! [I don't understand Frank's enthusiasm about this, but more power to him.]
• Eyes bigger than your stomach? Find relief with this herb after overeating. [But, by all means, keep overeating.]
• When eating bananas could be deadly! [I don't know, when you're hanging upside down in a burning building? When someone is holding a gun to your head and says, "If you eat that banana, I'll blow your head off?"]
• Bowels too sluggish...or too speedy? Either way, this super fruit may help. [OK, the obvious joke would be something to do with Richard Simmons. Instead, I'll just ask how a single fruit can help with both problems at the same time? Isn't the solution to one problem the cause of the next?]
• Sleep on this side to reduce acid reflux. [Well, it seems like you could figure this out on your own, without Frank's intervention. Sleep on one side, then the other. Evaluate results.]
• Cigarettes are bad for lungs...but harm stomachs, too. [So stop eating your cigarettes!]

There are some days when I'm not as enthusiastic about my chosen profession. Thanks to Frank, I love my work. At least I don't spend my days testing garage remedies for constipation, irritable bowels, leaky bladders, and belching. I feel certain that Frank is bringing joy and comfort to many people the world over. I also feel certain that I don't want to sit next to him at a dinner party.