The ideal companion for the lonely outdoor chef. Actually speaks in complete sentences, such as:
“You burned the steaks again, dipshit.”
“I told you the coals weren’t ready.”
“No, really, I love charred on the outside, frozen on the inside.”
“If anyone asks, I’ll just say, What cutlet that got dropped in the dirt? I didn’t see a cutlet get dropped in the dirt.”
Choose from three digital voices: Annoying next-door-neighbor, hectoring cousin, or alcoholic best friend.
Finally, an answer for those who live with a spouse, significant other or roommate who refuses to sanitize his/her filth-encrusted toothbrush. Utilizing patented cloaking technology developed for military fighter planes, the Stealth Sanitizer penetrates your bathroom’s radar defenses, dodges incoming bacterial flak, and makes a perfect three-point landing on your vanity, where it captures the offending toothbrush and subjects it to a withering interrogation under germ-killing ultraviolet light. Once microbes are neutralized, the Stealth Sanitizer releases the toothbrush and again takes flight, maintaining a silent holding pattern above your shower for up to 12 hours before needing recharging (deluxe rechargeable unit only).
One-handed ladies, are you tired of getting your ass kicked up and down the golf course over and over again because you just can’t get any distance off the tee with your feeble single-arm swing? Well, now you can turn the tables. Inside this glove is an itsy-bitsy nuclear reactor that powers an impossibly complex series of teeny-tiny gears, wires and pulleys to give your golf swing real zing! CAUTION: tee shots may be lethal. Not responsible for putting green craters. 14-hour bionic attachment surgery not included.
That old saying is true: if you think you might need a personal breathalyzer, you definitely need a personal breathalyzer. Why let law enforcement’s blood alcohol testing device have the last word when an inaccurate reading could be the difference between vehicular homicide or simple negligent manslaughter? With its patented “Round It Down” technology, this gadget is reasonable doubt you can carry in your coat pocket, and still have room for your flask.
“Won’t harm babies.”—Respacher’s Baby Food
“Is it pure? Is your sister?”—Molman Dairy
“For a remarkable meat-like taste.”—Strunch Industrial Food Products
“We’ll screw you, but good!”—L&G Household Fastener Corp.
“Your wife won’t know the difference.”—Bibble’s Fine Cubic Zirconia
“Real men know beer is beer.”—Smith’s Discount Brewery
“Looks just like the real thing!”—Replica Pharmaceuticals
Dear Sirs (and any Madams whomsoever may be reading over their shoulders):
Regarding yours of April 4, “Kate: Is She or Isn’t She?,” I regret to say I disapprove of your preoccupation with the reproductive status of Her Ladyship, Kate, Princess of All Good Britons.
This obsession with the royal ova, this fixation on the fitness of the regal fallopiae, this way lies madness, gentlemen (and ladies—beg pardon)!
I must take issue with this issue of royal issue. For God’s sake, she is just a girl! She just married the fellow! She has barely had time to contend with the shock and horror the vast majority of women countenance upon recognition of all that wifely duty entails. Plus, she is obliged to go to so many official events, ribbon cuttings, parking lot dedications and what have you, that I am certain a hasty insemination is the LAST thing on her mind.
In short, sirs (and ma’ams, if any), let Her Ladyship be a lady. There will be plenty of time for procreative foolishness once the Royal Relationship settles into an equilibrium of ambivalence and codependence. As a long married fellow myself, I know whereof I speak.
Yours most sincerely,
R. Divad Lamley
PS: Has Paula Abdul so completely fallen from your favor that you would deny us, her legions of devotees, even a crumb? Whither Paula in People, people?
No, sir, no ma’am, no how.
About my sister Kathleen’s husband Greg’s heroin habit?
Consider me like Fort Knox.
See, the thing is, I don’t go in for talking about other peoples’ personal business.
Whether it’s my friend Ricky and his mom’s menopause-related depression, or my wife’s binge showering, it makes no difference.
I guess you could say its like a “thing” with me. An avoiding-talking-about-other-peoples’ -business thing.
I know that my co-worker Jeannette Sanchez (the one who lives at 1506 Meadow Ln) having this secret side that’s into the whole furry kink isn’t going to mean anything to anyone who doesn’t know her. But it might be disturbing to some of the people who do.
And that’s why you’ll not catch me flapping my gums about it.
After all, just because I overheard my best friend Steve’s wife tell her friend she was thinking of killing him, is that any reason to go blabbing about it to him or anyone else? I mean, how embarrassing would that be for him? And how do I know she wasn’t just trying to be funny?
I’m not trying to get all Ron Paul up in here, but I’m a live and let live kinda guy. If my neighbor Madelyn just got fired from her six-figure salary job for failing to disclose her convictions for theft, assault, theft by assault, and burning her last employer’s house down, who does it hurt? I mean besides the victims.
Just because it disgusts me when I hear my pal Dave says things like, “I’m voting for Romney because even though I’m part of the one percent, it’s my ambition to be part of the one percent of the one percent,” is no reason for me to go around talking like Dave’s a crass, greedy asshole.
And when I say it’s a matter of principle, this discretion of mine, I’m not going to make a cheap point by contrasting it with my Aunt Mary’s stealing change out of charity collection boxes.
So don’t even go there.
The United States Internal Revenue Service in collaboration with F. Neil Levin, CPA, present the umpteenth consecutive Work by Work Work day party, featuring:
2-2:30pm - JPMorgan Chase and the Escrow Deficiencies
2:30-3pm - I Love You But I’ve Chosen To Call My Accountant At This Time
3-3:33pm - Hot Deadline and the Freakouts
3:34 - The Postal Service
3:35-4pm - Heavy Procrastination
4-5pm - The Unreasonable Expectations
5-6pm Walkin’ the Dog
6-7pm Cookin’ Jenny’s Dinner
Dear People Magazine Editorial Department:
Can you please transfer me over to the People Magazine Subscription Department? I didn’t want to languish in their mail queue. Thanks, I’ll wait.
… … … …
Hello, Subscription Department? Yes, a word, if I might. Responding to your ceaseless importuning, I posted my 8-year subscription renewal to People Magazine on Tuesday. On Wednesday, what do you suppose I found in my mailbox?
That’s right: another importunate subscription notice!
What is going on there, People? Does the left hand not know what the right hand is doing? Do you in the subscription department operate as I have long suspected, simply cashing the checks whilst throwing the subscription renewal forms in the waste paper basket?
I MAILED IN MY RENEWAL ON TUESDAY! WHY DID YOU MAIL ME A REMINDER ON WEDNESDAY?
Pull your head out, People.
Most sincerely yours,
R. David Malley
PS: More about Jessica’s pregnancy, please.
I hear uncontrollable sobbing and realize it’s me.
Stopping to get breakfast on my way to work, I accidentally massacre 5 or 6 people at McDonald’s.
When I call my lawyer, I learn he’s in Cabo with my ex-wife.
I’m placed in a cell with a guy whose nickname is “Poo Flinger.”
When the judge sees I’m wearing a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, he doubles my bail.
My request to the jail mess for gluten-free meals is ignored.
By this time, I’m really hungry, so I eat anyway; a gluten-laced pancake slices my intestines into ribbons.
As I lay bleeding to death internally, there’s a loud buzzing sound that I can’t get out of my head.
It’s my alarm clock. It’s Monday morning. For real.
I hear uncontrollable sobbing and realize it’s me.
Ponzi Scheme III: The Continuing Denial
After several holiday seasons of retailers exhorting me to “be good to your gear,” I have pretty much accessorized all of my technology to the limit. It started simply enough, with a case for my notebook. But then I was worried that my phone would get jealous, so I had to buy it a case, too. And a screen protector. Why I got the screen protector, I don’t know, because then I was afraid my monitor would feel left out. And so it went. Within a couple of Christmases, I had purchased multiple accessories for everything. No one’s equipment is more pampered than my equipment.
@susanpcollier adds: “How ‘bout Bloodwatch about vampire lifeguards?” Yes!
Dedicated to proving that punk rockers can not only procreate but also follow through with the aftercare, “The Other F Word” invites a cross-section of aging bad boys to dish on the demands of fatherhood.—NYT review
“They will run your errands by bicycle, recommend a spa that gives vegan manicures or buy organic clothes for you and your dog. They will even book you a dream vacation and buy the appropriate carbon offsets. Green living is just so much easier when you have your own personal environmental concierge.” NYT—Personal Eco-Concierges Ease Transition to Green
Hi, Janet. Here’s what I need your help with today. Check (soy ink) is in envelope (100% post-consumer waste):
• Sweep up mine tailings
• Aerate industrial sludge pile
• Sanitize the reactors (please use biodegradable, all-natural sanitizer)
• Convert Hummer to run on clean-burning flower petals
• Install low-flow spray jets on automatic driveway washer
• Lecture third-world villagers on virtues of conservation
• Remove carbon footprints from rainforest garden terrace
• Downsize family by one child (spare the girl; either boy is fine)
10. Sexier cheerleader costumes
9. Lower beer prices
8. Eliminate speeches; add tests of skill
7. Have all-star line-up of entertainers open the show
6. Use fewer big words on protest signs
5. Lift ban on cigar smoking
4. Provide valet parking
3. “Free HP Touchpad with each protest”
2. Abandon ritual sacrifice
1. Add bacon