DLOG Presents: Earth Day Tips

It's Earth Day again, and instead of sitting around feeling bad about the fact that you still use a can of hairspray each day (dude, I'm telling you, the pompadour is coming back), take some actions. We'll even help. Here are some things you can do to help make a difference, or at least get off Al Gore's %#@$ list:

• Just for today, try not to slap any hippies.


• Use the space in your yard to build a habitat for local woodland creatures. Not only do they have a space to visit and thrive, but it affords you an opportunity to see them up close, making them much easier to shoot.


• Stop buying newspapers - all the news is available online. In addition to saving trees, people will stop talking about how incredibly old fashioned and out of touch you are, causing you to shake your cane at them in a threatening manner.


• Consider unique ways to bring more green plant life to your neighborhood. For instance, there's this kid in the neighborhood who grows all these big plants in his basement, and you can tell it makes him feel really good about himself. It's like that guy is always smiling.


• Showers can use as much as 10 to 25 gallons less water than a bath, and that's not even counting the water saved from using it as a urinal as well.


• Make sure to run full loads of laundry to conserve water. I've run loads so full that some of the clothes come out still dry, which also saves on the power to run the dryer.


• Instead of disposing table scraps down the drain or in a landfill, consider getting a composter. Not only will you get valuable fertilizer for your garden, but many modern composters are large enough to house an entire body. I've heard.


• Don't limit your recycling efforts to the standard plastic jugs and water bottles. Think outside the box and be creative. For example: toilet paper Rorschach tests.

Remember, only you can make the changes needed to save our planet. Unless someone else does instead I guess. Whatever.

I Guess "Here Famous" Doesn't Impress The Same Way

Well, the weekend saw me driving the family across scenic Michigan to take a weekend trip (and by "scenic", I mean, "flat and occasionally tree covered"). As I am wont to do, I shopped for available billboards while admiring the work of others. In the process, I came across something that I'm not sure I approve of on a billboard for a bakery - the use of the term "world famous".



To give you a point of reference, this here website has, according to my analytics, had visitors from sixty two different countries. That seems like a lot to me, but that could be due to the fact that my ignorance of geography keeps me aware of only those countries currently threatening us (I'm looking at you, Canada, sitting there all polite and quiet, smiling while you sharpen you're skates and train your squadrons of attack-beavers). So I've had people from all over the world swing by and hopefully snicker at my work here.

Still, I don't know that I would go so far as to refer to the site as "world famous". That just seems...I don't know. Presumptuous perhaps. I might call it "world vaguely-aware-of" or maybe "world stumbled-upon", but "famous"? It just seems a bit much.

As such, I must admit that I remain dubious that the bakery known as Cops And Doughnuts (so named because it's actually owned by police officers - nice) is truly famous around the world. I guess I should have stopped and found out. Maybe the doughnuts are just that damned good. The truth is though, once you get burned by one "world famous" attraction, it's hard to trust again.

Damn you Mystery Spot. Damn you for making me believe.

God, That Must Be Your Feet Then

I've discussed interesting perfumes and colognes here before. It's kind of required sometimes. I mean, had I not acknowledged the Star Trek colognes (which I still haven't received as a gift despite my best hinting), I would have put my nerd card at risk. And who wouldn't want to cover the Burger King scent. Well, something has come up that surpasses my wildest expectations.

Someone has released the the scent of va-jay-jay in a bottle and called it Vulva Original.

At first I figured this was an April Fool's day set up, but apparently it's been around for years. Trying to ignore the fact that the company didn't go out of business, fire all of it's employees and burn to the ground within weeks of announcing such a product, I did a bit of poking around (heh) and found corroboration via Jezebel. Apparently, they are not actually marketing this as a cologne or perfume but rather a "beguiling vaginal scent which is purely a substance for your own smelling pleasure".

If you can read that sentence without getting a serious case of the wiggums, you're a stronger person than I am.

Of course I have grave concerns about this, starting with that name. What kind of name is "Vulva"? Could they not at least make an effort at being creative? Perfumes always have these subtle names. Why not follow suit and call it something like Marée Basse? That or just go all out and just call it Giney.

Also, if you're going to release a product like this, don't rely on word of mouth to get the news out. This calls for a real marketing effort, a true media blitz. Besides, has there ever been a product that cried out so much for a celebrity spokesperson?

Vulva Original: for the man who wants to smell just like Tiger Woods.

One Even Had The Nerve To Mention My Unshaved Legs. Brute.

At some point in the last century, it was decided that in order for a man to be sexy, he has to completely lack body hair. I don't who the originator of this concept was, although one is forced to suspiciously eye the major razor manufacturers. Either way, it has become the norm that magazine ads, romance novel covers, and the walls of mall stores I refuse to enter on principal are adorned with sullen, half-naked men who seem to have skipped the part of puberty that gave the rest of us body hair.



This is bothersome to me, as I actually went all the way through puberty, and thus come equipped with said body hair. While I have no issues with shaving my face, the idea of taking a razor to the rest of my person just seems wrong, not to mention time consuming. I'm sure right now there are hypocrite alarms going off for some of my female readers (assuming I have female readers that is), but it's true. I can't imagine adding forty minutes to my morning routine to de-wookie myself, not to mention the investment in razors and shaving cream that would entail.

The thing is, because this is all I see, I become self-conscious about it at times. I mean, I'm not Robin Williams furry. If I take off my shirt, you can tell I'm not wearing a sweater or anything. Still, it makes me wonder if my good lady wife would, despite her protests, actually prefer the more aerodynamic look I see all around me. This is especially true in the most complained of area, the back hair, where I don't actually have full coverage, but rather one decent row of hair right across the top of my back.

Yeah, nothing says sexy like a unibrow across the back.

Still, I hold fast for the most part, taking comfort in the odd exceptions. Hugh Jackman seems to have retained sex symbol status, so there's hope for us manly men yet. In the meantime, I'll maintain my longstanding policy of simply remaining clothed pretty much all the time I'm within public view. Well, I don't know about longstanding, but at least since the neighborhood association got that complaint about me taking the garbage out half-dressed because I was running late.

If any of them knew how long it took to get those garters on in the first place, I'm sure they would have been a little more understanding.

Oh It Starts With Fart Jokes, But Before Long You Have Men Walking Into Bars

So, Tuesday the FDA ban of "flavored" cigarrettes took effect. Apparently, the thinking is that the mint, fruit and candy flavored cigarettes appeal to a younger crowd, and by removing them from the market, they can help keep these young'ins from getting addicted. It's...interesting.

I find this move confusing for a couple of reasons. First, they seem to be suggesting that the flavored cigarettes are marketed to kids and young teens. Personally, I would have guessed the target crowd to be college girls who want a smoke that matches the flavor of whatever sickeningly sweet schnapps she's using to find her inner girl-gone-wild that evening, but I'm not big on marketing so what do I know? So the theory is that if you get rid of tasty cigarettes, the kids will no longer be interested.

Huh.

Two things. First, I have no problem with anyone who wants to ban clove cigarettes, not because they are a "gateway" cigarette to the real things, but rather because their smell is reminiscent of, say, a hippy pyre. It's like someone ran out of pot at a Phish concert, and they decided to try smoking eachother's hair. It's...unpleasant.

Second, and more to the point, this is so ridiculously transparent a political maneuver that any meaning behind it is lost. Look, if you really think cigarettes are bad for people, then ban all of them. If, on the other hand, smoking is a personal choice, then leave it the Hell alone and stop with the constant "it's for the kids" posturing. If people want to do something bad for themselves, let them. If we don't want kids picking up stupid habits, educate them and hope they make good choices. I don't think regulation is the answer to people's health problems.

Seriously, what's next, banning the sodas that kids drink most because they're a gateway to the Mountain Dew? Force Doritos to only offer flavors that appeal to grown up tastes? (I'm still wanting to try Bourbon and Disappointment flavored Doritos myself, but then I have grown up tastes.) Ooh, I know, take all children's programming off the television. Sure, some of it is educational, but it's a gateway to sedentary lifestyle, and we can't have that now can we?

I'd say more, but DLOG is proudly notorious for immature bathroom humor, and I don't want to attract the Government's attention and get banned as a gateway to full-blown dirty jokes.

In My Mind, Jeff Corwin Was Narrating It. It Was Awesome.

Saturday, I found myself running to my local grocery store. This is not unusual for me, however this particular trip was marked with an unfortunate occurrence. You see, once again a troop of Boy Scouts had set up shop outside of the exit, attempting to accost passer-bys and force unto them overpriced tins of popcorn.

I do not abide by this.

It's not that I begrudge the scouts their mission, whatever that may be. I was a boy scout myself for all of three or four weeks. As I recall, we were given a bag of loose art supplies (an egg carton, pipe cleaners, that sort of thing) and told that we would be competing for best creation. I turned up later with a little puppet guy, not exactly competition for the scale model race car, complete with tailpipes and headlights, that won. I recall how proudly the father looked upon his son's prize, a moment that made a lot more sense when my own father explained that they guy had made the thing himself. As I didn't feel like competing with adults, and my own father lacked the artistic talents to assist me, I called that off toot sweet.

Still, good for the ones that carry on, but they have fallen under the umbrella of fund raisers that, frankly, suck. I'm sure it eats away at them, the way their female counterparts have built a global empire on mediocre cookies that get treated like manna from Heaven because they keep them from us for the better part of a year. (Of course, I make an exception for Carmel Delites, which I'm pretty sure are, if not actually from Heaven, at least from a dimension of delicious, fattening goodness that our puny minds cannot fully comprehend.) While the Girl Scouts are buying private islands and building vast, pony-filled fortresses on their cookie money, these shmoes are trying to convince me that if it's for a good cause, I should be happy to pay $22 for a tin of cheesy popcorn that is undoubtedly no better than the 99 cent bag of the same product I just walked by in the store. Not happenin', junior.

Still, at least these kids have a physical product. The ones that really slay me are the kids who show up at my doorstep with a %#$@ing catalog, hoping that I will leaf through it and place an order. I remember when these things were done right. I was handed a box of chocolates. Given that my parents were not the type to sell them to their office mates, I would sell three or four of them to my neighbors, eat about fifteen of them, and return the rest. Easy peasy. I don't mind picking up a bag of M&Ms for a good cause. I am not, however, going to commit to a set of overpriced cookie cutters, pizza pans, or oven mitts. If I need any of that, I hit up Bed, Bath, and Beyond, as opposed to waiting around for the rocket football fund raiser.

Anyway, I played my exit perfectly, having had much practice at dodging the young salesmen. As I was leaving, I took my place behind an older woman, putting her between me and eager scout that awaited us. As she fell to him, I moved past swiftly, not unlike the antelope leaving the weak and the old behind to be preyed upon.

I feel it was a righteous maneuver.

I Really Thought the Little Clown Costumes Would Have Done It

I'm a cat person for a few reasons. Cats are (mostly) dignified. They're small. I'm pretty sure I could take one in a fair fight. Mostly though, owning a cat doesn't rely on me following my pet around with a plastic bag on my hand waiting for something awful to occur.

Now I know, however, that the alternatives are much worse.

Specifically, I'm referring to PooTrap, a new fangled device used to skip the whole "picking it up" step. I'm not going to describe the product when they have been gracious enough to supply an ad. Watch it. You'll thank me.



I think my favorite part of this product is the way they have cunningly combined all the charm of a diaper with the tastefulness of a gimp suit. I also enjoy some of their specific decisions, like not supplying opaque bags, thus allowing everyone to fully view the transaction taking place, or the fact that removal of the bag involves tugging on your dogs rear end (here's hoping it never gets stuck, forcing you to give it a really good pull). You really have to admire the amount of work these people have put towards accomplishing something that I thought was completely impossible.

One way or another, they're going to find a way to humiliate a dog.

My Family, Now Brought To You By Tampax

Like a lot of people, I've been thinking of ways to bring in more money. I'm not hurting or anything, but a little extra cash is always welcome. Unfortunately, this is difficult because people like money, so no one wants to give me any of theirs, and I don't know anyone about to croak, so inheritance is out. Then I had a brilliant idea.

I can sell advertising on my car.

Seriously, people pay all kinds of money to pay for ads on race cars, and that's a total waste. First, they're all packed with ads, so you don't typically see any of them but the biggest ones. Second, all the cars are covered in ads, so it's not like your ad stands out. Add to that that a lot of people would rather eat their feet than watch cars turn left for hours on end, and you can see that this is not money well spent.

My car, on the other hand, drives all over the place. Well, in lower Michigan anyway. Okay, it's mostly just the school/work/grocery store route, but hey, that could be great for local shops. My car is a bright, attention getting red. I'm a law abiding citizen, so there's no risk of their store being associated with criminal activity. More importantly, I have almost no pride left, so I'm happy advertising any damned thing short of a strip club (sorry, but I drive kids around, and that's just not right). Add to that a built in attractive family just like on TV, and you've got a solid gold premise here.

So, if you're looking for a new and exciting way to get word out about your business, shoot me an email. We'll arrange terms, and next thing you know you'll have a traveling billboard like no one else. Just think of the word of mouth that will be generated at my job, the grocery store, and the local schools when I pull through with your business emblazoned on the side of my car.

Of course I should probably run all of this by my lovely wife first, but what are the odds that she would mind riding in a car that says "Mountain Dew" on the side?

UPDATE:
Holy cow, this is a real thing. I guess that's what I get for not researching before I post.

Here In The Hall Of Heads

There was this time a few weeks ago where I was having gastrointestinal issues. I dealt with them by taking a couple of laxatives. Then I forgot about it and made lunch, which consisted of a couple of spicy, black bean burgers covered in yellow peppers and hot deli mustard.

Now, thanks to these people, that is no longer the worst idea ever.

The good people at Cremation Solutions have come up with a...novel way of storing your loved ones. They take a photograph of the deceased, put it into a machine, and produce a three-dimensional replica of their head, that you then put their ashes into. If this sounds creepy, believe me when I tell you I'm not doing it justice. This is the actual promotional picture from the linked web site:



Now, there are currently a few kinks to the system. First, they don't do hair, so if the deceased isn't bald, you'll probably want to spring for a wig. Also, if you decide to go this way yourself, you'll probably want to be very specific about what you want done with it and leave it with someone you trust. No one wants to spend the afterlife wondering if the container for their ashes is being decorated in drag queen makeup and donning a "Boob Inspector" cap.

There are benefits, though. I mean, when I went to dad's funeral and saw the box they threw him in, my first thought was that it looked like something you'd keep jewelry in. At least here, there's nothing ambiguous about it. Plus, this way you would get to double as an attractive and effective Halloween decoration, which is cool and a lot easier than my plan of paying some neighborhood kids a couple hundred bucks to go put a plastic arm sticking out of my grave each year after I go (heh). I'm even considering trying to convince my lovely wife that maybe when she passes, this may be the best way to handle the arrangements.

That way, even though she would be gone, I could still admire her bust.

Or I Could Write A Script That Adds The Current Zombie Alert Level

When I got my iPhone, it came with an automatic email signaure. For those of you that aren't tied to a computer that you carry around and pretend it's a phone, people who send emails from their phone set these up. As I recall, all it said was something like "Sent from my iPhone", which struck me as kind of obnoxious. It was like I was sending an advertisement with every message. "This email brought to you by the good people at Apple and their amazing iPhone technology."

Blech.

I looked around a bit, and found that this is actually standard fare. I think the idea is to let people know that you're sending the email from your mobile device in an effort to get some slack on bad spelling or brevity. Some of them are quite explicit about this, going all "please excuse any misspellings or terseness", which I frankly find to be a bit silly. I mean, you went out and bought the thing because it has a full keyboard and sends email, and then immediately use it as an excuse to be lazy. My personal feeling is that if you're sending a message, you can take the time to check it for spelling. If you don't have that kind of time, perhaps you should put the phone down and focus on driving your damned car instead.

I suppose that there are times when you need to send out a quick message, but those aren't really the kind of situations that allow for a canned response, right? Maybe just in case I should set up an automatic signature on my phone after all. That way, if I do find myself in one of these situations, I'll be ready. What do you think of this:

Please excuse any errors in my English or spelling, but if you see such errors, there's a pretty good chance I'm actually bound and gagged and managed to type out this message with my nose while holding my iPhone between my knees. You might consider calling the police, especially if I misuse "your" and "you're", which even a failed English major knows is completely unacceptable and frankly frustrates me to the point where just reading it makes me want to punch a kitten.

You know, I think I'm probably just better off without one after all.

I'm Suprised Deniro Isn't In There

Okay, I'm going to give you a list of actors and actresses, and you tell me what they all have in common. Ready?

Tracy Morgon, comedian, actor and Saturday Night Live Alumni.

Sam Rockwell, an actor know for being featured in popular independant films.

Steve Buscemi, a genius known for playing the nervous and paranoid in such films as Reservoir Dogs, The Big Lebowski, and Fargo.

Penelope Cruz, an actress that, having claimed critical acclaim in her home of Spain followed suit here in the USA.

Jon Favreau, actor, screenwriter and director whose credits include writing Swingers and directing one of last year's biggest hit, Iron Man

Nicolas Cage, a household name whose nearly thirty year career has seen him in some of the biggest movies produced.

Did you guess that they are all award winners? Well, that's absolutely true I suppose. Maybe you went with them all being big players in their particular scene, which I guess I would also have to agree with. Neither of these is what I'm thinking of, however.

No, what I was thinking of is that they are all playing rodents in G-Force, Disney's latest theatrical romp, that revolves around a troupe of secret agent guinea pigs, give or take a robotic fly or a mole. That's pretty much what I know about it, having managed to ignore most of the ads up until yesterday when the Disney Channel was running one of their long commercials for it. That was when I realized what kind of cast they had nabbed for themselves.



Now I can't say I'm surprised that once again Disney has opted for name recognition over professional voice actors. Disappointed maybe, but not surprised. No, what's throwing me here is that combining talking rodents with this particular group just seems so...disparate. I mean, I admit I don't see a lot of movies, and I tend to stick to the best reviewed stuff, so maybe they have fallen further than I knew, but these are people I associate with works of skill, things that made me laugh or cry or think, or at the very least entertained the Hell out of me. And Tracy Morgan.

Now they're doing rodent voices for Disney.

Now I'm not hating on Disney. You all know I just came back from a rocking vacation that they had a big part in. Between that and the joy they bring my kids, I'm pretty happy with them as a company, and would not ever do anything to cast aspersions on them. Plus I really like Jonas, and I'm not ashamed to say so. (Okay, I'm a little ashamed, but ^#%$ it, it's funny.) But how they pulled together these people is a mystery to me.

Maybe they payed them all a ton of money. Maybe they've all had kids now and they're trying to win favor this way. Maybe someone at Disney has compromising photos of them all at an Oscar party (fingers crossed). I just don't know. Whatever it is, the casting has had the odd effect of taking a movie that I had absolutely no interest in seeing whatsoever, and making me curious. You don't suppose...I mean, that can't be their intention, can it?

Either way, I think I'll wait for the sequel, G-Force 2: Kicking It In Gere.

I Should Really Charge For This Advice

Last weekend we did the long drive to and from the in-laws to celebrate Mother's Day. As my lovely wife has discovered the joy of gaming on the iPhone, a habit I encourage (anything to bring her back into the fold), I had some quiet time to think, which is typically not a good thing in my case as my mind is a dangerous place to wander alone. Anyway, while looking for things to distract me from the quiet and occasional cursing from my wife having issues with grenades or something, I saw one of my favorite logos on the side of a semi-truck, that of the Sherwin Williams people.



I'm all for tradition, and I understand that after 100 years, it's hard to consider rebranding (the current logo was, according to their site, creating in the late 1800s). Nonetheless, this...this doesn't jive with the current tree hugging, hippy vibe the country, nay the world, is currently embracing. In fact, I think this is possibly the least environmentally friendly marketing I've seen since the ill-fated Hummer campaign last year ("Sure the worlds running out of oil, but by then you'll be dead anyway. %#$@ the future." Wow that a bad idea.)

My complaint isn't even the slogan "Paint the World" (although that could use some work for sure). No, it's this image. I mean, we've all had it drilled into our heads that pollution is bad. A lot of us equate pollution with horrible stories of large corporations dumping chemicals into waterways, leading to frogs with extra limbs or rivers catching afire. Clearly, you guys are aware of these concerns, but I think it's time to finally commit and roll out a new logo. That or go ahead and come up with a slogan that matches the current image.

Might I suggest the one that comes into my head each time I see this: "Sherwin Williams - Buy our paint or we'll drown your world in a crimson bath of despair."?

Taste the Nightlife

As we all know, I have an issue with snack foods. Specifically, Doritos, and their habit of rolling out freaky flavors. My unnatural interest in such things has led to me getting burned before, so I've at least learned to stop trying them (well, usually anyway). Still, their marketing carries on, and their new attempts at catching the eyes of America has my attention: Doritos Late Night.

Currently, the sub-brand sports only two flavors: "Tacos at Midnight" and "Last Call Jalapeno Poppers". At first I wasn't sure what the target demographic is for these things, as people who actually go out late at night have access to real tacos at midnight and jalapeno poppers. I figure, maybe they're trying to lure in the underage crowd with the mystique of late night shenanigans, but as usual they have been far too tame in their endeavors. It is for this reason that I offer the good people at Frito Lay some additional late night flavor suggestions that they should consider adding to their roster:

Warm Beer and Cigarette (speaks to why the experienced drinker either never puts down his bottle or simply drinks from a glass)

Doritos (it's kind of a meta thing - very high concept)

Bourbon and Disappointment

Denny's Breakfast

Regret (I'm thinking this would be a fruity, girl drink flavor, not unlike Quest Doritos, which is the flavor I most associate with regret)

Donut

Bathroom Floor (really a morning after flavor, but it kind of fits the theme)

White Castle Sliders

Six-Dollar Cola (this may also be the first time a snack chip could incorporate glitter into a flavor)

Strange Flesh (oh it's edgy, but make no mistake, this will sell more than any snack product that has come before it)

Yeah, that ought to bring in the kids.

When Only the Best Will Do - Me

Once again, this weekend found me making the hour and a half trek from my home to that of my in-laws who were graciously hanging out with the tots so we could get some stuff done. Since my lovely wife was working on the way (we didn't get our stuff done), I had plenty of time to take in all of the sights of a thawing Michigan landscape. Having used up that fifteen minutes, I spent the rest of the time thinking about weird things.

One of these things is billboards. First, a lot of billboards need to be worded better. I'll give you an example. On this drive, I pass by a billboard that tells me that every twenty minutes a child is diagnosed with autism, and every time I think to myself, "Well, maybe his parents ought to write it down or something so they can stop diagnosing him over and over. I mean, the kid's got to have better things to do that hanging around doctor's offices waiting to be diagnosed with autism again.". No, I do not think it in Seinfeld's voice.

More interesting to me though are the blank ones. Given the current economy, I see a lot of blanks that say "Your ad could be here for $500", and I think to myself, "Dude, I could find $500 for a billboard". Think about it. There's nothing that says that I, as a random yahoo, could not cough up the dough to get myself a prime piece of billboard space alongside interstate 94.

What does one do with such a space though? Well, my first idea was a straightforward ad for myself. Just a picture of me, perhaps in a suit, with a tagline like "Isn't it time you tried Roger?" or "Nine of ten doctors agree - Roger". Maybe instead I could use one of those really mysterious things that don't say anything at all but sound really interesting, like "Don't you owe it to yourself to know Roger?" or "Roger. Because you're worth it."

Because, really, aren't you?

Even better, I could use the space as a public service. "Roger says, 'Remember kids, when sharing the highway, try not to be a dick'." would be helpful for example. I also like "Studies show that male tailgating is a form of latent homosexuality." (That one came to mind during the drive home, when the car behind me was attempting to re-enact the Ned Beatty scene from Deliverance). I could wear a lab coat and hold a clipboard for that one.

Finally, I had an epiphany. If I was going to spend the money, I should really be using that money for something truly worthwhile. Therefore, I'm going to start a fund so I can buy up all of these blank billboards and fill them with good, common sense zombie preparation tips. Just the basic stuff, like "Remember, an axe never needs to be reloaded." or "I know it looks like grandma, but better safe than sorry.". Maybe we can can get backing from Max Brooks. Bruce Campbell could be our spokesman. We could change the world people!

I...I may have finally found my purpose in life.

If You Read This In The Next Twenty Minutes, You Can Read It Again Totally For Free

As someone who doesn't watch a ton of television, I get to avoid a lot of commercials. Nevertheless, I am of course familiar with Billy Mays, the huckster of such products as Orange Glo and OxiClean, the latter of which has saved countless outfits that my offspring has attempted to destroy. Billy, with his endless enthusiasm and clean cut look, has come to be someone I listen to, someone who I will almost trust when he's pushing a product.

Just look how happy he is, and this is over an OxiClean Ball thing. I don't get that excited for my birthday, and I %#$@ing love my birthday.

There is, however, a new act in town, and I think he may be on to something. I refer to one Vince Offer, the man who initially pushed the ShamWow, and now can be seen shilling the SlapChop. Vince brings something new to the game. He talks fast. He moves around too much. He acts like you're a shmoe for having not ordered yet. I listen for about five seconds before I know you can't trust him.

But I still listen.

Have a look at the man selling the SlapChop. It's such a load. All of your troubles will melt away now that you can...I don't know. Cut stuff I guess.

I love the contrast between these two guys. Mays is the sort of person you can count on. You would call him for advice. He would help you move or install a toilet. He's someone you could ask about taxes or the best car to buy. You would trust your kids with him.

If I needed to call someone from jail, however, I'm guessing that Offer is the guy who would have the necessary knowledge.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to cast aspersions on the guys character necessarily. I'm just thinking he'd be more fun to go to the bar with. He knows where you can get a good burger at two thirty in the morning. He's the guy you want running co-op in Halo. He's funnier. I mean come on, the guy worked the phrase, "You're gonna love my nuts." into a nationally run commercial, and don't tell me it was an accident. That was art.

Anyway, I look forward to seeing if his brand of hucksterism will catch on. His act is so ridiculously transparent that one has to assume that it's intentional. I wonder at what point he and Billy will be competing for sponsors.

What I really wonder, though, is who would Ron Popeil pass his torch (or Showtime Rotisserie) to.

Dude, I Don't Know How To Say This, But You Smell Delicious

I'm a man who has reached the point in my life where I no longer feel the need to wear cologne. In my youth, I would regularly douse myself in various manly scents in an effort to attract the opposite sex. Having snared myself a wonderful bride, I have lapsed in this, deciding instead to go with the ever popular "clean". It's worked so far as I can tell.

Anyway, having left the scene, I don't pay a lot of attention to new colognes. I've ignored the whole Axe Effect. I disregard celebrity colognes, only pausing to note that Antonio Banderas came out with a cologne and all I could do was wonder if it smelled like Melanie Griffith. Basically, I don't care.

Then the advertisers of the world proved that everyone can be made curious with this. This is a delicious combination of fascinating and creepy, and it's apparently centered around a new scent for men (I think). Someone has finally wedded the American fascination with vanity with the American fascination with food.

If I'm reading this right, someone has made a cologne that smells like a Whopper.

Why a cologne though? I know they say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but do women get turned on by the aroma of grilling meat? I'm guessing not, but maybe I'm wrong. Either way, it seems like a perfume would have been a better choice.

Forgetting the gender bias for a moment though, is there really a crowd of people in the world who are sitting around thinking, "Gee, my life would feel so much more complete if I could smell like meat of some kind". If so, I suppose this product would give them a healthy alternative to hanging around with cannibals. So, you know, it's got that going for it I guess.

My point here is that once in a while the world throws a product out there that makes me sit back and realize that maybe I don't know people as well as I think I do. I mean, I never would have dreamed that such a thing would make it past the realm of humor, but there you go. So yeah, while I'm not running out to buy myself any of this (I'm thinking that my lovely wife, being a vegetarian, would be less than thrilled at the prospect of me smelling like a burger), it's interesting to me that there are those out there who will undoubtedly not only purchase, but actually wear such a thing.

To them, may I recommend avoiding the kennels.

All New Holiday Traditions, Brought to You By Burma Shave

So lets talk about something that's...unusual today. Today, I would like to address an odd side effect of a huge part of American life, something that has occurred, and that a lot of us appreciate, without anyone really bothering to put it into words that often. Today, I sing the praises of a certain unsung group of heroes.

Advertisers.

Okay, now I know what you're thinking. Normally, the denizens of Madison Avenenue are spoken of in the same breath as lawyers, politicians and oompa loompas (%@$#ing oompa loompas), and for good reason. Their job is to take some thing that we probably don't need, and convince us that we do. It's manipulative. It's disturbing. Overall, not a great mission in life.

There are those, however, who take that mission and create something wonderful out of it. Then they transcend their positions from mere marketers to artists. Sometimes, they even create something so impressive that it becomes part of our culture. I'm not talking about that red haired freak who pushes burgers on the unsuspecting masses. No, I'm talking about something bigger, something that has become a tremendous part of many of our lives.

I'm talking about Santa Claus.

Now don't get me wrong. I understand that everyone's favorite demigod has origins that trace back to Saint Nicholas of Myra. (At least I'm assuming he's a demigod - he has super powers and all that.) I also know that the current, accepted version of the man came in large part from "A Visit From St. Nicholas" a.k.a. "The Night Before Christmas", dating back to 1823. It was the Coca-Cola company, however, that put the fat man in the red suit all over the map. Oh he was gaining popularity, but it was the soda pop people who pushed him into icon status.

For that matter, what about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? This was purely a concoction of advertising, originating in 1939 as part of a Montomery Ward coloring book to be given away at Christmas time. Now, there isn't a kid who is unaware of the crimson-schnozzed caribou round these parts. It's simply part of the culture.

So there you have it. While many of us may look down our nose at our advertising counterparts, let us not sell short their contribution to our culture as Americans. Who knows what today's marketing geniuses will produce that our children will accept as part of our culture at large.

Heh - imagine people warning their children of the dreaded Axe effect, and how it leads to venereal disease.

Why No One Hangs Out With Susan Anymore

I don't watch a ton of television, and frequently when I do, there aren't commercials (or, in the case of Disney, there aren't commercials for anything that isn't made by Disney). Nevertheless, it seems that every time I do watch commercial television, I am inundated by commercials for prescription drugs, which really bothers me. It's not so much the actual advertising for these drugs that gets to me (although I do think that's a little weird). Rather, it's the way they work in the big medical warnings.

At first, it was blatant and appropriate. Near the end of the advertisement, a professional voice actor would start talking about possible side effects, drug interactions, etc. Sometimes, they would even put it in print, in case the television is muted perhaps. Either way, aside from the occasional surprising and outlandish notification (I've still never heard anything that can beat "may cause explosive flatulence with oily discharge"), it was pretty straightforward.

That was eventually found to be insufficient for our good friends in Madison Avenue. We can't have the drug makers breaking the brilliant illusion of a man who has successfully dealt with his erectile dysfunction by letting them cut in with this big scary warning about the potential heart attack he could have (although I'm always unclear if the risk is caused by the drug, or the shock that this poor fellow is getting lucky after who knows how long, but again I digress). No, instead we'll have him sit down with a fake doctor who will pretend that he has memorized, word for word, every bit of the associated warning label, while Mr. Back-in-action sits there and nods thoughtfully. Progress!

Even this was found to be lacking, however, so they progressed to what I find to be the most irritating version. A woman is telling her friends about some wonderful new birth control pill, and halfway through the conversation starts spouting off the warnings, again perfectly memorized, in this 30 second diatribe. Her friends sit there, looking at one another and again nodding thoughtfully. They end the whole mess with one of them making a joke about the loquacious saleslady having been to medical school or some such bull&$%*, and they all have a good natured laugh. In reality, this kind of verbal assault would probably have been met with something more along the lines of, "Wow, that drug sound interesting and all, but seriously Susan, do you ever shut the &$%* up?".

So please, whoever is out there writing this crap, cut it out. We're all big kids who can handle a little truth in our advertising. None of us believes that you guys have come up with some batch of chemicals that we can pump into our system with complete disregard to what effects other than the desired ones may be the result. It's okay to just tell us what the risks are without dressing them up.


**WARNING**

Possible side effects of reading Dangerously Low On Grog may include eye rolling, snickering, guffawing, chortling, and potentially projectile spraying of a beverage from the nasal cavity. Drinking beverages while reading Dangerously Low On Grog may increase these risks. Also, some incidents of weeping have been reported, but these effect were generally mild and only occurred during serious posts in either women related to the author, big sissies, or both.

No known issues have occurred in those taking prescription or recreational medications while reading Dangerously Low On Grog. In fact, if such medications make the author seem more witty or talented, then taking these medications are encouraged.

Do not attempt to operate a vehicle or heavy machinery while reading Dangerously Low On Grog.

Should you experience any nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, or other such medical emergencies while reading Dangerously Low On Grog, you should probably step away from the computer and go see a doctor or something. For the doctors sake, take a shower first. Depending on the symptoms, maybe take two.