Good Vibrations.

I work out regularly and try to stay in shape. Sometimes the last thing on earth I want to do is hit the weights or the treadmill. While browsing through a magazine the other day, I spotted the answer to all my motivational problems. It's a new "exercise" machine made by Soloflex. I had one of the original Soloflex machines, and while not completely useless, it was a lot better at storing clothes than building muscles. This one looks more interesting:

While "Ahhhhhh!" is not a sound I generally make while working out, I guess it's not completely out of the question. For only $495, this miraculous piece of equipment provides "low amplitude mechanical vibrations" that allegedly "improve circulation, strength, flexibility and balance."

You're supposed to sit on it, stand on it, lie down on it or dry-hump it for ten minutes a day. OK, I added that last one just to see if you were paying attention.

I can tell you a couple of things right off the bat -- One, she did not get that body using only that machine. Two, this thing is basically a full-body sex toy. In fact, if you look closely at the woman's face, she is obviously forming a deep personal relationship with the Soloflex WBV.

In fact, I'd be willing to bet you a hundred bucks that if you tried to take it away from her right now you would find yourself waking up in the hospital with no recollection of how you got there.

Soloflex may have hit a home run here because she clearly didn't seem to give a shit that there was a photo shoot going on.

Ahhhhhh!, indeed.


I've gone Viral. Hide the women and children.

So about midweek last week I noticed a bunch of traffic coming here from what seemed to be mostly webmail servers. I normally only get a couple hundred hits a day, and suddenly I was seeing this:

It turns out that my JC Penney's post has mutated into some sort of viral e-mail forward. It's crazy to see all the different places it's popping up.

Oh well. You can never tell what people will find funny, I guess. I've gotten my share of crap forwarded to me over the years, so I guess it's only fitting that I finally get my revenge.


Strap in, shut up and hold on. We're going back.

Last weekend I put an exhaust fan in the ceiling for my wife's grandfather. After a bunch of hours spent in The Hottest Attic In The Universe, he had a ceiling fan that ducted to the side of his house.

While my brother-in-law and I were fitting the fan in between the joists, we found something under the insulation. What we found was this:

A JC Penney catalog from 1977. It's not often blog fodder just falls in my lap, but holy hell this was two solid inches of it, right there for the taking. I thumbed through it quickly and found my next dining room set, which is apparently made by adding upholstery to old barrels:

Also, I am totally getting this for my bathroom, because obviously nothing absorbs errant pee like a nice, thick shag:

There's plenty more home furnishings where those came from, however I'm not going to bore you with that. Instead, I'm going to bore you with something else. The clothes.

The clothes are fantastic. Imagine if you wore them today.

Here's how to get your ass kicked in elementary school:

Just look at that belt. It's like a boob-job for your pants. He probably needed help just to lift it into place. The belt loops have to be three inches long, for god's sake. And way to pull your pants up to your armpits, grandpa.

Here's how to get your ass kicked in high school:

This kid looks like he's pretending to be David Soul, who is pretending to be a cop who is pretending to be a pimp that everyone knows is really an undercover cop. Who is pretending to be 15.

Here's how to get your ass kicked on the golf course:

This "all purpose jumpsuit" is, according to the description, equally appropriate for playing golf or simply "relaxing around the house." Personally, I can't see wearing this unless you happen to be "relaxing around your cell in D-block." Even then, the only reason you should put this thing on is because the warden forced you to at gunpoint.

Here's how to get your ass kicked pretty much anywhere:

I'll bet these guys do ok with the ladies. If you look at that picture quickly, it looks like Mr. Bob "No-pants" Saget has his hand in the other guy's pocket. In this case, he doesn't, although you can tell just by looking at them that it's happened - or if it hasn't happened it will. As soon as he puts down his color-coordinated coffee cup.

Here's how to get your ass kicked at the beach:

He looks like he's reaching for a gun, but you know it's probably just a bottle of suntan lotion in a holster.

How to get your ass kicked in a meeting:

If you wear this suit and don't sell used cars for a living, I believe you can be fined and face serious repercussions, up to and including termination. Or imprisonment, in which case you'd be forced to wear that orange jumpsuit; which, frankly, is a step up.

How to get your ass kicked on every day up to and including St. Patrick's Day

Dear god in heaven, I don't believe that color exists in nature. There is NO excuse for wearing either of these ensembles unless you're working as a body guard for the Lucky Charms leprechaun.

In this next one, Your Search For VALUE Ends at Penneys.

As does your search for chest hair.

And this -- Seriously. No words.

Oh wait, it turns out there are words after all, and those words are W.T.F. I'm guessing the snap front gives you quick access to the chest hair. I think the little tie must be the pull tab. If you look closely, it says, "In case of chest hair emergency, pull tab quickly and back away."

Also, judging by the sheer amount of matching his/hers outfits, in 1977 it was apparently considered pretty stylish for couples to dress alike. These couples look happy, don't they?

I am especially fond of this one, which I have entitled "Cowboy Chachi Loves You Best."

And nothing showcases your everlasting love more than the commitment of matching bathing suits. That, and an appreciative blonde with a look on her face that says "I love the way your junk fights against that fabric."

Then, after the lovin', you can relax in your one-piece matching terry cloth jumpsuits:

I could go on, but I'm tired, and my eyes hurt from this trip back in time. I think it's the colors. I will leave you with these tasteful little numbers:

Man, that's sexy.


Me and my brothers in 1976.

Dammit, mom.

(If you want to meet the woman responsible for dressing us like this, check out my book here.)


Modern conveniences stink.

One of the places we go camping has changed over the years. Here's another story about this same place.

It's become more commercialized, more people are using it, and really, it's just not the same as it was when we first started going there. You can tell by the posh accommodations that have recently been installed.

Case in point:

In other camping news, I finally got one of these:

Now I don't have to hang our food from a tree every night to keep the bears and raccoons out of it.

There isn't really a point to this post. I just wanted to show you that picture of the throne with a view. I like how they go out of their way to point out that it's "unisex."

I only wish it could be scratch and sniff.


Quiz time.

Yesterday, on the way home from work, I managed to do this:

Did I:

(A) Eat something yummy from a porta-potty?

(B) Do something to Smurfette that's
really gonna piss off Papa Smurf?

Finally get backstage at a Blue Man Group concert?

(D) None of the above.

If you guessed (D) then you are absolutely correct.

Actually, on the way home yesterday, I stopped at the vet to get some medicine for the cat, and they had a giant bowl of these sitting on the counter:

You see that one all the way over to the left? Yeah. That's the one. I thought it was grape, except that when I unwrapped it, it was bright blue. So then I thought it was blueberry. Turns out it wasn't blueberry either. I couldn't really place the flavor, but it wasn't great. I finished it because it was free, and didn't realize it was making my entire mouth look like a tidy bowl.

It turns out it's the one they call "Mystery Flavor." That explains all the question marks that I didn't notice until much later.

It's sort of a cross between Windex and Smarties.

I don't recommend it.