Archive - October 2005


A Travel Pack of Steelers

     I’m not one to typically fall prey to a little phenomenon I like to call PIE.  Product Induced Embarrassment.  Hasn’t happened yet anyway.  The act of making certain purchases seems to give people the proverbial “willies.”  Condoms.  That’s one that seems to get a lot of people, though I can’t figure out why.  Especially guys.  Hell, I started buying condoms a long, long time before I ever suspected the reality of ever actually needing them.  Maybe I wasn’t having sex, but at least people would think I was, and I wasn’t technically lying about it.  What’s embarrassing about perfect strangers thinking you’re having sex?  I used to hope for a price check.  Advertise my virility, will you?

     Porn gets a lot of people, too.  But really, only some of it should cause you any embarrassment.  And let’s face, how holier than thou can the guy working the counter at an adult bookstore get.  Just pay for “Where The Boys Aren’t, Part 27” and be on your way, you’re holding the line up for the rest of us.

     Perhaps the greatest test for a man’s immunity to PIE comes from your lady.  The inevitable, “Hey, can you pick me up some tampons?” as you rush out for a six-pack before the store closes.  Happened to me years ago.  I just shrugged.  It really didn’t bother me.  I swear.  I jotted down the pertinent info and scooted out for the grocery store.  Blue box.  Maxi.  Unscented.  How hard could it be?

     Twenty nine and half minutes.  That’s precisely how long I stood gaping at the wall of feminine hygiene products.  It was an engineering marvel.  It ran the length of the store, floor to ceiling.  Hordes of Mongolian invaders were camped at its base, attempting to scale its unfathomable heights with crude rope ladders, and screaming for the Chinese Emperor’s head. 

If I had to estimate, there were something like forty-eight hundred varieties represented.  Half of them were in pink boxes.  The other half blue.  I scanned the twenty-four hundred blue boxes for the word “Maxi.”  The field was now narrowed to an even two thousand, which I promptly searched for “Unscented.”  After twenty-nine and a half minutes, I had gotten down to a scant 1,573 choices, all of which seemed to meet the given criteria.

Knowing that my wife gets angry when I bring home the wrong kind of dish detergent, I left (with beer, though I bumped it to a twelve pack).  Defeated, but not embarrassed.  

When the shock subsided, and I sobered up, I was struck with the fundamental weakness of feminine hygiene products.  Their marketing departments suck.  I mean really, really suck.  You could be king in there by suggesting a green box.  That alone would make your product stand out like Sean Penn at a Mensa meeting.

There’s a recent brain storm from one company who are putting flowers on their boxes.  Flowers?  Nice try.  This isn’t going to help dutiful husbands and boyfriends find their partner’s preferred hygiene products.  “It’s the one with the orchid on the front.”  That information will be helpful to exactly eleven percent of the male population.  And ninety-two percent of them will not have partners with menstrual cycles.

So I’m here to help.  It’s so simple, people.  Football.  All men get it.  We can remember that.  So how about names like “First and Menses,” or “Through The Uprights,” or even “Go Deep?”  Alright.  That sounded a lot better in my head.  What say you just link up with the NFL?  Instead of Light Maxi Unscented Super Absorbent, try calling them the Cincinnati Bengals.  You tell your man to bring you back some Bengals, you’ll get some Bengals.

With my astounding gift of foresight, I can go ahead and provide you with some preliminary marketing facts. 

·        The following brands/teams will be perennial losers on the feminine product front:  the Titans (ouch), the Giants (ouch), and the Rams (ouch and eww). 

·        The Redskins and the Cardinals, despite being awkwardly appropriate, will never enjoy more than regional success.

·        The Jets, the Ravens, the Eagles, the Falcons, and the Seahawks should be reserved for any product “with wings.”  It’s just common sense.

·        Priests will begin hearing confessions about whether it’s okay to use the Saints. 

·        There will be a spike in sales following every Super Bowl.  This is because drunken sports fans will be sure that any team memorabilia will only appreciate in value.  They will be wrong.

·        In an effort to have someone buy something of theirs, the Browns will change their name, and several years later, the good people of Cleveland will celebrate a playoff victory by their beloved Gentle Glide Applicators.


Hey Grumpy,

It's me, Anger.  I need your help.  I have been accused of having "fun" with my friend's girl.  I didn't and he is bent on hurting me.  Don't get me wrong we fight a lot just without reason, and now that he has this in his head I know that he is not going to have think.  Either him or I will get hurt.  I hate that his bitch has to lie to him like that.  I really don't want this to happen.

Do you have a way to not have us fight in anger and still get revenge on his bitch.

Anger 
 

Dear Anger,

It's always good to hear from you, though I dare say it betrays your rather problematic lifestyle.

It sounds to me like your friend is at least marginally crazy.  And marginally crazy under ordinary circumstances, means that he'll be all-out crazy where love is concerned.  What I'm saying is this - it seems highly improbable that you are going to escape without a fight.  This is not as bad as it seems.  It frees you up to do two things.  One is, this is the perfect opportunity to get rid of a crazy friend, and believe me, there is no better thing in the world.  Crazy friends are only funny when they happen to other people.  I believe Socrates said that.

The second opportunity here is to have some fun.  I've always believed that if you are going to get in trouble for something you didn't do, then go ahead and do it.  See about getting a hand job from her.  What's worse, Anger, getting a black eye for a hand job you didn't get, or for one you did?

On the off chance you can convince your friend that none of this true, then your next step is to convince him to dump this crazy bitch.  Having a crazy friend with a crazy girlfriend will almost certainly end up with you in jail (don't ask, just trust me - she's not going to press charges on him, now is she?).  But, before he dumps her, go ahead and get that hand job.  And make sure you get it on tape.  Have your pal wait outside for your signal, and just as you are about to finish, he bursts in, screaming and throwing stuff like he didn't know what was going on.

Make sure, of course, you post the video on the internet, that way you get revenge on a global scale (Yay!) and the world gets another ten minutes of free porn (Double Yay!).

Hope that helps, 

Grumpy


Just the one letter this month.  So here's some free advice.

1.  Make sure her father isn't a retired track star.  Even a 50 year-old retired track star will catch your sorry ass running butt naked down the street.  Trust me.

2.  Quote percentages to sound smart.  Ninety-seven percent of people never question a percentage.  The other eighteen percent are uncircumcised.

3.  Cops don't like to be tickled.

4.  A whale's cries are to warn other whales not to swim through the "warm spot."  (Okay, that's not advice, but it's late and I'm sober.)

5.  Don't take advice you get from a website that also features free greeting cards.

6.  Cops really, really don't like to be tickled.  I get that now.

Hope that helps,

Grumpy


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