Me: "My Tivo is so stupid."
You: "How stupid is it?"
Me: "My Tivo is so stupid that when it saw I was watching all these poker shows, it started recommending that I watch "Full House."
Category: Products (Page 4 of 5)
Much like Betty Crocker and the Brawny Man recently “updated” their product’s icon, the Sun-Maid company wrongly thinks that the 21st Century requires a 21st Century Sun-Maid girl. When I heard about this change, I was extremely upset. As a lover of raisins, I’m fond of the old icon — the kind-hearted, but lusty farm girl, always with a smile on her face, the perfect hostess who never fails to offer me some of her fresh-picked, juicy California grapes. What full-blooded American teen male hasn’t spent countless hours staring at his box of raisins, fantasizing about this beautiful raisin girl with the tight peasant blouse and mysterious red bonnet, her long, dark hair flowing down?
The Sun-Maid girl has an actual history:
“Unlike the Pillsbury Doughboy or even Betty Crocker, the Sun Maid image is based on a real person – Lorraine Collett Petersen, a California girl who volunteered to hand out boxes of raisins at the 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition in San Francisco.”
“Petersen was asked to pose with a tray of grapes for a painting that became the company’s logo in 1916.”
“The image was updated in 1970, when the Sun Maid’s decidedly ethnic features were smoothed out and her torso was slenderized.”
Thirty-six years later, and it’s time for some more Botox — especially if you’re going to be on television. So, since it’s time for some Sun-Maid commercials, it’s time for the raisin girl to get a makeover.
“But now, for the first time in her very long life, the beauty on the box has been granted a Pilates body, an aerobics instructor’s voice, and a 30-second television spot to launch her new career as a company spokescharacter.
Introduced last week, the 21st-century version of the raisin queen is a true digital dollface, tanned and toned and unmistakably going for the big-eyed Barbie, Shrek-girl, Disney-princess look. Think Sandra Bullock made of pixels, and you get the picture.”
You can see the final commercial here.
TV has always been obsessed with good looks, but never as much so as today. Could a Walter Cronkite exist today? While watching reruns of “Match Game” this weekend, Sophia and I wondered if a dorky guy like Gene Rayburn could ever host a game show nowadays? Even on “reality” shows, everyone is unrealistically good-looking.  I’m not going to even get into the weight issues that television promotes.  Which Teri Hatcher, Marcia Cross, etc. — the show should be called “Desperately Anorexic Housewives.”
Call me a traditionalist, but I like the old raisin girl better. But I guess I understand the company’s need to “sex her up.” In fact, as a top blogger, I was able to get access to the secret plans for Raisin Girl 2007 [codename Angela the Stripper] , as the company raises the “edgy” level in order to increase the demographic of younger men age 18-25, who have been opting out of raisins for “hipper” snacks like Doritos.
Many of the bloggers on my blogroll are teachers. I frequently read their blog posts where they are complaining about their low salary and their bratty students. Well, I have a message for all you teachers: ENOUGH of your complaining. Did you ever think that the problem with the American education system is YOU — the SPOILED American teacher?
You might ask me, "Who the hell are you — Neilochka — to talk to me in this condescending manner?"
I will tell you.
I am not just some dumb blogger mouthing off. No, I am someone who has "made a difference," according to this letter I received yesterday in the mail:
"Dear Mr. Kramer,
I am proud to congratulate you on being selected for inclusion in the 10th Edition of Who’s Who Among America’s Teachers, 2005/2006. I believe you will find this honor exceptionally gratifying since it comes from a successful former student who recommended you because you made a difference in his or her life
There is no greater reward for teachers than to be valued by former students. Only high school and college students who have been cited for academic excellence themselves in Who’s Who Among High School Students, Who’s Who Among American High School Students – Sports Edition, The National Dean’s List, and the Chancellor’s List are invited to nominate one teacher from their entire academic experience. "
Do you hear that? I, writer of Citizen of the Month, was nominated by one of my prized pupils for this esteemed honor. Where is your nomination… Brooke? Nance? Leesepea? Janet?
I know what you’re thinking.
"It’s all a scam, you idiot. You’ve never taught a single class in your life."
Well, boo hoo. Sure, I’ve never taught a class anywhere. But think of all the educating I’ve done through my blog.
"It’s bullshit. They just want you to buy the book with your stupid name included."
Of course I want to buy the book. It’s an honor. Something to show my grandchildren. And I’m hoping some of you might want to buy the book as well. You better be quick, because when these books are published, they sell like Chicken and Waffles at Roscoe’s on a Sunday morning.
In fact, this is what Jeffrey Fix, Vice President of Student Programs, wrote in his letter:
"A limited quantity of these books are published each year — and they cannot be reprinted. So, we urge you to act fast. Order today, or you can reserve a copy now by including a payment with your Teacher Data Form. We’ll bill you the balance in three equal installments."
That’s three equal installments. Or "installments x 3," as I like to joke with a friend of mine who’s a math teacher.
Teachers, it’s time to be awoken! Our students cannot compete in the international marketplace without some serious reform. Yeah, yeah, we can blame overcrowded classrooms, lack of money, and Pizza Hut lunches as the culprits. But the real problem is a lack of inspiration.
That’s where I come in. I was included in the "Who’s Who Among America’s Teachers" because I "made a difference" in a student’s life. Let me ask the other teachers out there: Do you spend your time "making a difference" like me? Or do you spend your time counting the days before summer vacation?
I hate to promote a product when I don’t get it for free, but Sophia and I got her mother, Fanya, a Roomba for her birthday. If you don’t know what a Roomba is, it is an automatic vacuuming robot. You turn it on, it moves all over the room or the house vacuuming, and then it returns to its charging base when done, and even chirps a little "song."
Last night was the birthday party at Fanya’s apartment for family members and friends. Tons of Russian food and drink were consumed, toasts raised, even a video of a famous Russian opera singer was watched. But it was the Roomba that stole the show. Most of the guests had never seen such a curious machine. Actually, I had never seen a Roomba myself.
When you first turn it on, you expect it to go back and forth in straight lines, vacuuming in an organized manner. Instead it seems to just go randomly around the room, maneuvering under sofas, bumping into furniture along the way, reading the room and figuring out the lay of the land. Because the Roomba travels around in such an unpredictable manner, it takes on the qualities of a awkward pet, like a lovable little puppy.
Last night, as the Roomba roamed around the living room, everyone started following behind it, as if a Conga line was forming. The line only dispersed when the Roomba suddenly changed "his" mind and started cleaning in another direction. Everyone laughed as the Roomba repeatedly knocked against the bedroom door until "he" finally pushed it open and went in to clean inside. Fanya even started calling the robot from the kitchen, telling it in Russian to "Come over here and clean the kitchen floor." And you know what — eventually, it did.
Roomba was the life of the party — and he didn’t even touch the vodka.
I’m not the only one in love with a Roomba. This father uses a Roomba to get his kids to go to sleep. This blogger even made a movie about his Roomba.
Does the Roomba actually vacuum well? I have no idea. But I think I might just get one to keep me company at night.
Last week, I made fun of businesses that “pay” bloggers to talk about their products.   I became a hero to consumer advocates everywhere, a Ralph Nader of the blogosphere.Â
That exact night, in a bizarre twist of fate, I received an email from Sprint. In it, someone from Sprint wrote that after reading “Citizen of the Month,” they wanted to invite me to be part of the Sprint Ambassador Program. As an “ambassador” for Sprint, I would receive a free phone with free calls, emailing, etc. for six months.Â
The Sprint Ambassador Program is all about exploring our latest products and services and allows you to give direct feedback to Sprint. We recently launched the Sprint Power Vision (SM) Network and want to provide you with the full experience, at no charge. Sprint Power Vision Network enables customers to download data at faster speeds and experience new data products.
I wasn’t required to do anything, but I wasn’t discouraged about writing good things about Sprint on my blog. At first, I thought this was some sort of Nigerian scam, but I Googled the program, and found out it was legit.
“Go for it,” said Sophia. “Then give the free phone to me.”
“Why should I give it to you? They want me to use it.”
“Neilochka, you still haven’t figured out how to use your current phone.”
She was right about my lack of interest in my current phone. And what type of ambassador would I really be? Would I have to keep on bugging my readers to switch from Cingular and T-Mobile? I could imagine the post I would be writing in a month:Â
Hey, blogger pals! Have you seen Sprint‘s new phones lately? SEXY!  And Sprint‘s sound quality?  I haven’t actually listened to it yet, but I know it is the best in the business.  You can hear a pin drop!  And I’m not just saying this in the hope that Sprint extends my use of a free phone to one year. Of course not. As a fellow blogger, I care about you. That’s why I strongly advise all of you to go out RIGHT NOW and…
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted with a tapping sound.
“Uh, excuse me…”
I looked down and saw my penis tapping me on the right thigh.
“What is it, Penis?”
“I guess I should also come clean with your readers.”
“Jeez, Penis, I don’t think my readers want to hear the details about what happened while watching Cheryl Burke, Drew Lachey’s amazingly sexy dance partner, do the mambo on ABC’s “Dancing with the Stars.”
“No, not that. I also got an email from a company wanting to recruit me. I’m now an official “Trojan Brand Evangelist.”
“What the hell is that?”
“I get to try out Trojan’s new “Super Ribbed for Her Pleasure” condoms for free.   Only a select group of A-list penises are asked to be evangelists. Of course, there’s a little promise I made.  You’ll have to write about how good the condoms are on your blog.”
“Write about them? I haven’t even used them!”
“But I did.”
“You did? When?”
“While you were sleeping last night, I put one on myself. And they are excellent.  Much more comfortable than those awful Japanese ones you bought last time.  And with the “Super Ribbing,” women are going to love getting fucked by you.”
“Penis, could you watch your mouth?  I have religious people reading this blog.”
“I’m trying to get you laid, you idiot! Now shut up and listen to your big cock!”
“Well, you’re really not that big…”
“Shut up, moron!  It’s all about salesmanship! You’re never going to get anywhere without selling yourself. No matter whether its cell phones, condoms, blogs, or getting some pussy.”
“Penis. I must insist you stop talking like that. I pride myself on being a feminist. I don’t think women should be objectified as sex objects.”
“Think about it, dumbass. Why do you think you’re not getting laid? Women like sex. Don’t you read your own comments? They even like getting spanked. So stop asking Sophia, “Would you like to fool around?” in a meek little voice!   Carry her to the bed, go between her legs, and don’t come up until she’s screaming for yours truly, your cock, in Russian and Hebrew.”Â
“That’s enough out of you… or I’m going to wash your mouth with soap.”
“Ooh, please do. By the way, Neilochka, that was an interesting IM conversation you had with that female blogger last night.”
“It was completely innocent. We talked about stat counters and blogging.”
“Oh, you wanted to blog her alright. So did I. Several times that night.”
“Penis, she’s married.”
“So? Her husband never has to find out. After all, soon you’re going to have an extra, untraceable Sprint cell phone to give her as a secret “fuck me” line.”
“A “fuck me” line? Are you crazy?  I’m a Sprint Ambassador, not a pimp. What would Sprint say?”
“They’d love it. Think of their sales! Think of the ad campaign: “A new reason to get another Sprint phone.””
“Please, Penis. It’s like you alway have just one thing on your mind.”
“Salesmanship. Neilochka! Remember — it’s always Salesmanship!”
In a desperate publicity stunt to take attention away from Google, Yahoo!’s Yodelimo will drive you five feet from the monorail to the convention center entrance.
After we heard some Microsoft presenter talk and talk about technology advancing "productivity," we noticed that most of the crowd gathered around the X-Box games.
At CES, the world is already Asian.
My favorite booth at CES — cutesy TVs by Hannspree.
At last! We found Moxi and Sophia promptly told them what she thought about their shitty DVR interface. I couldn’t believe it, but they actually took notes!
Sony’s AIBO robotic dog costs $3000 and has "blog capability." I’ve already put him on my blogroll.
The one question that stuck in my mind throughout the event: Is Yanni really any better in Hi-Def and Surround Sound?
Polk Audio’s new line of speakers offer amazing clarity and sound. You won’t believe the power of the highs, mids, and bass coming from this attractive set… uh, excuse me, this photo is from the wrong Las Vegas convention. She belongs in the Adult Video Expo across the hall…
The sun rose over the Las Vegas Strip and the official first day of the giant Consumer Electronics Show. I came here to Las Vegas for one simple reason — to report back to you, my loyal readers, everything I can about all the latest high-tech gadgets in televisions, monitors, wireless, computers, audio devices, and mobile phones. A convention this big requires more than one person to cover it. That’s why this year, I brought along Gadget Girl herself, Sophia.
After our delicious "breakfast buffet" at the Palms Hotel, it was time to head out to the "big event." I had read that it was impossible to park at or near the Convention Center, so we decided to park at the Bellagio and take the "CES Shuttle Bus."
After a half hour of trying to find parking at the Bellagio and walking through the enormous casino, we finally made it to the CES shuttle bus stop. It was 10:35 A.M. We were promptly told that the shuttle bus stopped running at 10:30 A..M.
But it was no big problem. The Bellagio valet told us that we could take the Las Vegas monorail right across the street at Bally’s.
Simple enough. We walked across the street to Bally’s.
Have you ever driven to the Grand Canyon? At a certain point, you pass a sign reading "Now entering Grand Canyon Park." In reality, you still have to drive an hour and a half until you can see anything.
Keep that in mind as we entered Bally’s. There was a sign pointing to the monorail. We then walked for twenty minutes through the casino, up two flights of stairs, up and down three flights of escalators, past the restaurant, the pool, and the spa — until we got to the monorail, which cost us five bucks each to be crammed in with hundreds of other CES geeks for a three minute ride.
At last we made it to the Holy Land. The Convention Center. CES. Oh, wait, not yet. First, we had to wait in line for forty five minutes for "registration" and to pick up our name tags.
We entered CES, completely exhausted and cranky. The show is enormous, taking up 28 football fields, and that is not counting three other huge venues.
Now we had to figure out what to look at. The next version of Windows? The new Sony HD camera? The XM Radio display? Sophia and I sat on the floor to look through the 700 pound CES directory.
Suddenly, Sophia found something exciting. MOXI was at CES!
"Who the hell is MOXI?" I asked.
"They make the DVR box for my Adelphia Cable company."
"So?"
"They have the worst interface ever. If you press the button to see what movies are playing, it only shows you the moves that are playing RIGHT NOW, even if the movie started forty-five minutes ago, but not the movie that’s going to be on in five minutes. It was developed by a complete idiot."
"So, what do you want to do… tell them that?"
"Exactly. How often do you get to talk to the developers of a product you hate? Maybe they’ll listen."
So, off we went, to the South Hall of the Convention Center, past Motorola and Microsoft and Samsung and two football fields of space, trying to find MOXI. After twenty minutes of walking, we were hopelessly lost. We asked some woman carrying a cool orange cloth tote bag if she knew anything about MOXI. She never heard of them.
"Did you get that nice tote bag here at CES?" I asked the woman.
"Yes, over at some high-def company over there. All the other tote bags are cheap plastic. But this one is really nice."
"It really is," I replied, admiring the bag.
"If you want one, you better go fast because they’re running out!"
Sophia wanted to continue looking for MOXI. I thought we should first get the tote bag before they run out.
"What do you need that tote bag for?" she wondered, slightly annoyed.
"Did you see how cool it looked? It would be nice two put these huge books into something. Come on, let’s do that first, and then we’ll find MOXI."
So, off we went, wandering around like the Israelites in the desert, looking for the orange tote bag company. Fifteen minutes later, we realized that we had mistakenly walked into the North Hall. We were lost.
"Why don’t you ask someone for directions?" Sophia asked, like a typical woman.
"Directions to what? The company with the cool orange bags?"
"Yes.."
"I’m not going to look like an idiot asking for that."
"You’re the one who wanted it! Just ask someone."
"I think the company on the bag was Abracadabra Media."
"It wasn’t Abracadabra."
"It was something like that."
"JUST ASK SOMEONE."
Some self-assured man, about 35, wearing a blue suit approached. He looked like someone who was knowledgeble. I took a quick look at this name tag. It read that he represented the William Morris Agency. I couldn’t move my tongue as he passed by.
"Sophia, you see that guy? He works for the William Morris Agency. What is he doing here?"
"Maybe he works for their tech department."
"Maybe he’s a literary agent."
"Go talk to him."
"And say what?"
"Tell him you’re looking for a job. Tell him to go read Citizen of the Month.."
"Forget it. Let’s find the orange Abracadabra bags."
"Are you stupid? This is more important that a tote bag! This is a perfect opportunity to do some networking? If you’re not going to talk to him I will."
"OK, OK, I will… "
"Which one is he again?"
"He’s wearing a blue suit."
We looked over towards the X-Box display area and there were at least forty men wearing blue suits. It was like a Hitchcock movie where we needed to find the killer with a black umbrella among thousands of people with black umbrellas.
For the next twenty minutes, we weaved in and out of various-aged computer geeks trying out new X-Box games, vainly searching for the William Morris agent in the blue suit. We never found him.
"I’m tired." said Sophia.
We had hardly seen any gadgets at all.
"What about MOXI?"
"Forget it. You still want your orange bag?"
"Not really."
"Let’s go back to the Belllagio and play the slot machines."
"You read my mind."
We pushed our way through the crowd and made it out of the convention center. We saw a sign that the CES Shuttle Buses are running now. We sighed in excitement. And then we noticed that there were at least 500 people waiting to get on the bus.
An hour and a half later we fiinally made it back to the Belllagio.
Day 1, CES: That’s my report.
I was playing Texas Hold-em Poker with Sophia and my mother when we got a little confused over what the dealer button meant.
"Go check out the ‘World Series of Poker’ I have recorded on TV," Sophia said. "They explain it prety well."
I went to the living room to check out Sophia’s Tivo, which is not really a Tivo, but a Replay TV, but I always call it a Tivo, like some people always call a Pepsi a Coke, which must annoy the hell out of executives at Pepsico. In fact, I sometimes go to Burger King and specifically ask for a Coke just to hear the beleaguered girl taking the order say for the thousandth time that day "We don’t have Coke. Is Pepsi OK?" So, yes, I do have a passive-aggressive streak.
When I got to the Tivo — I mean Replay TV, I noticed that Sophia had been taping every Texas Hold ’em show on TV. These poker shows have clearly taken over from the designing shows as the new flavor of the day. There are poker games on Bravo, GSN, ESPN, and even the Travel Channel. If there’s an excuse for a poker series, they’ll find one. "Next on CSPAN: Congressmen who love Texas Hold ’em Poker."
Now I understood why Sophia was winning every game. At first, I thought she had just looked stupid wearing those sunglasses and that hooded sweatshirt, but now I see she was imitating the poker "masters" — and intimidating us.
"Sophia, I’m having some trouble finding the show you wanted me to look at."
"It’s called ‘World Series of Poker."
"You have 2005, 2004, 2002, and 1998."
"Just pick any one."
I couldn’t figure out this Replay TV box. I had to call Sophia for her assistance.
"What’s the matter with you? You used to be so good with electronic things."
She was right. After we started playing poker again, I lost interest. I couldn’t stop thinking about what she said. I quickly went "all in" and lost all my chips. I started to head upstairs.
"Where are you going?" asked my mother.
"To the bedroom to sulk and ponder my life."
I sat on the bed and thought about the past. At one time, people used to come to me to fix their computers. But no more. Now they always go to some fifteen year old cousin.
Somewhere along the line, I lost interest in technology. Perhaps it was the time several years ago when I started having sex on a regular basis. Honestly, if you have a woman to play with, isn’t that enough to occupy you for the rest of your life? Do you really need a Blackberry?
I still use an old-fashioned CRT monitor. My cellphone is clunky. I do not own an iPod. I’ve never touched an X-Box
But blogging has changed everything. Many of my readers depend on me to keep them in touch with the latest and greatest, the hottest and the trendiest. Some of you get all of your news from blogs, some of you are shut-ins on medication. I have a responsibility to the community.
So later this week, from Thursday to Sunday, rather than blabbing on about my usual mundane subjects, I will be attending The Consumer Electronics Show (CES) in Las Vegas. This is an enormous show that takes over the city as companies showcase the coolest gadgets coming out in 2006. And Citizen of the Month will be blogging from the show floor. There will be other bloggers there, including many from big time blogs. But only at Citizen of the Month will you get a unique perspective — from someone who knows absolutely nothing about the subject.
If you have any questions on what’s hot in consumer electronics, please ask me and I’ll be sure to get you a wrong answer.
Oh, by the way, I will be doing other things in Las Vegas other than attending this fascinating conference. I will try my hand — for the very first time — playing real life Texas Hold ’em Poker. Sophia even gave me this Hanukkah gift for me to wear at the table, so I can look like all the other professionals.
(photo taken by Sophia on her cool, gadgety Nokia phone)
Yesterday, rather than looking for work, I distracted myself in a new way: What type of Christmas and Hanukkah gifts should I buy for my beloved blogging friends? I spent an hour thinking about what type of people they are, hoping that this would help me better choose their ideal gifts.
First of all, they are a humorous bunch, always ready with a quick-witted comment. In fact, they are more than just amusing, they are downright hilarious at times. Even wacky!
But they are also more than "class clowns" or jokesters. They exhibit an aura of gravitas, of brainy wisdom. I even might consider them intellectuals!
So, here is my conclusion: they are wacky and intellectual. Where in the world am I going to find the perfect gift for Wacky Intellectuals?
Of course, my first instinct was to go to the most wacky and intellectual website on the internet, Google, where I searched for "wacky intellectual gifts" and BOOM — there I found it.
A site for WACKY INTELLECTUAL GIFTS!
It was like I suddenly hit the motherlode of crazy (but appealing to those with higher education) gifts!
Oh, boy, will my blogger babes go crazy when they find their very own Jane Austen Action Figure under their Darcy-themed Christmas Tree.
Much to Sophia’s dismay, several of my blogger friends are egghead liberals who hate Bush. What could be a better gift than the Lost Civil Liberties Mug — where they can watch their rights slowly disappear under the Bush Administration?
For some reason, half of my blogging friends always seem drunk or hungover when they post. For them, I will give the Great American Drinkers Shot Glasses, so they can make believe they are creative drunks like Oscar Wilde, writing something witty when they are soused off their ass.
Most of the New York bloggers seem very neurotic, even crazy, and spend half their salaries on analysis, and then talk about how bad their therapist is on their blog. I think they would most benefit from My Analyst Magic Therapy Ball.
Schuey gets the Nietzsche watch. Read his blog and you’ll understand.
Pauly D naturally gets the Mr. T. Talking Keychain.
I was really enjoying thinking about all my gift-giving. When I looked over all of the gifts on the web page, they clearly were what they were advertised to be — wacky and intellectual.
But then something stopped me in my tracks. Something threw me for a loop. I was confused.
By what, you might ask?
I was very confused by the inclusion of one item as being a wacky and intellectual gift:
For several hours I sat there in thought, rubbing the three-day growth on my chin. Why do they consider this to be a wacky and Intellectual gift? It’s not particularly wacky. And it doesn’t appear to be intellectual.
The website content certainly didn’t give me any clues:
Natural Sunlight Lamps Sale. Natural Sunlight Lamps can help with Seasonal Affective Disorders as they provide a Day-light spectrum for health and well being.
These lamps help reduce eyestrain and computer screen glare because they produce less glare Than Other 26-Watt Compact Fluorescent Lamps
* All lamps Covered by One-Year Free Replacement Warranty on Lamp and Fixture * The Vita-Lite Plus Compact Fluorescent Bulb Lasts up to 5 Years *10,000 User Hours
So, nu? Where’s the stuff about being wacky and intellectual?
Being the overly-curious type, I couldn’t put this issue to sleep. I decided to order one of these lamps, and I even paid extra for one-day shipping, just so I can report back to you — my readers — with my results.
At 10AM this morning, the doorbell rang. It was the UPS man with a delivery.
It was my Natural Sunlight Lamp!
I quickly assembled it and placed it on coffee table. I plugged it in and turned it on. The light went on. It was an attractive light that seemed a lot brighter than the bare 40 Watt bulb I usually have stuck in the socket in the ceiling.
But I have to admit, that I didn’t find the lamp either humorously wacky or intellectually stimulating.
I stared at it… and stared some more, and gradually I started to giggle. All of a sudden, I thought of all the wacky stunts that I could play on people with this lamp. Like a Galileo seeing the world in a new way, I "saw" the WACKY in the Natural Sunlight Lamp.
For instance, imagine you’re having a party on Saturday night and all of your friends are over. One of your friends goes into the bathroom. While he is in there, you decide to play a funny gag on him. You quickly take out the Natural Sunlight Lamp from the closet and turn it on, close the drapes, hide the lamp so he can’t see it, but making sure it still lights up the room, and tell everyone to hide. When your friend comes out of the bathroom, you ask him where he’s been all night? You say it’s the next morning and he was in the bathroom all night. Doesn’t he see that it looks like daytime? Your friend will be more confused than Rip Van Winkle. Just imagine the wacky expression on your friend’s face!
For a more sexy gag, how about inviting your next door neighbor for some nude sunbathing with your new "sun lamp"? Imagine the laughs when she finds out that she can’t get tan with this type of light!
Ok, wacky resolved. But what about intellectual?
This had me dumbfounded for another two hours, until the doorbell rang again. Could it be UPS again?
No. It was Charlotte, my neighbor, an attractive woman from Paris who was going for her doctorate in photobiology at UCLA. She wanted to know if I had some Cheerios that she could borrow.
"Of course" I said. "I always buy a couple of extra boxes of Cheerios at Costco."
As I went to my kitchen cabinet, her eyes lit up on seeing the Natural Sunlight Lamp on the coffee table.
"Oh my, a Natural Sunlight Lamp!"
"Yes, I just got it today."
"Did you know that natural sunlight travels at a speed of 186,000 miles a second from a source ninety-three million miles away — and it rates with food, water and air as part of the life-support system on earth."
Hmmm.. Miss Photobiology was very intellectual about this lamp. Yes, indeed. I tried to respond as intelligently as I could. Luckily, I had just read an interesting article about photobiology in the New Yorker.
"I was just reading this article that natural light is so important, it can also boost beef production. Cattle that spend "longer days" under correct artificial light are 10% to 15% heavier, with no increase in food consumption."
"Interesting. I didn’t know you took an interest in photobiology?"
"Oh, yes. Even though, the science of photobiology is a recent one. Some photobiologists say doctors showed little interest in the subject until about five years ago."
I handed her the box of Cheerios. My hand slightly rubbed against hers. She smiled at me.
"Actually, the American Society of Photobiology was just founded only eight years ago."
"Amazing, considering that there is nothing more interesting than light."
"Yes."
Before we knew it, I had her pinned against the wall and we were fucking like two light waves.
"Oh, my God," she shouted. "This is more fun than rating light by the color rendering index."
"You mean the CRI of 100?" I said as I thrust wildly.
"Yes, yes. With full-spectrum fluorescent being 100."
"Standard cool white, 91."
"Harder, harder. Fluorescent, 68."
"Other fluorescent being 56."
"It’s gonna… it’s gonna… Oh, there’s nothing like having an orgasm in Natural Sunlight…a little this way…"
We tilted to the side and I bumped into the coffee table. The Natural Sunlight Lamp flew off the table and crashed to the floor. It immediately BURST into flames. The coffee table caught fire. The fire alarm went off. The sprinkler shot water everywhere. Charlotte ran out of the apartment screaming for her life.
"Wait. Wait. Charlotte, don’t leave yet!" I screamed, running after her into the hallway with my cock still up.
But it was too late. She was just like the French. They act all intellectual, and when there is the first sign of trouble, they run like cowards.
I was foiled again.
After the fire department came, I threw the Natural Sunlight Lamp into the incinerator room.
"What a piece of shit," I told myself. "That’s the last time I buy anything online."
Anyway, I’m sorry. Forget those gifts I was going to give to you all. I don’t trust the quality of these wacky and intellectual gifts.
Whenever I go to the drugstore
I always buy things right
Be it a Kotex or a Tampax,
Ultra-thin or Overnight.
I once was a typical nudnik.
Who didn’t know a thing,
But through years and years of training,
I’m now the Tampon King.
On Monday, it’s pantyliner
On Tuesday, it’s Stayfree
On Wednesday, it’s always Always,
On Thursday, it’s o.b.
If you’re looking for a husband,
Who’s perfect to a tee
Just spread your Carefree "Flexi-wings"
And fly away with me.
(inspired an hour ago while waiting in a long line at Rite-Aid)
Today in Blogebrity: Christmas in New York (Guy’s site)
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