PANTIES FOR PEACE

Think you can't make a difference? Read on:

BANGKOK, Thailand - Women in several countries have begun sending their panties to Myanmar embassies in a culturally insulting gesture of protest against the recent brutal crackdown there, a campaign supporter said Friday.

"It's an extremely strong message in Burmese and in all Southeast Asian culture," said Liz Hilton, who supports an activist group that launched the "PANTIES FOR PEACE" drive earlier this week.

The group, Lanna Action for Burma, says the country's superstitious generals, especially junta leader Gen. Than Shwe, also believe that contact with women's underwear saps them of power.

To widespread international condemnation, the military in Myanmar, also known as Burma, crushed mass anti-regime demonstrations recently and continues to hunt down and imprison those who took part.

Hilton said women in Thailand, Australia, Singapore, England and other European countries have started sending or delivering their underwear to Myanmar missions following informal coordination among activist organizations and individuals.

"You can post, deliver or fling your panties at the closest Burmese Embassy any day from today. Send early, send often!" the Lanna Action for Burma Web site urges.

"So far we have had no response from Burmese officials," Hilton said.


This woman is brilliant. Honestly, I had no idea that my used panties could serve as instruments of Burmese intimidation. It had never occurred to me that the contents of my hamper hid a deadly cache of political weapons. I also wonder if these women are sending in their ratty, second tier panties (the ones you wear when you know you're not going to get laid) or if they are sending in their uncomfortable, frilly panties that you only wear when your are absolutely sure you are going to get laid.
Which are deadlier and more "power sapping"?

And what about spin-off efforts:
Jock Straps for Justice! Bras for Brotherhood! Thongs for Thyroid Problems!

Let's keep the political ingenuity flowing...

"DO IT YOURSELF" GONE TOO FAR

While calmly drinking coffee, I came across this harrowing news item:

LONDON (AFP) - Falling numbers of state dentists in England has led to some people taking extreme measures, including extracting their own teeth, according to a new study released Monday.

Others have used superglue to stick crowns back on, rather than stumping up for private treatment, said the study. One person spoke of carrying out 14 separate extractions on himself with pliers.

"This is an uncomfortable read for all of us, and poses serious questions to politicians from patients," said Sharon Grant of the Commission for Patient and Public Involvement in Health.

Overall, six percent of patients had resorted to self-treatment, according to the survey of 5,000 patients in England, which found that one in five had decided against dental work because of the cost.

One researcher involved in compiling the study -- carried out by members of England's Patient and Public Involvement Forums -- came across three people in one morning who had pulled out teeth themselves.


Okay, now the temptation here is to make the stale, requisite jokes about British teeth. But I'm not interested in that. Instead, I'd like to take the opportunity to compile a list of things that one should never be tempted to do in your own home, with or without a Home Depot salesperson's advice:

1.) See Above
2.) Removal of any internal organs with a Bic razor
3.) Constructing any sort of teletransporter device using a wrench and Silly Putty
4.) Slaughtering a pig with Macy's gift set knife and making your own sausage
5.) Giving oneself a boob job using bubble wrap/styrofoam peanuts as the stuffing

MAMA D'S ARTS BORDELLO PRESENTS: A Faustian Bargain

Lust? Greed? Sloth? Gluttony? Pride? Wrath? Envy? We've got 'em all.

For all the wicked sinners out there, Saturday, October 13th is your night.
Welcome to a night of devilish pleasures featuring lusty burlesque dancers Howling Vic and Gerica Molotov, diabolical live music from Mama's Birthday, perverse comedy from Rob Lathan, a weird short film and the 9 Circles of Hell trivia contest. Come commit a couple deadly sins with us on Saturday, October 13th at 10pm and save the repenting for Sunday.

Mama D's Arts Bordello

October 13th, 2007
Mo Pitkin's House of Satisfaction
34 Avenue A (btw 3rd/4th streets)
NY, NY 10009
(212) 777-5660

BACK TO BASICS

We've had some very thought provoking topics around here lately. With reasoned debates, interesting perspectives and impassioned beliefs.
But today, I'm offering up THIS.

I suspect we all know a guy who could benefit from such a contraption. The fact that it is not currently available at a Target near you is a form of sex discrimination. And with all the idiotic shit offered up on HSN, all those enthusiastic bitches shilling endless forms of Tupperware and festive doo-dads, where is the entrepreneur willing to help the legions of fat naked men across this nation?

I BELIEVE IN BELIEVING

I was the kid who never thought Linus from “Peanuts” was an idiot for waiting for “The Great Pumpkin” to come every year. I would have forgone my candy corn and sat with him in that pumpkin patch too. Not necessarily because I believed, but because he did.

I have taken a pet to the Church of the Holy Family’s “Annual Blessing of the Animals”. I have danced during Shul at B'nai Jeshurun. I have paid my respects at the Buddhist Byodo-In Temple. I have skinny dipped with Wiccans.

Having traveled a lot and lived in many places, I’ve seen belief manifest itself in many forms. So I believe in pretty Southern Baptist girls in floral Easter dresses giggling on a sunny Atlanta morning. I believe in my Muslim classmates at college in London, who prayed together and fasted at Ramadan. I believe in Harlem choirs, gorgeous voices raising the rafters of their churches. I believe in the makeshift altars set up in even the grimiest of New Orleans apartments, often on TV trays, with glass-encased candles flickering in the warm afternoon air. And I believe in the hippie Reverend who officiated a wedding I attended on St. John Island, a woman who wore butterflies instead of crosses on her vestment, and told the couple to swim together in Trunk Bay, souls uniting in the water.

Any belief that attempts to connect people in a positive way, to focus on something greater than the polluted commute to work and boring TV line-up is worth listening to. As long as there is belief, there is concern for what happens beyond the next company progress report or condo association meeting. True belief requires commitment, struggle and devotion. It demands attention. Apathy is too easy. Apathy lets you off the hook. Apathy belies a lack of imagination.

In my home, I have a mezuzah on my doorframe, three Bibles, a copy of the I Ching, The Tibetan Book of The Dead, a jade Buddha, and a statue of Ganesha right by my computer. After all, he is the Lord of New Beginnings, Destroyer of Obstacles. As a writer who is no stranger to rejection letters, I need his blessings quite frequently.

But when people ask what this buffet of spirituality all means, I tell them I believe in believing.

PHOTOSHOPPED ADULTHOOD: Sanitized for Your Convenience

A friend of mine had a little girl recently, so I’ve been perusing the children’s section of the bookstore. Naturally, I gravitated toward the books I knew from my childhood: “Where the Wild Things Are”, “Green Eggs and Ham”, and of course, “Goodnight Moon”. I loved that book not because of the story (which I thought was boring) but for the black and white photo of the illustrator, Clement Hurd. Unlike grandfatherly Dr. Seuss, he didn’t look like he’d give me a hug. No, he belonged at our house during cocktail hour, sitting in a floral chair on the patio, telling stories by the light of the tiki torches.

But when I turned “Goodnight Moon” over to look at this photo after all these years, I saw that it had been photoshopped. The cigarette in his hand had been removed, altered to suit modern parenting sensibilities. I stared at it for a while. The picture looked so strange, his hand clearly posed for holding a cigarette, but nothing was there.

It occurred to me that certain child-protective measures are entrenched today in ways they weren’t when I was a kid. Maybe it’s because people demand a greater level of control now, with the rise of “helicopter parenting”. But it seems like we are cocooning kids too much, and denying ourselves some of the fun of adulthood in the process.

When I was a child in Honolulu back in the late 1970s, my parents and their friends didn’t surrender their adult interests and make everything so “family friendly”. The adult stuff coexisted with kids’ stuff. But there was a distinct divide between us and them, and we knew it. Parents and kids both liked it that way. Of course the term “family values” hadn’t been coined yet.

In the fridge there was Mr. and Mrs. T’s Bloody Mary Mix next to the milk. Moms had vinyl cigarette purses with golden snaps and a separate little pouch for their Bic lighters. If we asked, they’d take out their Virginia Slims and lighters and let us use the purses for our dolls. Dads often kept copies of Playboy (just out of our reach) in the bathroom. Under the sink, you might find a box of Today Sponges. If you asked about it, you were just told, “That’s for adults.” Believe it or not, that answer was good enough for us.

People in our neighborhood all had cocktail hours out on their patios, with fully stocked wet bars, olives and colorful swizzle sticks. We kids would color in our books as adults smoked and drank outside. They didn’t try to include us. They told dirty jokes or talked about politics or neighborhood gossip. This wasn’t some type of family fun. Friday night was theirs, distinctly for the adults. When told to go to bed, I’d leave my bedroom door open, loving the sound of all that laughter, the clinking of ice in a vodka tonic. And as they nursed hangovers, Saturday morning was all ours. We’d get up alone, make a bowl of Honeycomb, Lucky Charms or any other cereal that would tear up the roof of your mouth and watch Scooby Doo, Laff Olympics and Superfriends.

If parents took their kids to an upscale restaurant, there was zero tolerance for misbehaving in that adult realm. Mothers didn’t lecture fellow diners by saying, “You were a kid once too.” When I hear this, I often think, “You’re right, I was. And I had to sit there, sip my Shirley Temple and behave. Otherwise I’d get the evil eye from my mom, and that look alone was enough to keep me in check.”

Adulthood used to be this amazing mystery. I’d watch my mother put on her disco clothes; sexy sparkly outfits and platform heels as I sat there in my cords and juice-stained t-shirt, dreaming of all the fun I could have when I grew up. Now it seems like some parents are so worried about teaching their kids the wrong message, that “family friendly” activities have overtaken their lives.

These parents don’t appear to want a separate world for themselves. They are willing to completely morph into “Mom” and “Dad”, leaving nothing left for an outside identity. But I think constantly catering to kids deprives them of the wonder of adulthood. They don’t have the understanding that certain activities are just for adults, and that this unknown world can be something to look forward to.

When I was a kid, the adult world was visible but not accessible. It seemed fascinating. But I knew that adults had problems, they weren’t always right, and life wasn’t perfect. My parents didn’t try to hide this from me, and neither did their friends. So I don’t think we give kids enough credit these days. We shield them a little too much, not realizing how smart they are. And all the while, toy companies keep scaling back on “traditional” toys, because kids are so advanced now and want cell phones instead.

So I say put that cigarette back in Clement Hurd’s slender fingers. Call it a cautionary tale. Kids will understand. The photo is creepier now without it, because it’s obvious something is missing. The vice is photoshopped, but the stance remains.

RANDOM IRRITATION

I hate people who order Guinness and say, "I love Guinness. I mean, what's not to love- it's a meal in a glass!"
They say this like they are the first person to ever utter this "witticism". Then they laugh, turn and look at their friends and say "Am I right? I mean, c'mon. It's a meal in a glass."
(See, a repeat of said witticism to get another laugh.)

Just fuck off and drink your Guinness.

B.C. BUD: THE ECONOMIC PLIGHT

Read with caution:

VANCOUVER, British Columbia (Reuters) - The strong Canadian dollar has hit the illegal marijuana sector just as it has other industries that export to the United States, one of Canada's best known legalization advocates said on Thursday.

The Canadian dollar touched parity with the U.S. dollar last week, topping a rise of some 60 percent over the past five years. On Thursday, it was still hovering around par, at C$1.0014 to the U.S. dollar or 99.86 U.S. cents.

A stronger loonie -- so called for the bird engraved on the one dollar coin -- has cut the profit of selling potent "B.C. Bud" marijuana in U.S. markets at a time when producers in Canada struggle with tighter border security and competition in the United States with pot from other sources.


The moral of this news item?
In macroeconomic terms the stronger Canadian dollar has many consequences. It is important to examine the plight of the overlooked victims of the mighty greenback's downfall. Let's all take a moment to reflect upon:

A.) Canadian hookers who can no longer offer discounted blow jobs.
B.) B.C. Bud Farmers who can no longer offer a bargain high.
C.) My relatives in Alberta who can no longer ironically enjoy the Loonie's underdog status.

I shed a tear for all of you...

MINNEAPOLIS TREASURE

In honor of Senator Craig attempting to change his plea today...I recently discovered this news nugget from the Associated Press:

MINNEAPOLIS, Minn. - When tourists ask for the bathroom in the Minneapolis airport lately, it's usually not because they have to go. It's because they want to see the stall made famous by U.S. Senator Larry Craig's arrest in a sex sting.

"It's become a tourist attraction," said Karen Evans, information specialist at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. "People are taking pictures."

Craig was arrested June 11 by a Minneapolis airport police officer. The Idaho Republican pleaded guilty to misdemeanor disorderly conduct.Craig has since said his guilty plea was a mistake.

Just 15 minutes into her shift on Friday, Evans said she had been asked directions to the new tourist attraction four times. Other airport workers field the same question.

"It's by the Lottery shop, right next to the shoeshine shop," said newsstand worker Abdalla Said, adding he gets the question daily.

The Royal Zino Shoeshine shop owner's grandson, Royal Zino, said it has been hectic.

"People have been going inside, taking pictures of the stall, taking pictures outside the bathroom door — man, it's been crazy," he said.

On their way to Guatemala, Jon and Sally Westby of Minneapolis made a visit.

"We had to just stop and check out the bathroom," Sally said. "In fact, it's Jon's second time — he was here last week already."


Not sure what to think about this:

-Should I be proud of individuals like Jon and Sally Westby of Minneapolis, who find treasure where others simply find a toilet?

-Should I be alarmed that people are so desperate for historical significance in their home towns that they cause extra work for the Royal Zino Shoeshine shop, which has the misfortune of being near the famed toilet?

-Will there be a plaque nailed to this stall someday? Or perhaps they could take a cue from Atlanta, and errect a brown "historical district" sign in that stall.

-Will the airport gift shop start selling post cards of this esteemed toilet?
Picture it:

Dear Janet and Bill,
Having a ball in Minneapolis...
Wish You Were Here!

RESTRAINT PANTIES

As promised on Friday, I took 20 actual search keywords that people have used to find my website and created a story around them...Enjoy!


While eating her HONEY BUNCHES OF OATS cereal, ex-PAN AM STEWARDESS Midge Dallas was reading her husbands pile of REJECTED PENTHOUSE NASTY LETTERS. It crushed him each time got yet another rejection. After the one he received today he had jumped on one of his PURPLE CROTCH ROCKETS and sped away, his MAGNUM PI SUNGLASSES hiding his tears. She knew he needed to be alone, and would most likely seek solace at the HOLYLAND Experience Bible Theme park. There he would eat a Gladiator Burger and caress his FURRY MUSTACHE to soothe his pain. He went there whenever sadness engulfed his life. Like when he saw the Lifetime TV movie starring Patrick Duffy called, “LITTLE BOY BLEEDS TO DEATH AT WALMART”.

Midge skimmed his latest failed effort in amateur porn. This one detailed the time he stole a Chinese knock-off GRIMACE COSTUME from MCDONALDS and made a customized hole in it so he could engage in PANTY PISSING. He didn’t seem to understand that Penthouse readers were more tantalized by terms like SPRING BREAK, BIG BREASTS, and BEACH than they were by stories about husbands pissing on WIVES’ PANTIES.

She sighed and sniffed her STINKY PINKY RING. She wasn’t sure why, but it smelled like cabbage. She put her cereal bowl in the sink, walked into the living room and turned on the TV. With little interest she watched a commercial with a POSING MODEL IN A BIKINI LAYING DOWN and caressing a kitten. How she hated PUSSY PEOPLE. Midge was a dog lover through and through. As if on cue, her dog Charmaine Goldenrod jumped up on the couch with her. She had given the Pomeranian her stage name from her days working the STRIPPER POLE at several ATLANTA STRIP JOINTS. Those had been some tough days, until she landed a steady gig at MAMA D’S ARTS BORDELLO. And it was Mama D herself who encouraged her to pursue her dreams of working for Pan Am. Too bad the airline folded six months later…

At least her husband Dirk Turquoise had entered her life right about then. They rode across the country together until she grew tired of their CROTCH ROCKET GAMES and they settled down. Everything was perfect…except for his frustrated Penthouse Letter dreams. He was convinced that if they published his letter, he could get noticed by a literary agent and sell his book called, “Zen And the Art of Crotch Rocket Maintenance”. If only she could convince him to give it up. If only she could get him to see that some dreams weren’t worth pursuing. If only…

Just then the door flew open and Dirk burst in with a crazy grin on his face.
“Honey, I bought you something. What I have in this bag is gonna give you the wildest night of sexual ecstasy you’ve ever experienced…And I’ll get enough material for a Penthouse Letter that is guaranteed to get published.”
He handed her the bag and she peered inside.
“Dirk, what are these?”
He licked his mustache. “They’re called RESTRAINT PANTIES.”

GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT

So, each morning I check my website statistics to see how many people visited and what they looked at. I also check the process by which they stumbled upon my site. Believe it or not, it doesn't always involve me saying "Please look at my website and I will buy you beer." The following is a list of actual search keywords that brought people to my website:

1. honey bunches of oats
2. purple crotch rockets
3. rejected penthouse nasty letters
4. little boy bleeds to death at walmart
5. stripper pole
6. stinky pinky ring
7. magnum pi sunglasses
8. restraint panties
9. panty pissing
10. Holyland
11. mama ds arts bordello
12. grimace costume mcdonalds
13. atlanta strip joints
14. wives panties
15. furry mustache
16. pan am stewardess
17. crotch rocket games
18. spring break big breasts beach
19. posing model in a bikini laying down
20. pussy people

Now-
while I have absolutely NO IDEA what "restraint panties" are, in the interest of giving the people what they want, I will create a story over the weekend using all of these keywords. If anyone has any plot ideas, why, feel free to chime in.
Stay tuned. On Monday this tantalizing tale will be unveiled...

GLAM ROCK ALIAS

Today I'd just like to let you all in on a fantastic resource I just found.
It's a Glam Rock Name Generator.
Click on that link (fair warning-the background color will accost your retinas) put in your name and whether you are a Ziggy Stardust or a Femme Fatale and it spits out a name worthy of the sexiest, codpiece-thrusting, eyeshadow-wearing, guitar licking, platform boot-stomping, barely legal groupie-fucking Glam Rock Star around.

I put my name in the generator and they gave me CHARMAINE GOLDENROD. It's perfect. And these names have multiple uses:

-Pet names
-Reservations at stuffy restaurants
-Running for Congress (Imagine the bumperstickers!)
-Prank calls

Which glittery moniker did you get?

5 NEW CELEBRATIONS FOR MARTHA

So-
I was walking around the K-Mart at Astor Place when I came across the Martha Stewart Everyday Collection of picture frames.
Now, they were attractive enough. But what irritated me was that within the frames were ideas on how to use them. It was as though Martha thought people needed help figuring out which types of tender moments were deemed worthy of her beautiful frames. There were suggestions along the lines of, "Our Wedding Day" or "Baby's 1st Birthday" or "Dancing with Daddy" or "Good Friends".

It seems to me that by pushing these types of suggestions she is limiting her customer base. Why neglect the trashier shoppers with money to burn? Aren't their memories worth preserving too? Did she learn nothing from her prison experience? What about:

1. Mom's Parole Day
2. My 1st Bukake
3. Visiting Daddy At The Treatment Center
4. The DNA Results Are Back!
5. Granny's Black Eye

MY CHILDHOOD REPUBLICAN SIDE PART

In response to yesterday's comments section:
Look how my six-year-old self blends in with Trent and Newt perfectly. All I'm missing is an American flag behind me...and a couple of teeth.

THE DORK FACTOR

My mom recently sent several pictures from when I was a little kid. She is fond of sending weird care packages. Within one care package you might find a couple of stale granola bars, a pair of socks I left behind from a visit, a few photos from the 1970s, and some shampoo samples from Walgreens.
I have never quite figured out why she does this.
But I am here, with freshly washed hair, eating a stale granola bar, wearing clean socks, and posting this pic, so it's not such a bad deal.
Now, I'd like to point out a few things in this delightful snapshot of a bygone era:

1. Look at my righteous camel toe! Damn.

2. I honestly want that outfit in my size now. Red and white stripes, with a hoodie, a zipper and built-in feet. Pure terrycloth perfection.

3. Check out the background. Thankfully, I don't remember it. But I wonder which relative had the misfortune of living in that stark, grey, communist-style apartment? Note that I have a magic marker. I imagine I was trying to add a little sunshine to the place.

4. I think everyone from my generation had that haircut at some point. Not sure why, but it really did sweep the nation. Plus I had that hair until I was about 11. And on picture day my mom would comb it into a Republican side part. People often asked me, "Are you a girl or a boy?" (Except for when I wore this camel toe attire of course.) I refer to this era as my Androgynous Stage.

5. Once a dork, always a dork. Look at me. You can just tell what a dweeb I would turn into. You can see that in gradeschool I would be picked last for gym class, wearing uncool rainbow sweats as my thighs rubbed together. (Actually, it was always a battle between me and my pal Natasha for who would be the last dork standing.) You can tell that I was never going to be the cool teenager in a red convertible, the wind ruffling through my hair as I smiled coyly at my equally cool boyfriend. You can just sense that as an adult, I'd be sitting here at my computer, eating a stale granola bar sent from my mom instead of galavanting around town with effortlessly chic people.

Dorkiness really is all in the genes. There's just no escaping it.

AIR GUITAR CHAMPIONSHIPS

As a Finnish-American, I'm proud to announce that the judges for the 12th Annual Air Guitar World Championships, held in Oulu, Finland, have selected a winner. But no, it wasn't a fellow Finn who won. A Japanese guy had the best moves. Ochi "Dainoji" Yosuke is the reigning champ for the second year in a row. Check out his blazin' hot performance:
OCHI WINS!

Now, according to the organizers, The World Air Guitar Championships were created 12 years ago to promote peace, because you cannot hold a gun while playing air guitar.

These people need to be recognized as the modern-day Ghandis that they are.
When will they win a Nobel Peace prize for their valiant efforts?

That being said, here are my top 5 best air guitar songs:

1. Back in Black by AC/DC
2. She Sells Sanctuary by The Cult
3. Rock n' Roll by Led Zeppelin
4. Girl, You Have No Faith In Medicine by The White Stripes
5. Crosstown Traffic by Jimmy Hendrix

Conversely, here are the top 5 worst air guitar songs:

1. The Theme from "Titanic" by Celine Dion
2. Escape (The Pina Colada Song) by Rupert Holmes
3. Sailing by Christopher Cross
4. Copacabana by Barry Manilow
5. Lost in Love by Air Supply

Please feel free to add your favorites...

MORE CNN BLOOPERS

UPDATE: These Bloopers have been removed from YouTube for reasons unknown. So the links don't work. But I didn't delete this post because of the funny stories you've shared in the comments section.

If you didn't get enough stumbling, bumbling and outright ineptitude last time, I present you with even more CNN Bloopers from the 1996 Blooper Reel:

(Thanks again Kind Soul!)

1. WOODY PECKER/OUR RIDE'S WAITIN' ON US

2. HOLIDAY SHOPPING

3. NIXON DELIVERS OWN EULOGY!

4. VALERIE VOSS HIJINKS

WELL GOOD FOR YOU!

Man I hate those smug bitches that carry this stupid bag around. You're so proud of your environmental efforts that you have to print it on the side of your bag? What, you want a sugar-free, gluten-free vegan cookie for that?

Can't you just see a VH1 "I Love the (whatever we are calling this decade)" special in a few years time where they talk about how "cool" it was to be an environmentalist in 2007 and "everybody" had this bag?

Well, for the record:
Much like other things that "everybody" had in other eras like jelly shoes or neon shit, I can honestly say I never succumbed to this stupidity.
Can't say the same about acid wash jeans though...

THE WATERBED CHRONICLES

Well-
It's a special day here at Peon Confidential. Today we salute a former CNN VJ by name...Yes John Davidson, that means you. Come on down! Anonymity is not essential because John has already spilled the beans on himself on his very own blog. Also, this way I can direct you to his superb website, which showcases the fact that former peons can indeed go on to greatness:
MAGIC FEATHER

But back in 1997, John had no money. Times were tough for all of us drones at the news factory. Not "Covered-wagon-crossing-the-Great-Plains" tough, but more "Please let me find a quarter in the sofa cushions so I can finally do the fucking laundry" tough.
Note that both types of tough experiences involve wearing stinky clothes, however.

So John had to make some cash. He was desperate. He struck upon the brilliant plan of selling a waterbed on the famed Read Me bulletin board for a low-low-discount price.
This plan seemed foolproof.
Surely he'd sell his beautiful oak and rubber aquatic delight and have enough money to buy some Dockers or perhaps a pound of ground beef.
Maybe even both.
Except that no one wanted his damn waterbed.
So he turned the humble process of posting an ad on Read Me into a creative writing process. He posted ad after hilarious ad, refusing to surrender. This man was a Read Me hero, a true testament to perseverance.

These are some of my favorite entries from The Waterbed Chronicles:


I have a magical waterbed,
That flies with the greatest of ease,
It smells like fresh cinnamin (sic),
Not like strained peas,
It's the biggest they make,
King size and all,
So won't you buy it?
Or at least please just call,
It's only eighty bucks,
Cheap don't you see,
It could be yours,
So take it from me,
If you want to sleep,
In calgonic bliss,
Buy my fabulous happy waterbed,
I'll be so happy I’ll ____!!!

Jd 770-333-6367

________________________________________________________

Oak.....ahhh.

Just the smell of fabulous wood can bring back so many exciting and titillating memories.

Fantastic wood. Your first kiss. Chopsticks, The sight of a newborn baby.

All are episodes in our lives that tell who we are, who we have been, and who we aspire to be.

Now just imagine that scent when mixed with fresh smelling rubber!!! Not just any rubber, but the rubber in a fabulous
KING SIZE WATERBED!!!!!!

That's right, for a limited time only, you too have have the long coveted scent of wood, rubber, and water all in one!!! want to buy my waterbed? all you friends will like you if you do. tell your mom and she'll finally be proud of you (such a smart child!) even your high school principal might change his mind about you, really great deal, only $70 bucks for a king size, too! better hurry cuz it won't last long! Entertainment for the whole family!!! Don't delay, call now! 770-333-6367 Ask for john, or msg davidsonj.
This can be yours if you call right now!!! A scrapbook of scents!!!! Just message davidsonj or call 770-333-6367 right now!!!
_________________________________________________________

I'm calling out to all of the tender-hearted souls within the confines of this fabulous establishment to help someone in need. My Grandmother's has contracted a terminal case of PSORIASIS!!! Doctors in this country can't help her because of the STINKING FDA!!! However, there is a new treatment for PSORIASIS!!! Under development in France the only problem is that it costs $74.99 and I only have $00.38!!! Here's how you can help, I have never been one to accept charity, but If you give me the $74.99 I will give you........ A FABULOUS OAK KING SIZE WATERBED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(gotcha)!!!! This waterbed was handcrafted in Taiwan by skilled laborers, and it can be yours for just helping out my granny Thelma (a.k.a. Militia Pete in Nicaragua in '86) Feeling generous? Msg Davidsonj or call 770-333-6367.
_________________________________________________

For Sale: One king size water bed. Made out of wood and 10k gold. Paid $233,459.00, however, can't make car payment so willing to sell for much less. $60.00. No holes, chipmunks, cracks or other undesirables. I mean it. I'm ready to make the step, and no one will buy this !@@!# fabulous waterbed. I mean really, come on, it is a king size waterbed for $60. When you were in high school, it was all you wanted to make life complete! What, now that you work for cnn you're too good for my waterbed? Fine......be that way...... we'll see how sorry you are the next time you are looking for somebody to go to your stupid yard sale and buy your moldy xxx@! fish tanks!!!!!!

msg davidsonj or call 770-333-6367. !@@#$@$%!$@$#!@#!@$!@$#!@#!@$!@#$!@#$!@$!@$#!@#!@$!@
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AP-GA--Atl.Gunman 09-18 1035AP-GA--Atl.Gunman, AP-GA--Atlanta Gunman Atlanta gunman takes hostages at Zoo ATLANTA (BB) -- Negotiators are attempting to bargain with an Atlanta man who is holding 14 penguins hostage. The unidentified male entered the Atlanta Zoo sometime around 5am this morning and began his reign of terror on its inhabitants. Sgt. Michael Hunt, one of the first officers to arrive on the scene told a grim tale. "This wackjob broke in through one of the hyena cages which align the outer wall of the zoo. One of the attendants came by to sweep up one of the monkey cages and noticed a man wielding a gun and shouting obscenities at the penguins. That's when things got kooky," Sgt. Hunt stated. Officials say that the weapon the man is armed with a 44 Magnum style BB gun which, according to Sgt. Hunt does little body damage but, "stings like a fire ant bite." Dramatic video and audio footage show the man screaming at the police in an attempt to get them to purchase a "fabulous" KING SIZE WATERBED for only $60 Atlanta Police spokesperson Lt. Amanda Huginkis stated that while the police were not interested in purchasing a fabulous waterbed, interested parties could msg. Davidsonj or call 770-333-6367. (gotcha!)
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Diary excerpts Aug. 14, 1992-
Dear Diary,
I have finally met the woman of my dreams. To think, after searching my whole life, I found the one person who makes my life complete! Our date was perfect!! She cooked a perfect southern dish, Country Fried steak with Grits (that's a new one) and gravy. I love everything about her from her accent (what a drawl) to the way she kicks in her sleep!!! She WILL be my wife!!!!! Hopelessly in love!

Five years later

September 27, 1997
Dear Diary,
245 days straight of nothing but that @#$%!! Steak and grits. I'm losing my mind......Everything seems to have something hiding underneath it....something evil....I realize now that she is a monster. What was I thinking....If I hear her insert another !##@$!! Syllable in words that don't need them (chair = cha-yer, door = do-wer) I'm gonna snap. I bought a gun today, It looks real good....shiny, cold, steel....tonight, when she kicks me in the kidney, I'm gonna do it....it'll finally be over, the only thing that can stop me now is a FABULOUS KING SIZE WATERBED FOR ONLY $60!!! (gotcha) Don't let this happen to you, purchase this fabulous SPACIOUS WATERBED and never get kicked in the kidneys again!!!! Just msg davidsonj for more info!!

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CONVERSATION OVERHEARD IN THE HARD NEWS CAFE 9/28/97
As Jane approached the table with her tray of delicious food, she noticed something was wrong with her friend Dick... "Hi, Dick," she said. "Hello Jane," he replied. "How is your corn?" "Great, how is your rice and mixed vegetables?" she asked. "Fine." he stated, sounding distant and perplexed. "Dick, what's wrong?" she implored "You sound distant and perplexed." "Well, I haven't been sleeping well the last few weeks." he stammered. "What's wrong? Work? Relationship? Gas?" she quizzed. "Well, it's my bed." he began. "I haven't been able to get any sleep on it. I've tried egg crates, flipping the mattress, eating prunes......I just don't know what's wrong with me!!!" he wailed. "Hey Dick!" Jane exclaimed. "What about that waterbed that perverted, psycho, demented wackjob is trying to sell in the bulletin board? I have a waterbed because my doctor recommended one above all other sleep aid methods!" "Well Jane, I don't know. I don't know if I should buy a waterbed from a guy who uses cheesy overnight advertising gimmicks to sell a bed." he said hesitantly. "Don't worry Dick, I hear that waterbed is FABULOUS and is only $60!" she prompted. "Well, ok, i'll go buy that bed from Davidsonj today!!! Dick squealed. Why don't you follow Dick's example and buy my bed? Be like Dick!!!!!

NEVERMIND

I'm back from Florida. In addition to swimming, sunbathing and marveling at the cleanliness of Publix supermarket, I partook in a terrible $9.95 Early Bird Special. At 5:30pm. Complete with tapioca puddin'. Yet it was oddly reassuring to know that deal still exists.

Anyway, after a relaxing week of being surrounded by retirees and strip malls named after sealife creatures, I returned to the comforts of home: i.e. my computer and the smell of fragrant herbal smoke wafting over from the next apartment. At first I was happily reading all of my favorite blogs, with my windows open, getting a contact high. But my bliss was interrupted when I discovered this jarring photograph:

NIRVANA BABY


For those of you who came of age when I did---HOLY SHIT!

I'm outraged. How dare that creepy little bastard grow up to remind us of how long ago 1991 was? Look at him. Mocking us with his moody, artistic MySpace type photo.
Smells Like Teen Spirit indeed.

Huh.

Maybe I should stop making fun of $9.95 Early Bird Specials...