WHY is it that if we’re so much more enlightened, if things are so much better here in the twenty-first century, there’s a dearth of fat, balding, middle-aged men willing to wear a diaper and put on a homemade sash for New Year’s Eve? Aside from that private club I went to once, I mean.
The festive gent seen here in a photo similar to a few hundred curiously specific 1950s New Year’s Eve snapshots floating around on the internet was identified by my dear great aunt – with a steel trap for a memory, she has – as the guy who lived across the street from my grandparents.
And now this treasured family photograph has been harvested by a handful of complete strangers for their Tumblr pages. You’re welcome! But if I see it on the cover of some awful “upcycled paper” journal on Etsy, I’ll sue you for every last hand-made knit hat with ridiculous dangly pom-pommed ear flaps that you own!
WE’VE ALL been there: You’re pals with a fan of Rachael Ray who has all kinds of Rachael Ray garbage, but you don’t know what to get her (or him!) for Christmas! Oh, pardon – or “Hanukkah!”
Head over to Target, friend, just a few aisles away from Space Mary and Joseph, and your problems will be solved!
That’s where you’ll find this!
It’s the official Rachael Ray Garbage Bowl®!
And boy, isn’t it a beaut!
“Beautiful and functional” its label says, and your Rachael Ray giftee will agree. Never has bright Cheetos-orange melamine dotted with leftover shards looked better or been more useful.
“Colorful speckled pattern is sure to add fun and flair to your cooking experience.” Hey, peeling these onions used to be a chore – since I got my Rachael Ray Garbage Bowl, I’m laughing through the tears. Got some fish to gut? Bring ‘em over! I want to keep the good times going!
And believe me, all the fun I’m having…? You know I’m packing this baby next time I go hunting and need to field dress a deer!
Someone named “Rul Ry” – a designer, perhaps, in the Rachel Ray Empire (Filipino, I reckon, by the name) – has signed off on this – with Rachael’s permission? We don’t know, but we hope so.
He tells us that “You’re going to love this Garbage Bowl!” – a short statement which offers us two important bits of information: one, that we’re going to love this Garbage Bowl and two, Garbage Bowl, a term we’ve never before heard, is now a proper noun. Don’t try playing it in Scrabble!
Rul goes on to let us know that this bowl “keeps you chopping and cooking rather than running back and forth to the garbage can.” Good news for you and me with our cavernous, airplane hangar-like kitchens with the prep counter by the east wall and, opposite, on the west – waaay over there – a trash receptacle permanently bolted to the floor. (Hiring that guy who designs ships’ galleys for the kitchen re-do seemed like a fun idea.)
Anyway, no surprise: I’ve fallen in love with this thing. I’m keeping it. As for my pal, she’ll get a Target gift card instead. But I will let her know where to find one for herself.
It’s on the shelf marked with this:
SO I was at Big Lots the other day finishing up my Christmas shopping.
I’ve taken care of the mailman, the dog walker, my pole dance instructor, the cat’s therapist, my wife’s electrolysis team, the nanny, my cane chair re-weaver, the nanny’s immigration lawyer, the housekeeper, my daughter’s pony’s ferrier, the gardeners, that airy-fairy woman who sages the doghouse twice a month, the paperboy, the baby sitter, my corset lacer, our pool guy, my haiku coach, the guy that hooked me up with free cable, my mani-pedi crew, the shoeshine boy, my personal watermelon, Bob from Sesame Street, the guy that hooked me up with my mani-pedi crew, the foreman on my ant farm, my corset unlacer, the garbagemen – pretty much everyone.
But like you, I’m always stumped: What do you get for your tattoo artist? He’s always the toughest person to shop for.
Thankfully, it was Big Lots to the rescue with a tasteful bottle of pinot grigio:
Now, this wasn’t any of that swill that Trader Joe’s peddles for two bucks. No sir – a quality wine like this’ll run you twice that.
Can we get a closeup of the label, please? Ah, here we go.
This will pair wonderfully with a 7-11 microwave oven-baked burrito in wrapper on a bed of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. Or by itself, when relaxing with friends on a bus bench while wearing a trucker cap. Oh, this is perfect!
Last person crossed off the ol’ shopping list, I could finally unwind and really take in the sights of the season. Namely, hot sauce gift sets! Because, folks, what says Christmas more than the gift of hot sauce? I’ll tell you what: Nothing!
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
Just a suggestion, gang…? Say you and a pal have agreed to a $20 limit and you’re giving him (or her!) the five, ten, or fifteen dollar gift of Big Lots hot sauce this holiday season…?
You can make up the difference with these.
AND Joseph went unto the city of Bethlemoon to be taxed with Mary his wife, being great with child.
And she brought forth her first born son, and wrapped him in swaddling moon-clothes, and laid him in a space-manger; because there was no room for them at the starbase.
IT’S sweeping the nation!
It’s even the top story on Google News as I write this.
Yes! There’s no unrest in Egypt!
Obama has solved every problem in America!
And apparently Mitt Romney is neither at Disneyland nor pumping gas today! So why shouldn’t this be the top story?
Google News lets users personalize their content – how personalized is this? It’s geared to one specific reader: The one who wins the jackpot!
If someone does!
Welcome to journalism in the 21st century, folks!
And then there’s the Powerball site itself in all its Web 1.0 glory:
An over $500 million jackpot…and the game’s website – complete with ads for refinancing your home (in the off-chance you don’t have the winning ticket) – looks like the project the slow guy on the Ted Parsnips Web Design Team did for his junior high computer class project in 1997.
So, folks, go ahead and piss your money away on Powerball tickets if you want to. Go ahead! Who’s stopping you?!
Anyone with a brain in their head knows your only real chance at getting rich is with Scratchers.
So I exercised my God-given right, guaranteed by the Declaration of Independence, to vote today – shirtless – just as the Indians did back when they were voting for president hundreds and hundreds of years ago.
I’m telling you, though – they always manage to nail you with those stupid “I Voted” stickers on the way out, don’t they?
Now if someone can just help me get it off my back.
IT OCCURS TO ME when I recently complained about all of those pointless political flyers I’d received in the mail (final tally: a ludicrous seventy-eight!), yet expressed amusement and delight with one of Brad Sherman’s mailers attacking Howard Berman, you might have misinterpreted my fondness for the ad as an endorsement of Sherman himself.
No, no, a thousand times no!
(It also occurs to me that my, what, six readers, none of whom likely reside in Southern California, have any interest in a local political race. Yet here I go again.)
So in the interest of fairness – and, brother, if life were fair, neither of these jackasses would be running for office - in the interest of fairness, I offer what I have determined to be an accurate cross-section of the surprisingly disparate Brad Sherman voter demographic, courtesy the back page of that same flyer.
Who’s Voting for Brad Sherman?
1. Ethnically vague nap-sacked hermaphrodites
2. Retired organ grinders
3. Undocumented capybaras
4. Carmen Zapata circa “Villa Alegre”
5. Bobby Hill
6. Deep Roy
7. Fundamentalist Mormon sister-wives
8. Julian Assange
So there you have it. We’re all even-steven now.
Here’s today’s mail. …Oh my.
Magnificent. Even if ’72 is a little early for the disco angle.
Okay, I’m still not going to vote for either of these guys for Congress. But if Brad Sherman was nominated for Best Withering Political Attack Ad Campaign On Annoying Oversized Flyers That No One Ever Reads, he’d be on stage thanking the Academy tonight.
They’ve developed bed linens for people who hate changing their sheets!
“Honey, I was really hoping you would help us trim the tree this year – so we can do it together, as a family. And guess what – I picked up a special ornament just for you!”
“Shut up, Mom! Can’t you see I’m busy?!”
HEY, this is perfect for you! You love this show! Look what I found for you!
You can dress up as Glee! You can be Glee for Halloween!
Which reminds me of a funny anecdote!
As you know my father was a Carpenter First Class. Now he’s a Carpenter (Retired).
During the summer when I was a kid, I would work with him on his jobs. And by “work with him,” I mean of course stand around, get in the way and whine a lot.
Dad loved the show “Get Smart” and often he’d regale me with entire plots – complete with jokes – from specific episodes that he’d enjoyed. But he never referred to the main character as “Maxwell Smart” or “Max” or “Agent 86″ or even “Don Adams” or, I don’t know, “the secret agent guy” or anything like that.
Oh no. He always called him “Get Smart” as though the title of the show was the main character’s name.
He could remember 99 but not 86?! They’re both numbers!