The last time the spousal unit and yours truly ventured to the High Falls Hilton, we engaged in an interesting conversation with a family member that was extolling the virtues of the NETI pot.
For the unenlightened, a NETI pot is a teapot that you stick up your nose and "gently clean out your nasal passages with warm water".
In other words you attempt to drown yourself without actually drowning yourself. The last time I checked, which was the last time I inhaled, one is supposed to draw air into ones nasal cavities. I have heard tell of people that have actually DIED while trying to inhale water. Even if that water is "a gentle saline solution", which means water with salt in it. I guess the inventors of NETI never heard of people drowning in SALT WATER.
They must not have cable.
To continue, the instruction manual goes on to tell how the nasal cavity is the "first step in filtering impurities entering the body by using mucous and fine hairs", yuck. I mean we all know they are in there, we just don't talk about it, yuck.
And the instruction manual tells us that we need "to clean the filter regularly to allow it to operate efficiently". This is actually what I thought was happening when people pick their noses.
I could go on but I will spare you the rest. The short of it is this...my lovely bride is now extolling the virtues of NETI, to me...yuck.
Every man out there knows the inevitable end to this story....yuck.
The really scary part is that all of the women out there know the inevitable end too.
And they are all laughing.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I've become one of them!!
I stopped today on the way home from work to pick up a few essentials for the abode. One of them, the very nectar of life, coffee. I have always been a coffee drinker. I was in retail long enough that if it's a black liquid that smells vaguely of caffeine I need some. I can drink it all day long and still fall into a deep slumber without to much effort. In fact I've been accused of having narcolepsy on more than one occasion.
Anyway, I make my stop at the local food purveyor and head to the coffee aisle. And I realize that no longer do I walk around to the canned or freeze dried coffees. Instead I now head for the whole bean coffees. And no longer do I even glance at my first whole bean love (8 O'clock Coffee) but instead I find myself over at "the good stuff".
I find myself having an internal dialogue about the relative merits of Kenya vs Sumatra, about Seattle's Best vs New England's Best and I actually wonder if it might be nice to try a nice Kona Bean blended with some Millstone Foglifter. What the hell happened to me!! Sadly, I have become a coffee snob. Maxwell House and Folgers get nary a glance. Chock Full 'O Nuts, Yuban and Fransisco have all been banished from my coffee thought processing. Like fondly remembered childhood toys they have all been put away.
But what the hell, we all have to have a vice. And, as vices go this one is fairly benign. So if you'll excuse me I really must go and pick up some Organic sugar and half and half...I have to be up early.
Anyway, I make my stop at the local food purveyor and head to the coffee aisle. And I realize that no longer do I walk around to the canned or freeze dried coffees. Instead I now head for the whole bean coffees. And no longer do I even glance at my first whole bean love (8 O'clock Coffee) but instead I find myself over at "the good stuff".
I find myself having an internal dialogue about the relative merits of Kenya vs Sumatra, about Seattle's Best vs New England's Best and I actually wonder if it might be nice to try a nice Kona Bean blended with some Millstone Foglifter. What the hell happened to me!! Sadly, I have become a coffee snob. Maxwell House and Folgers get nary a glance. Chock Full 'O Nuts, Yuban and Fransisco have all been banished from my coffee thought processing. Like fondly remembered childhood toys they have all been put away.
But what the hell, we all have to have a vice. And, as vices go this one is fairly benign. So if you'll excuse me I really must go and pick up some Organic sugar and half and half...I have to be up early.
Friggin Authors!
I am annoyed, mildly annoyed right now but annoyed nonetheless. I am annoyed with the very real possibility to get (as Marvin the Martian used to say) very, very angry.
I know that authors get paid by the word but some of them carry their wordiness entirely to far.
Case in point, last year I decided to give the Robert Jordan Wheel of Time series another shot. A pretty good high fantasy series but, MY GOD, the guy loved the sound of keys clacking on the keyboard. After spending MONTHS getting involved in a very damn convoluted story line, I was finally beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I had gone through 12 FRIGGIN BOOKS of 700 to 1000 pages each, went to go find what must surely be the last book in this endless series....and what do I discover? THE AUTHOR DIED! That's right, he croaked right before the grand finale.
I ask you who in the hell is going to give me that time back?! Did the publishers have the courtesy to put a warning label on the books? Something like "Warning the books that you are about to read are good enough to get you sucked in...but will ultimately leave you feeling unsatisfied, 'cause the dude croaked". Nope. Those underhanded bastards are still pushing those 10,000 pages of foreplay at bookstores across the country, with nary a warning label in sight.
First of all, the premise itself is absurd. I mean the Bible goes from... BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF THE WORLD all the way to... THE END OF THE WORLD in considerably less than 10-12 THOUSAND pages. Don't you think a good author should be able to wrap up a storyline, about damn near anything, without being 10 times as wordy as the BIBLE?
Second, if it takes you a page or more to describe opening a damn door, you are verbally masturbating. I don't care if the door is a dark cherry stain, with the patina of generations of use gilding the hardware, The dents and dings showing the passage of generations of children that had played outside of the hallowed room that the door now guarded. The massive weight of the doors... BLAH BLAH BLAH...IT'S A FREAKIN' DOOR!!! He turned the handle and went in the room....I don't care about the door!! The door doesn't have ANYTHING to do with the damn story!! It's a door!
I'm a little testy now, because I have been sucked into yet another endless series of books. I am in the midst of book #8. I have books 9 and 10 already. And I see that book #11 is FORTHCOMING.
I think I'll write the publisher and see if they will send over the results of the authors last physical. With my luck he'll be a chain smoking, alcoholic that rides motorcycles without a helmet and likes to dive with great white sharks. If this guy keels over before finishing the damn series, I will limit myself to books by dead people. That way I can be sure they finished their epic vision before I start on it.
At least I know that Twain isn't going to add on to Huck Finn
I know that authors get paid by the word but some of them carry their wordiness entirely to far.
Case in point, last year I decided to give the Robert Jordan Wheel of Time series another shot. A pretty good high fantasy series but, MY GOD, the guy loved the sound of keys clacking on the keyboard. After spending MONTHS getting involved in a very damn convoluted story line, I was finally beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I had gone through 12 FRIGGIN BOOKS of 700 to 1000 pages each, went to go find what must surely be the last book in this endless series....and what do I discover? THE AUTHOR DIED! That's right, he croaked right before the grand finale.
I ask you who in the hell is going to give me that time back?! Did the publishers have the courtesy to put a warning label on the books? Something like "Warning the books that you are about to read are good enough to get you sucked in...but will ultimately leave you feeling unsatisfied, 'cause the dude croaked". Nope. Those underhanded bastards are still pushing those 10,000 pages of foreplay at bookstores across the country, with nary a warning label in sight.
First of all, the premise itself is absurd. I mean the Bible goes from... BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF THE WORLD all the way to... THE END OF THE WORLD in considerably less than 10-12 THOUSAND pages. Don't you think a good author should be able to wrap up a storyline, about damn near anything, without being 10 times as wordy as the BIBLE?
Second, if it takes you a page or more to describe opening a damn door, you are verbally masturbating. I don't care if the door is a dark cherry stain, with the patina of generations of use gilding the hardware, The dents and dings showing the passage of generations of children that had played outside of the hallowed room that the door now guarded. The massive weight of the doors... BLAH BLAH BLAH...IT'S A FREAKIN' DOOR!!! He turned the handle and went in the room....I don't care about the door!! The door doesn't have ANYTHING to do with the damn story!! It's a door!
I'm a little testy now, because I have been sucked into yet another endless series of books. I am in the midst of book #8. I have books 9 and 10 already. And I see that book #11 is FORTHCOMING.
I think I'll write the publisher and see if they will send over the results of the authors last physical. With my luck he'll be a chain smoking, alcoholic that rides motorcycles without a helmet and likes to dive with great white sharks. If this guy keels over before finishing the damn series, I will limit myself to books by dead people. That way I can be sure they finished their epic vision before I start on it.
At least I know that Twain isn't going to add on to Huck Finn
Monday, February 16, 2009
Another side of the story
Let me take a moment and tell you about the menagerie. I currently have residing at the abode, 3 full-time cats, 2 part-time cats, a squirrel and a {{gasp}} pit bulldog.
This is 'da pup, as you can see she fits the image of one of those vicious killer pit bulls that we have all heard/read about to a tee.
I did not start out wanting to be a pit bulldog owner. At the time we acquired Clover (sounds like a cow's name, but we didn't name her) we had 3 cats.
I read the papers, I've heard all about how pit bulls are aggressive to other animals. I have heard that they aren't very easy to train, that they are stubborn and that you have to provide lots of chew toys or they are liable to use the love seat (or the cats). I have read the stories about how they turn on their owners, they aren't safe around children and yadayadayada. I had visions of coming home to shredded cat, chewed furniture and monster pit bull "accidents" that I would likely have to clean up. Nope a pit bulldog just wasn't the dog that I was looking for.
But, I have become a believer.
When Clover first moved she thought that she owned the place...the cats took care of that right away. You see they KNEW that they owned the place and made sure that the dog knew it too. Now, a quick aside about the cats. They are all declawed so they really couldn't stop the dog from turning them into chew toys if she so desired. but that was never an issue. This "vicious" pit bull only had to be told a couple of time not to use the cats as chew toys and she happily accepted her place in the animal hierarchy. We later acquired a squirrel (whole 'nother story) and she rides on the dogs back when we let her out. So with this evidence I have come to believe that maybe the breed as a whole isn't animal aggressive. Maybe they just have to be raised right.
As for being stubborn and hard to train, I have found that pits in general and this one in particular love people so much that they are EASY to train. They love making their people happy. They LOVE to be around their people. I've done quite a bit of research on the breed and found that this breed scores HIGHER than Golden Retrievers and Collies on human socialability.
Clover has indeed chomped on one person in her life. But that guy was trying to push his way into our apartment one afternoon when my wife was home alone. We later found out that there were several home invasion/attacks in the area where a guy was going around knocking on doors and forcing his way in. So I bought her a large steak-which actually gave her diarrhea for days,but I digress.
The bottom line on Pit Bulldogs is this. There are certain group of people that buy Pits to enhance an image. They want people to think that they are tough so they buy a dog that people are already scared of. And then they try to make that dog even scarier. It isn't fair to blame the dogs.
I'm writing this because tonight I went to the store with my wife. we stopped in a seedy area where there are often hookers and panhandlers around. They sell items cheaper and we normally frequent this store only during daylight hours. Sure enough, as I stepped out of the car I was approached by a panhandler wanting me to buy him some beer. I told him to buzz off and went into the store. While I was in the store he rounded up a friend and approached my wife in the car. When Clover saw strangers approaching she moved from the back seat to the front and put herself between Elisha and the guys outside. And she let them know that it wouldn't be a good thing for them to get any closer to the car. About this time I came out of the store with the store owner and told them to shove off. Would anything have happened if Clover hadn't been in the car, who knows? But I do know this, when they saw a PIT BULLDOG putting herself between them and my wife THEY STOPPED. I doubt a poodle would have given them any pause at all in approaching the car.
Just by being the breed that she is she has, on more than one occasion, stopped situations that may have had criminal intent. She isn't a guard dog but she guards us.
Clover has Lymphoma. She probably won't be with us very much longer. She has enriched my life and opened my eyes to the prejudice that this wonderful breed has against it. I will savour every minute that we have left with her. When she is gone my whole family will mourn. We will have lost a member of the family and a faithful friend.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A daily post?
I stayed up late last night doing the traditional Valentine thing (watching boxing on HBO until 1:00 AM) and then stumbled off to bed to get my well deserved few hours of sleep. Just as I was about to fall asleep my wife asks "did you blog today? You know you're supposed to post something DAILY".
Excuse me...did you just say I had to write something down DAILY??!!
I don't eat enough fiber to even be regular DAILY....I even get a day off from work at least once a week. What cyber sadist is out there watching over all of the web pages in the world making sure that we all write something down DAILY?
I thought that this was more on the lines of, if you notice something during your day that you feel might be worthy of comment, you just post it on your little blog and go on about your daily routine. But noooo... I let myself get suckered into writing down some inane rambling in a blog and all unknowing I have entered into a contract with the devil.
I evidently did this without having any memory of going to a crossroad or signing anything in blood. I even checked my palm and fingertips to find out where the blood that I signed in came from. I believe that this is the first time in my life that I have sleepwalked or signed a contract of lifetime servitude.
Anyway now I have PRESSURE! What will I write about? Something funny, sad, pithy, witty, sarcastic, cynical, mean, inspiring , caustic or confused? And, if I start out writing something humorous do I have to stay humorous or can I switch and try for something else? I mean football season will be here in a few months and that will be my consuming passion until the next off season. Am I allowed to switch gears and start writing sports commentary? Do I write stories about my family (family members reading this better be nice to me because I have something on ALL of you), friends, pets and neighbors? I guess I'll just have to figure this out as I go along.
The smell of brimstone is fading so I must have fulfilled the terms of the contract for the day...I wonder how many strikes I get before the BAD parts of the contract get enforced.
I need to go now and soak my fingertips in peroxide...I seem to have acquired a cut....
Excuse me...did you just say I had to write something down DAILY??!!
I don't eat enough fiber to even be regular DAILY....I even get a day off from work at least once a week. What cyber sadist is out there watching over all of the web pages in the world making sure that we all write something down DAILY?
I thought that this was more on the lines of, if you notice something during your day that you feel might be worthy of comment, you just post it on your little blog and go on about your daily routine. But noooo... I let myself get suckered into writing down some inane rambling in a blog and all unknowing I have entered into a contract with the devil.
I evidently did this without having any memory of going to a crossroad or signing anything in blood. I even checked my palm and fingertips to find out where the blood that I signed in came from. I believe that this is the first time in my life that I have sleepwalked or signed a contract of lifetime servitude.
Anyway now I have PRESSURE! What will I write about? Something funny, sad, pithy, witty, sarcastic, cynical, mean, inspiring , caustic or confused? And, if I start out writing something humorous do I have to stay humorous or can I switch and try for something else? I mean football season will be here in a few months and that will be my consuming passion until the next off season. Am I allowed to switch gears and start writing sports commentary? Do I write stories about my family (family members reading this better be nice to me because I have something on ALL of you), friends, pets and neighbors? I guess I'll just have to figure this out as I go along.
The smell of brimstone is fading so I must have fulfilled the terms of the contract for the day...I wonder how many strikes I get before the BAD parts of the contract get enforced.
I need to go now and soak my fingertips in peroxide...I seem to have acquired a cut....
Friday, February 13, 2009
Mythbusters and Grey Goose
Well...lovely wife worked to make a cool looking blog page, my lovely niece encouraged me to put something on it...so here I sit, thoughts bouncing around like a ping pong ball in a cement mixer. What shall I pontificate on? What razor sharp analysis of the human condition shall I put out for the world (or at least my friends and family members) to see? Hmmm well tonight I feel about as deep as a birdbath so I think that I'll start with........ MYTHBUSTERS!
I am, I freely admit, semi addicted to the Discovery Channel. I love this stuff, everything from Blue Planet to Deadliest Catch. From Survivorman to How it's Made. One of my favorites is Mythbusters. I recently saw an episode that tested the myth that VODKA will effectively combat foot odor.
Now this was of some interest to me because I have been told, in the past...by nearly everyone..., that I have stinky feet. I find that hard to believe myself but I am willing to suspend my disbelief, because as Carlin said "everyone's farts smell bad but your own". So maybe it's the same for feet.
Actually if I am being honest I will admit to a small bit of foot stinkyness because I have seen people hold a full garbage bag to their nose to combat the smell of my socks. And my mom and step mom have been known on more than one occasion to just give up and buy those large economy sized Bag-O-Socks rather than chase all of mine down, beat them into submission and throw them in the wash. But I digress.
In my callow youth I did pull one of the best, read meanest, practical jokes of all times on a roommate. I put this out for all to read in the hope that some other callow youth will read this and use the knowledge gained herein wisely.
But first, you have to understand that I did NOT start the practical joke war. It started the usual way SOMEONE dumping a GIANT pot of ice water on someone else who was taking a hot, steamy shower...and then we have escalation. There is no real point in going through the mayhem that ensued. All that is really needed is an understanding that there were cigarette loads, Vaseline, shaving cream, more Vaseline, condoms, mashed potatoes, calls to friends, employers and girlfriends...the usual pranks that all red blooded American boys engage in at some time or another...but then there was THE MOMENT.
Something, some inner primeval guardian, a survival instinct that must be encoded on our DNA jolted me out of a sound slumber early one morning. As my eyes flew open what do I see but my roommate, in mid -sneak coming into my room with a pan of warm water.
Everyone that has ever pulled this trick on someone knows that the theory behind the warm water is this. You come upon an unsuspecting sound sleeper, dip their hand into aforementioned water and the sleeper will lose bladder control thus wetting himself to the general hilarity of all watching. Pretty good you say, a great joke to pull on someone in the midst of a joke war....BUT consider this before you laugh....at the time I was a broke kid that had no real mattress and was sleeping on an old FEATHER MATTRESS with not one sheet to my name. Instead I had A SLEEPING BAG....and that's it.
I was APPALLED that my roommate would stoop to such a low and nasty trick. But instead of getting angry... escalation.
I added a key lock to my bedroom and started playing basketball....every day...for two weeks...in the summer...in Florida....in the same pair of socks.
You may not be able to smell your own gaseous emissions, but take my word for it after a few days in the same pair of sweat socks, in a small bedroom, with limited air movement, you can definitely smell the funk.
I would wake thinking...I thought I put my socks in the closet....what are they doing drinking out of the toilet? I had a hamster that disappeared during this time and I swear that one of the socks had a lump in it one morning.
After a week they start to get stiff and you can lean them in the corner. After 10 days if you don't double bag them in plastic you start hallucinating like you've dropped some really bad acid or ate few to many magic mushrooms. After two weeks even I couldn't stand it anymore....so I stuck them in Sherman's pillowcase...and waited.
I will never forget the first night...I stayed up late watching the tube and listened to him getting ready for bed. Straining for any sound, I detect, tossing, turning, gasps for air and finally an "OH MY GOD!!! Striving to contain my mirth I yell out "is everything OK?" He comes stomping back out to the living room and tells me that he thinks a rat has DIED in his room. Being a good friend I help him move all of his furniture around in an attempt to locate the deceased, alas to no avail. Still chuckling I head to bed and on to work the next day.
When I return home from work I am greeted by the sound of sawing coming from Sherm's room. I peek in and find that the search for Jimmy Hoffa has been going on in my absence. Sherman has pulled off all of the base boards in his room and is cutting HOLES IN THE WALL trying to find the rat carcass. He knows that it has to be in the east side of the room (near the headboard) because that is where the smell is the worst.
At this point I have a dilemma, do I confess or let him proceed with dismantling the edifice in which we dwell.....of course I let the construction/destruction proceed. I retire to the living room pour myself a drink and congratulate myself on my resounding victory in the joke war (even though my victim is as yet unaware that a joke has been played). It wasn't until 4 days later when he did laundry that he discovered what really happened...as I recall he was nearly homicidal but he did calm down after I promised to buy him new pillows (he burned the old ones). I helped him put up new drywall in the bedroom and life resumed to the usual routine.
Now I said all of that to say this...does VODKA really stop malodorous foot emissions? According to Mythbusters this old wives tale really does have merit.
I have noticed that as I have gotten older that my feet seem to emit less of a noxious cloud. So after watching this episode I started to wonder if the Vodka that I have consumed over the years is battling foot odor from the INSIDE. Have the odor killing molecules in the Vodka somehow attached themselves to smelly foot enzymes in my body and have been systematically attacking them before they have a chance to go out into the world and assault the nostrils of the innocent?
If this is indeed the fact then think of the new Grey Goose ad campaign.
Drink Grey Goose, makes you more attractive to the opposite sex (if they have had a few), makes you a better singer (if you have had a few) makes you wittier (if everyone has had a few) and.....reduces foot odour (you have spell odour this way... it is a Grey Goose ad after all)
I think I should send this in, you never know it just might be the ad campaign that they have been looking for.
I am, I freely admit, semi addicted to the Discovery Channel. I love this stuff, everything from Blue Planet to Deadliest Catch. From Survivorman to How it's Made. One of my favorites is Mythbusters. I recently saw an episode that tested the myth that VODKA will effectively combat foot odor.
Now this was of some interest to me because I have been told, in the past...by nearly everyone..., that I have stinky feet. I find that hard to believe myself but I am willing to suspend my disbelief, because as Carlin said "everyone's farts smell bad but your own". So maybe it's the same for feet.
Actually if I am being honest I will admit to a small bit of foot stinkyness because I have seen people hold a full garbage bag to their nose to combat the smell of my socks. And my mom and step mom have been known on more than one occasion to just give up and buy those large economy sized Bag-O-Socks rather than chase all of mine down, beat them into submission and throw them in the wash. But I digress.
In my callow youth I did pull one of the best, read meanest, practical jokes of all times on a roommate. I put this out for all to read in the hope that some other callow youth will read this and use the knowledge gained herein wisely.
But first, you have to understand that I did NOT start the practical joke war. It started the usual way SOMEONE dumping a GIANT pot of ice water on someone else who was taking a hot, steamy shower...and then we have escalation. There is no real point in going through the mayhem that ensued. All that is really needed is an understanding that there were cigarette loads, Vaseline, shaving cream, more Vaseline, condoms, mashed potatoes, calls to friends, employers and girlfriends...the usual pranks that all red blooded American boys engage in at some time or another...but then there was THE MOMENT.
Something, some inner primeval guardian, a survival instinct that must be encoded on our DNA jolted me out of a sound slumber early one morning. As my eyes flew open what do I see but my roommate, in mid -sneak coming into my room with a pan of warm water.
Everyone that has ever pulled this trick on someone knows that the theory behind the warm water is this. You come upon an unsuspecting sound sleeper, dip their hand into aforementioned water and the sleeper will lose bladder control thus wetting himself to the general hilarity of all watching. Pretty good you say, a great joke to pull on someone in the midst of a joke war....BUT consider this before you laugh....at the time I was a broke kid that had no real mattress and was sleeping on an old FEATHER MATTRESS with not one sheet to my name. Instead I had A SLEEPING BAG....and that's it.
I was APPALLED that my roommate would stoop to such a low and nasty trick. But instead of getting angry... escalation.
I added a key lock to my bedroom and started playing basketball....every day...for two weeks...in the summer...in Florida....in the same pair of socks.
You may not be able to smell your own gaseous emissions, but take my word for it after a few days in the same pair of sweat socks, in a small bedroom, with limited air movement, you can definitely smell the funk.
I would wake thinking...I thought I put my socks in the closet....what are they doing drinking out of the toilet? I had a hamster that disappeared during this time and I swear that one of the socks had a lump in it one morning.
After a week they start to get stiff and you can lean them in the corner. After 10 days if you don't double bag them in plastic you start hallucinating like you've dropped some really bad acid or ate few to many magic mushrooms. After two weeks even I couldn't stand it anymore....so I stuck them in Sherman's pillowcase...and waited.
I will never forget the first night...I stayed up late watching the tube and listened to him getting ready for bed. Straining for any sound, I detect, tossing, turning, gasps for air and finally an "OH MY GOD!!! Striving to contain my mirth I yell out "is everything OK?" He comes stomping back out to the living room and tells me that he thinks a rat has DIED in his room. Being a good friend I help him move all of his furniture around in an attempt to locate the deceased, alas to no avail. Still chuckling I head to bed and on to work the next day.
When I return home from work I am greeted by the sound of sawing coming from Sherm's room. I peek in and find that the search for Jimmy Hoffa has been going on in my absence. Sherman has pulled off all of the base boards in his room and is cutting HOLES IN THE WALL trying to find the rat carcass. He knows that it has to be in the east side of the room (near the headboard) because that is where the smell is the worst.
At this point I have a dilemma, do I confess or let him proceed with dismantling the edifice in which we dwell.....of course I let the construction/destruction proceed. I retire to the living room pour myself a drink and congratulate myself on my resounding victory in the joke war (even though my victim is as yet unaware that a joke has been played). It wasn't until 4 days later when he did laundry that he discovered what really happened...as I recall he was nearly homicidal but he did calm down after I promised to buy him new pillows (he burned the old ones). I helped him put up new drywall in the bedroom and life resumed to the usual routine.
Now I said all of that to say this...does VODKA really stop malodorous foot emissions? According to Mythbusters this old wives tale really does have merit.
I have noticed that as I have gotten older that my feet seem to emit less of a noxious cloud. So after watching this episode I started to wonder if the Vodka that I have consumed over the years is battling foot odor from the INSIDE. Have the odor killing molecules in the Vodka somehow attached themselves to smelly foot enzymes in my body and have been systematically attacking them before they have a chance to go out into the world and assault the nostrils of the innocent?
If this is indeed the fact then think of the new Grey Goose ad campaign.
Drink Grey Goose, makes you more attractive to the opposite sex (if they have had a few), makes you a better singer (if you have had a few) makes you wittier (if everyone has had a few) and.....reduces foot odour (you have spell odour this way... it is a Grey Goose ad after all)
I think I should send this in, you never know it just might be the ad campaign that they have been looking for.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Under Construction
This will be my feeble attempt at blogging soon...this page is now under construction!
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