You have all, I have minuscule doubt, encountered teletron commercials that bear striking similarities to the following:
Male Construction Worker # Beefy: Oh Satan's Steaming Shit! I am full of intense back pain that inferior pain relievers simply cannot attend.
Female Construction Worker # Bouncy: Here, you silly hunk of manmeat! Try these Superior-Brand, doctor approved pain-relief pills! They are guaranteed by the script to ensure you will pretend your spine isn't impacted by the end of our tv spot!
# Beefy: Wow Bouncy, these Superior-Brand's really work! I will be back to my ass-goosing macho self in no time!
# Bouncy: ::coy laughter:: Oh you!
And, then the commercial ends, but it is heavily implied that they engage in sexual relations, most likely right there at the construction venue. (insert joke about concrete getting hard...here) And it is also implied that you, too, should desire sexual relations with these poeple. But, only after taking their pain-relief product.
I am certain that I am not the only creature that feels somewhat cheated here. First and foremost, by the fact that i do not recieve oral pleasure whenever I open a bottle of Tylenol, and second and not-as-foremost by the fact that when i go to work I will not encounter any offer that could possibly lead to oral pleasure. The commercial is totally misleading. Am I supposed to equate back pain with flagrant consummation in public places? Should I grab "firm-booty" when my feet hurt? I am confused and, yes, a bit distressed, at the lack of direction I now feel by such advertising. I believe the time has come to fill commercials with nothing but talking stuffed animals with no discernible gender. This way, only the small portion of the population whom is attracted to unisex stuffed animals will encounter the mixed feelings that I now have about taking pain pills. posted by Zugg at 4:22 AM ---
Monday, June 24, 2002
After what was without doubt a far-too-long interim, I find I am once again able to properly operate a pencil, heavy machinery, and my keyboard well enough to provide an update to this travesty of a blog. The evening of the explosion (which has been hereby dubbed "Q-Bertragedy" by the media) the surviving remnants of the habitation-plex were gathered to have physical examinations - in part to judge the extent of their damages, and in part because the hospital workers are controlled by creatures from a different planet, which are harvesting dust-mites from our skin to use as a food source. Those deemed unworthy of medical attention (read: burned beyond the Great God of All-Fuck's repair, so no dust-mites could possibly have survived) were carted off in wheel-barrows (and in one particularily unpleasant case, a Gerber babyfood jar) to have their wills assessed. Somehow, a miscommunication occured, and whilst I was sleeping off the effects of my NIE (Near-Immolation-Experience) I was added to the "pile o' deaders" list. I had left what was written, in bold and excellently legible letters, a sign stating "Still alive". However, Les Z, coming up with a non-characteristic burst of motivation, decided to enlist in the "combat muscle atrophy campaign" and used that sheet of paper to draw little pictures of dancing lilac bushes. I awakened in the ambulance. I asked "where am I?" and a kindly old healer with 3 eyes informed me "Still you exist on your native-hole, Earthldalinger. Harvest is good yes no yes? Mites like the sky, in my food-ingestion unit!" It was then decided that i was in dire need of a histerectomy. As i had chosen to be a male that particular evening, I had serious concerns about that prognosis turning out in any manner positive. Fortunately, i have been in the presence of military badgers for a good long time now. Using the techniques I had learned through shrewd observation of my enemies, I burrowed a small hole in the bottom of the ambulatory vehicle when the aliens were putting on their rubber gloves. (i swiped some, in case i wanted to make balloon animals! Suckas!) It has since taken me that long to walk home. End of Line. posted by Zugg at 3:58 AM ---
Wednesday, May 22, 2002
Surgeon Colonel's warning: The material below may be detrimental to the health of younger viewers. And will *definitely* be detrimental to the health of older ones.
Yes Kiddies! its time for another....Unromantic Romance!
(You have been warned oh yes you have!)
Tonite's episode: Hot Sauce and Walnuts.
Delilah stood up off her knees, wiping her mouth, a beaming smile shining across at the man before her. He gave her a dazzling smile in return, and giggled a bit at the taboo activity that they had just completed. A sense of ecstasy floated over them both, as they swam in a sea of desire, longing to move on to the next step, to give in to the yearning they both felt. Slowly and gingerly the man reached down into her box. Delilah winked at him and then took his hand, guiding him inside, deeper, farther, letting the moist heat roll over each blessed finger. Suddenly he stopped, a look of horor creeping across his fair boyish features.
The Man (we shall call him Charlie): Its...its empty!
Delilah: empty already? That sure went faster then usual! Let me check!
She bent over and checked inside. Careful scrutiny showed that her box was, indeed, close to empty. All that remained was a gooey, cheeselike substance, a bit of hot sauce, and a half eaten breadstick hanging half in and half out. She quickly devoured it, hoping Charlie hadnt noticed it when he was peeking inside.
Delilah: we're just going to have to start in on the next box then.
Charlie: But i could get into alot more trouble for that. My boss is going to pound my ass if I am late, and ive spent so much time here munching already that i dont dare have any more!
Delilah: oh come, Darling! its so moist and tasty! I can't bear to not have any more! please, just one more bite!
Charlie furrowed his brow. It was a difficult choice for a pizza delivery boy to make. Coming to a decision, he licked his lips, pulled out another box from inside his insulated sack, and they eagerly dove in.
Delilah: MmMMmm. Thats sooo good!
Charlie: Tastes kinda fishy..
Delilah: Oh, thats just the anchovies. You can pull those out if you dont like them.
Charlie: Gingerly, Charlie yanked out all the offending sea-life, and finished munching.
Delilah: Thank you so much for that! I haven't had pizza this good in years.
Charlie: I am glad you enjoyed it. That will be $22.50
Delilah: Oh. I don't actually have any money. You just want to have sex instead?
Good Morning, Im Cherry Mcflopkins, and this is WAXY News.
Upcoming in our newscast, certain areas of of the Minneapolis/St. Paul metropolitan area need to stop drinking their tap water *immediately*. Stay tuned, to find out where, and why!
But first, our top story; Infamous celebrity Mel Bungenheuser has been acquited of all charges in his drunken driving case, because the prosecution could provide no evidence proving that the bottles of empty tequila had been full before Bungenheuser had entered his vehicle, nor provide any rebuttal that his breathalizer test had been tampered with. When interviewed about what he would do with his restored freedom, he was heard to comment "I'm going to DisneyLand to get shitfaced and play bumpercars!".
And now, to Maria, with the weather.
Its time to grab your umbrella, and strap on those goolashes, because its another stormy day out there folks! Tlaloc's wrath is going unchecked, and we can expect constant roadkill to occur as it rains toads and frogs throughout the state. Back to you Cherry!
Thanks Maria. And now its time for a new segment, called "Breakfast with Bertha".
Hi everybody! Call me Big Auntie Bertha! I'm here to offer you a quick way to make a morning snack for those go-getters who feel they don't have time in the morning for breakfast! Speed is the key, so let's get right to it! Here's a quick mix for some lemonade to beat the heat on your way to work, that only needs sugar, a lemon, a splash of O-J, and water right from your very own sink! And, after these important messages, Jorge will tell you about a local man whose started a tremendous cuisine craze through the quad-county area - fried badger on a stick! Stay tuned, this is WAXY news... posted by Zugg at 3:00 AM ---
Thursday, May 16, 2002
Pillsbury Cinnamon rolls, right form the oven.
Kentucky Fried Chicken's Southern Rotiserie Gold.
Speed-E-Mart's rotating heat lamp dogs.
I am dangling over the flames, and I must admit, it is making me a mite peckish.
Whilst I never expected it to come to pass, I find a whisper of thanks escaping my (Brown and Serve) mouth, for the ethernet cable that was (slowly toasting in) installed without my consent through the center of (the oven.) my domicile. I managed to snatch a hold of (Nestle Quik) the cord (which burns) during my unexpected descent into Badgerton, and find the flames are licking at my poor tootsies like (in the microwave.) an anxious drunken cat. Q-bert (Rules,) has fled the building, (they should be followed) leaving a wake of burned badger hide for the morning (when making dinner!) news to rifle through for the amusement of the masses.
Niagra Falls.
The St. Croix River.
Buxom Bertha's Golden Showers part 3: the Reckoning
If fire makes me think of food, then water may entice me to pee. And we all have heard those brave stories of people putting out blazing infernos with their urine. But it seems thoughts of water just won't bring forth those precious life-saving fluids.
I see that the Cable is burning through. Which is good fortune as well as bad, because whilst I am going to die, at least its made me lose control over my bladder! Lamentably it seems the aforementioned tales of heroism were remarkably exaggerated. I close my eyes, preparing to fall, and feel myself...ascending. Apparently, falling to your death feels eerily like climbing to safety. I'd like to know which god thought THAT would be a funny irony, and beat it amidst the inner thighs and groin. End of Line. posted by Zugg at 3:28 PM ---
Monday, May 13, 2002
They came in the night, disguised as a pack of Q-berts. They bounded to the left and right, always at an angle, and wherever they stepped the ground lit up beneath them, illuminating their way. Who they truly were, I suspect I shall never know, but clearly, they were well-financed - My Q-bert costume cost a fortune, and does not have half the authenticity that theirs did, let alone that handy "light-up" feature. As they passed my domicile, One of them muttered into what appeared to be a wrist-watch "Coily is on the pyramid, we are go for launch, repeat.." and then he repeated it, and a thunderous explosion erupted from the downstairs. In mere moments I could smell the acrid odor of burning badger-skin and toasted ethernet cable. Looking through the hole in my floor, i could see flames dancing amidst a glorious scene of wreckage. As the heat beneath my feet indicated the clarion call of structural failure, an important revelation spawned within my psyche, an urge that I am certain any other technological enthusiast on this planet would share when death is at hand:
"I have GOT to get me one of those watches."
And then the beams sighed an audible "Why me?" and burnt through, and I was on my way to oblivion.
Have you ever awakened in the morning to discover, despite your considerable best efforts to avoid such a n occurence, that a badger wearing a potted helmet with a spike welded on the top has laid category C cable through a freshly imploded hole in your cieling? (and, to be discovered when you attempt to put on your now-incinerated pink bunny slippers, the floor?)
