Fifty Shades of Retail

Target has added a new toy section that is sure to get tongues (and other parts) wagging: Fifty Shades Of Grey sex toys and accessories. They are in the "Adult Health" section, you know, the one with black curtains that you need tokens to get in to.

Imagine grandma shopping with the kids and running across the Fifty Shades of Grey "Beyond Aroused Kegel Balls Set" or the "Fifty Shades of Grey We Aim to Please Vibrating Bullet." The ads for these products proudly proclaim that it is the only sex toy collection officially approved by Fifty Shades author E.L. James. One can only assume that, like all honest pitch ladies, she uses what she endorses.

Knock knock. "Uh Ms. James, do we have your okay for the delicious pleasure silicone ben wa balls yet?"

"No darling, come back in another hour or so."

The toys are based on the items mentioned in the Fifty Shades Trilogy and some are downright creepy, like the Fifty Shades of Grey Still Baby Still Bondage Tape (White panel van and Fifty Shades Of Grey Restrain Me Bondage Ropes sold separately), while the UK Version of Cosmo recommends for Fifty Shades enthusiasts a "hog tie" kit (Creepy shack in the woods and John Cougar CDs sold separately).

In keeping with the times, many of the products that normally would use batteries are now rechargeable via USB ports on your laptop. Fistfights for computer recharging spots in airports are foreseeable.

Frankly, there is little new or original in the collection, though I do admire how the managed to get people to pay $22.00 for three small rolls of duct tape. Cost aware masters everywhere take note. "But baby, I want the Fifty Shades Bondage Tape!"

"Listen, this is the same thing and I paid three bucks for the roll at Walmart."

One wonders if this were being sold at Bed, Bath & Beyond, where the "beyond" would go, not to mention happenings in the bedding section. "Sir, please untie your wife from the display bed!"

Now mind you, I pass no judgments. At my age I have climbed Mount Kinky a time or two and whatever happens between consenting adults is nobody's business, except on the internet because you did not know master had the Fifty Shades Teddy Bear Camera. (My original idea and one that may have saved Radio Shack from Chapter 11) I also would recommend, if you've never read the Fifty Shades trilogy and are older than, let's say 30, you get some Ritalin to stay awake while reading this dream-like walk on the mild side of kink.

So, my immoral beloveds, now Target is truly your one stop shopping stop. If you're checking out with your groceries and see someone with a long handled cutting board, the large pack of AA batteries, a Fifty Shades magic bullet  and bag of crunchy Cheetos, don't judge. It's progress, in it's own way, though cucumber and banana sales my take a hit.

Vaping with Gwyneth

Apparently Gwyneth Paltrow, who once said she'd "[R]ather smoke crack than eat cheese from a tin", may be on the verge of smoking HER - well, let me explain:

Paltrow has recently come out for a trendy new L.A. thing called "V-Steaming." And "V" does not stand for veggies. Paltrow described to her GOOP readers the process. I must warn you, trying to mentally picture Paltrow going through this treatment while reading the description could cause irreversible neurological damage:

"You sit on what is essentially a mini-throne, and a combination of infrared and mugwort steam cleanses your uterus, et al. It is an energetic release—not just a steam douche—that balances female hormone levels. If you’re in LA, you have to do it."

No, I did not make that up. Gwyneth is 'a smoking in the girl's room.

The V-Steam is based on Far Eastern folk medicine (Perhaps that's what the guy in the old commercial meant when he said "Shhh, ancient Chinese secret!") and is accomplished by a woman essentially squatting over a steaming pot of the Colonels 11 herbs and spices (Okay, I made that up) to clean, refresh and fix, according to some spa claims, everything from infertility to PMS, which in this case means Pay Money, Stupid.

In all fairness to Paltrow, she seems to actually be a Johnny-come-lately to Stanley Steaming™ the southern belle, as my crack (I just can't stop myself) research team found internet references galore going back years. I could not find a spa here in San Antonio that offers the treatment, as we only steam beaver hats here. There is a place in Austin that does, but I'm not giving a free name drop without a coupon for my beloved, who I am sure would be thrilled if told she had a free coochie mist coming.

There is also a similar treatment offered for men called the A-Steam. I guess the B-Steam idea shriveled.

I'm not sure what my point is, aside from the fun we all have making fun of most of what Paltrow says and does, though it is predictable. I mean, the poor girl grew up with the best of everything and was clearly told from the time she was getting her umbilical cord clipped that she was special, precious and every vapid little thought she ever had would be important and worth of sharing. Her lack of self awareness, when it comes to how truly un-relatable her world is to 99% of the humans on earth is reminiscent of someone in a room full of people who is unaware of his/her own body odor. Like the guy in overalls that sat in front of you at the movies last week.

Rapping with the White House

 "Thank you for contacting the White House Comments Line, what is your comment?"

"Yeah, tell the President we want weed legal!"

"Where do you live sir?"

"Colorado."

"Sir, marijuana, or as the President prefers to call it, 'Choom in the Oval Room' IS legal in Colorado."

"Far out man!"

LINE DISCONNECTS

"Thank you for calling the White House Comments Line, what is your comment?"

"I want el Presidento to legalize weed!"

"Mr Chong, we just spoke."

"Oh wow, sorry your ladyship!"

LINE DISCONNECTS

"Thank you for contacting the White House Comments Line, what is your comment?"

"I just can't take it anymore(weeping sounds) they're coming at me from all sides! Tell them to stop with the constant attacks and innuendo, please! If it were not for the soothing, premium blend in Camel Lights, I'd never make it through the day! It's so horrible…(Wailing uncontrollably)

"Mr. Speaker, you need to call the House Republican Caucus with this issue."

"It's my party, I'll cry if I want to!"

LINE DISCONNECTS

"Thank you for contacting the White House Comments Line, what is your comment?"

"Yeah man, I want two large supremes with everything, a thirty two piece hot wings and three orders of cinnamon pastries."

"Mr. Chong, this is the White House Comments Line again."

LINE DISCONNECTS

"Thank you for contacting the White House Comments Line, what is your comment?"

"I know this is a great administration! I've seen it, I've experienced it, I'm telling you I have literally tasted its greatness. Ever since my grandfather, father, mother and a number of distant relatives dug coal 23 hours a day so I could attend law school…"

"Mr. Vice President, is that you again?"

LINE DISCONNECTS

"Thank you for contacting the White House Comments Line, what is your comment?"

(Screeching) "This is the worst administration since Nero! Misguided, no guts…

"Mrs. Clinton?"

Auto Maintenance For Poor People.

          Most of my life I have avoided having too much money, so as not to fall into the idle Downton Abbey ways that have spoiled so many who came before us. I mean, what can match the thrill of racing to the nearest electrical company payment center before dark sets in, or the water company before you start smelling like your dog after he's rolled in whatever that is in the backyard?

          Also, all this good credit/bad credit, who needs the headache?  "What's YOUR score?" they ask accusingly. You have to take your earnings and divide them by the number of items of furniture from Rent-A-Center in your home; then add any children you have managed to shove out of the house and for each you may offset a year's car payments. Then, estimate the amount of scrap metal available in your neighborhood, give yourself one point per ton and multiply by potential in-law inheritances and potential lottery winnings. Of course, that's a calculation beyond mere mortals, so our friends at the credit cartels, eh, agencies are happy to provide us our score.

Now, according to some of these credit places we are credit abusing Neanderthals  and stupid to boot, since they ask for a credit card number to get your free credit report. "Why yes sir, your report is free after the one dollar processing fee." I calmly scream, "But that means it's a DOLLAR, not FREE!" I then beat my phone on my head until one or the other breaks.

          Some people say absurd things like "It's not money that is the root of all evil, but the want of money." Bull biscuits. Do you think Charlie Sheen could go on a six year blow fueled binge with hookers and private jets on a Russell Simmons Rushcard? See, all the men in America WANT the money to do that but are in no additional trouble for the thought. But drop in Sheen's roughly $48 million dollar yearly salary from back then and all kinds of evil/fun ensues.

          Having adroitly avoided this cruel trap that leads to a broken body, rehab, police matters and enough fond memories for fifty lifetimes, I can tell those of you who also have walked the path of pious poverty with me some of my best survival tips.

Money saving tips for car maintenance:

$        Rotating your tires. Skip it, they rotate every time you drive.

$        Squealing belts? Crank up that stereo, preferable Ted Nugent or Van Halen for the best sound cover. People on the street will hear that belt screaming like a cat in a laundry roller, but YOU wont.

$        Car stalls or runs sluggishly at low speeds? Floor it, up to past eighty if possible without blowing all the beer cans your taking to sell out the window. Red lights without cameras just scream "run me".

Eating out

$       Walk into restaurants wearing a thick sweater or over-sized coat. When you order say. "I can only eat a little may I get the child's meal? I just had an ostomy bag put in, want to see it?"

$       People in McDonalds who don't throw out their trays are a calorie BOOM. Table diving is more dignified and keeps your clothes cleaner than a dumpster dive.

$       Learn your fiends at home eating routines. People this is critical.  Drop by at dinner time with a two dollar bottle of wine poured into a carafe or a corked bottle and you get a meal cheaper than the "Abuse your colon  for ninety nine cents" menu at Taco Bell.

Holiday Thrift

Let's go by date order. That way you can plan your year of celebrating poverty accordingly.

$       Valentine's day. This is a biggie, much more touchy than Christmas if you are in even the most  glancing relationship. Oh yeah and male. Guys this holiday leave you two choices: go BIG or go  thoughtful. Thoughtful as in you put some thought into it. Like "How can I spend the least and not end up alone tonight?"  Home-made gift certificates are thoughtful AND cheap. "Good for one backrub" or "Good for one home-cooked meal." (At this point, it is important to explain this must happen at her house with food from her kitchen, as even an Iron Chef could not make a meal from the Chulula Sauce and Jimmy Dean sausage and biscuit combos in YOUR fridge).

$       Birthdays are not technically a holiday, but try telling her that. Sorry buddy, this is that one time you have to hock that guitar/toolbox/autographed Steve Landesberg picture. That or steal a puppy or kitten from someone's yard. It's just how it is.

$       Thanksgiving. Girlfriend liberal? "I refuse to celebrate the exploitation of my native brothers and sisters! Why don't you just cook up a quick something instead?"  Girlfriend conservative? Her parents house. Girlfriend libertarian? Fire one up, watch the game and eat nachos.

$       Christmas. Easy cheesy. "Baby I refuse to be sucked into the commercialism of the holy season! Let's celebrate Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanza by loving each other and let everyone else spend their MONEY" You have to spit that last word out like a bad oyster on the half shell.  If she agrees, she's as broke as you and has no immediate prospects, so you got her right where you want her.

          I hope this helps you in your struggle to stick it to the man by not spending money to enrich the  one percent. Winning.

Dinner with State of The Union.

Tonight I am having a party to mark the State of The Union speech. (SOTU for the cool kids)

Rather than actually watching I will, without benefit of anesthesia, hypnosis or poultices of any kind, remove my own appendix. I will then sew myself shut with ten pound test fly fishing line and eat said appendix with some field greens and a bottle of Big Red, since I have no Chianti.   

 Here's why:

The SOTU is delivered by the President of The United States or POTUS before both houses of congress or BHOC. BHOC is controlled by Republicans and POTUS is a Democrat, so don't expect huge standing ovations, except for those agreed upon by the Democratic Congressional Caucus or DCC. These will consist of a clear minority of the gathered assembly rising and attempting to  applaud and cheer loud enough to sound like the majority of the crowd, who are, in fact, the Republican Congressional Caucus (RCC) which is lead by the Republican Leadership committee or RLC.

Like some feminine products, the DCC and RCC/RLC have wings. As wings should, they have left and right wings and a center. Got the visual?

Now both wings will call each other terrible names like communist and Nazis. Just wait and see. This means that a lot of the people yelling have no sense of history or the cost to humanity caused by Nazis and communist. But that's for another night. Now, since POTUS is a member of the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee (DCCC, not to be confused with DCC) the DCC will applaud and support every single word the POTUS utters before BHOC.

It would seem one sided, except that the party not affiliated with POTUS, RCC, RLC, LRon, etc, will get to give a SOTU Response.  This year delivered by Joni Ernst, a first year senator from Iowa. She will likely give the response in a room with a window or case full of important looking books in the background. Or maybe in front of some rows of corn as a nod to her home state.

It is common knowledge that SOTU responses usually goes really badly, so someone with little to lose delivers it.. A first year Senator will have six years to recover should she flub the whole thing.

Nobody really listens to the rebuttal. It's a scientific fact that more people watch the cattle auction on RFDTV than watch the rebuttal. The reason why is easy: both wings have made up their minds long ago and, with few exceptions, they are not about the change. Not even a little.

So here's to SOTU, POTUS and SCOTUS, who will be in attendance but not applaud or even appear to have a heartbeat. While the wings crash against the walls of ideology and spin, I will suffer less eating my own appendix.

And the best part? It's just as good the second day.

Sweet Baby James vs. The Terrorist

Well, John Kerry has done something I did not think was possible. He made me cringe while listening to James Taylor. Thanks Obama.

I have always loved Sweet Baby James. I remember being all of eight years old and listening to Fire and Rain on my big sister's little 45 RPM record player. Then thinking of my first steady girlfriend, Dina, while listening to How Sweet it Is. We were all of 12 and I would talk to her on the phone at night until I fell asleep and would  hear "BUTCH!" screamed from the other end. But I digress.

It occurs to me that the only way we could have handled this worse would be sending French President Francois Hollande (the name that is almost a delicious sauce) an FTD© Get Well arrangement with the cute little bear hugging the vase and a Mylar balloon proclaiming "Je Suis Charlie."

Kerry was ham fisted, hugging Hollande like one would a widow at a funeral and giving him a kiss on the cheek. The man goes through a terrorist attack and being kissed by John Kerry  in such a short span of time.

 The Franco-American relationship gets closer

Taylor, for his part seemed kind of embarrassed and wanting to climb inside his guitar.  Some genius set up a mic for the guitar, but not for Taylor who spent the first several bars hunched over like an anorexic Quasimodo, trying to sing into a microphone essentially level with his crotch. We call that the Carly Simon position. Finally some assistant or whoever leaned over with a mic and it soon became the weird specter of James Taylor doing himself on karaoke night. 

The London Daily Mail called it "toe curling diplomacy." I call it Jimmy Carter laughing as his ex-president stock rises.

Sweet little nothings...

SO the other day I'm showing off my healthy eating kick on social media and note that I am having plain yogurt with cinnamon, nutmeg and sweetener stirred in and some home-made granola on top. That's when the madness began.

Now, in all fairness, I did get some cyber pats on the back for my efforts and a betting pool started on when I'd actually be able to see ALL of my anatomy again without having to lay down and prop my head up on a pillow. The over under is September, 2015. I feel encouraged already.

The madness was the number of posts I received warning me of the dangers of every sweetener known to man.  They sent dire warnings about my brain, pancreas, large AND small intestines and, of course, various cancers, tumors and early onset dementia.  Then came the links. I saw a link that said artificial sweeteners (ARTS, for short from now on, because I hate typing sweetener and it sounds cool) can cause depression. Who knows? Who cares? Why bother?

The one that got my attention the most-est the fastest was one that was titled "Are Artificial Sweeteners Ruining Your Sex Life?" Now to be honest, I was pretty sure this was bullshit since I've been drinking ARTS for the past 30 or so years and have humped like a bunny for the majority of them.  Now, if you told me over consumption of ARTS made you want to play "landlord and the late rent" or think of 90 naughty uses for vapor rub I'd completely believe it.

I think there was one about ARTS causing memory loss, but, listen, I'm 53 and have packed a lot of information, useless and otherwise into my head over the years. Like Brian Wilson used to compose with his piano sitting in a giant sandbox, so he could "feel the sand". Let me stop here to say that compose may be the right word, but it seems a bit pretentious for "Tack it up, Tack it up, buddy gonna shut you down." But I digress. I have also stored very useful information, like you have fewer accidents making right turns than left turns. This is why, after programming my in car GPS system for right turns only, it takes me a minimum of three hours to get to the liquor store. Getting home is even rougher; think about it. With all that valuable data swimming about my head, small wonder I forget a thing or two. Like my dogs names.

When you do every now and then get one of these dire warnings with a study attached, it is either from a Professor that teaches at Pentecostal Theological Institute of Bucharest or someone feeding rats the ARTS equivalent of you or I drinking 14 kegs of diet coke a day. I know it's not a new observation, but when I checked it out, damn it, it was true! These poor rats and mice that weigh less than one of our freaking feet get the same amount that comes a full liter of diet soda, repeatedly. Dear god, it's a wonder they don't have little saccharine aliens exploding out of them. 

So keep your bad news about my not eating "real" sugar, or GMO free 100% local honey made by bees who only get pollen from free range flowers to yourself. One step closer and I'll strap on a bag of Aspartame like oats for a horse and eat them until I am a eunuch with a bad memory and a basketball sized goiter on my neck.