Along with all the fun which I derive from providing you with the finest daily entertainment on the planet comes a Public Responsibility. This is my burden. One might call it “The Funnyman’s Burden.” This gigantic ironwood cross which I bear daily as I trudge to the office to pound out yet another jewel of jibber-jabber is the burden of responsibility to inform as well as to entertain. After all, entertainment void of information is as empty as Britney Spears’ head. (Oh, I’ll get comments on that one! ).
Which causes me to momentarily digress to inform you that the two posts, out of 736 so far, which have drawn the most comments were one in which I showed an image of Britney Spears with my dog, Sheba’s, tongue hanging from her mouth and another in which I featured an astonishingly stupid product called “Yoga Toes” which had absolutely nothing to do with yoga. (Justin Friend, do not comment on this!). At the risk of offending you, gentle reader, this fact does not reflect well on the sophistication of my audience.
My first informational item, as have all the others, comes from the astoundingly classy The Atlantic Monthly magazine, a rag which I study with religious fervor. This amazing offer allows one to acquire an entire stamp collection (1 collection per order, please) at no cost whatsoever:
This one is, really, so funny that I’m nearly at a loss for words.
Speaking of swooning ladies, lay one of these on your main squeeze and see what happens:
By the way, you can click on any of these to read the fine print. It’s intensely amusing.
And now for The Smartest Stupidest Watch on the Planet:
You know, I never wear a watch unless I’m in the USA where you can be shot for not doing so. Upon arrival in America, I march as fast as my short little legs can carry me to the nearest Wal-Mart and buy the biggest, flashiest watch that I can find for less than $10. I tell people that it’s a Rolex while conveniently scratching my head so that they can’t really see it. Nobody ever asks, “A Rolex, eh? Let me have a look.” I usually end up paying about $6.99. That seems to be the price point. When I’m on the way to the gate to board a plane leaving the U. S. of A., I get rid of the watch. I used to try to give them away, but people started looking for the nearest security guard. Now I just toss it into a trash bin. Perhaps I should mention that, in Papua New Guinea, a watch is one of the least essential bits of personal paraphernalia.
Oh, how I love it when companies in the business of making us money on our precious retirement funds tell us how wonderful they are:
Okay, I’m the last guy who should be making fun of old folks. But, the stuff they buy! I mean, look at this thing. Does it look safe to you? Thank heaven it’s battery operated. I wouldn’t want to sit in the bath in something that looks like this which was plugged into a power socket:
There’s something else vaguely discalming to me about this ad. How old were you when adults stopped giving you a bath? I seem to remember locking the bathroom door by the time I was five.
I have to admit that this is my sentimental favourite. This poor bumpkin has been holding this box of Italian lessons and scratching his head for at least two years. Not to be cruel – he is a hardworking farm boy and in the Great American Dream he richly deserves to be intimately associated with all manner of supermodels, especially with those who speak only Italian. If only he could speak Italian, he could have his big chance. It’s a terrible thing to waste a massive libido:
She will arrive at the family farm. They will marry with much fanfare. He will give up farming to sell insurance. She will, in an astonishing short period, gain 80 Kilograms. They will live happily ever after.
Ain’t life grand?