Tag Archives: humor

Bring back the plain brown wrapper!

The other day, one of those typical catalogs landed in our snailbox.* It’s labeled Garden, Home, Pest Control, and is sort of a cheaper Skymall, with a raft of goodies to gussy up your house and simplify your life.  There’s a tool that will “Easily Cut Through Everything from Delicate Fabrics to Sheet Metal!” Want to be environmentally correct and show off your artistic vision? “Solar Frog is Also a Mosaic Sculpture!”

Another gadget “Illuminates the Toilet in the Dark” (by making it glow like a radioactive salamander).  And no home is complete without “What My Family Should Know,” a notebook for the “important details”– medical records, insurance, bank accounts etc. – in case of one’s departure from our mortal coil. This is described as “A great gift for your parents!” Unless they get the notion you’re hoping to hurry things along.

Son: “Happy Father’s Day, Dad! Look what I got you and Mom.”
Father: “What YOUR family should know is you’re dumber than mulch, and as of now you’re out of my will.”

Then you come to page 54. WARNING: For readers of a certain age, this may harken** back to page 27 of the paperback version of “The Godfather.” For readers of an uncertain age, go look it up at the library. You won’t be sorry.*** There, in the middle of all this regular, boring stuff, are two pages of the very latest adult entertainment devices.

Kid you I do not! There’s the “Adonis Extender,” which promises an extra two inches and a “comfortably articulated head.” We also have “The Climaxer” and “The Wild G” with six (!) different speeds. The one called “Butterfly Dreams” is billed as “perfectly sized for both beginners and advanced users.” How much practice does it take to become advanced?

There’s also “Triple Tease,” not to be confused with the Nipple Teaser, and last but not least the “Raging Bull Couples Massager.” It has a “dual enhancer ring” for him and I swear, for her a vibrating protrusion shaped like a bull’s head, horns and all. Who knew?

Seriously, I’m not making judgements about these gizmos. I’m just wondering what in the name of capitalism prompted the catalog company to put them in with the mops and reading glasses. With no notice or advisory of any kind, which could cause an embarrassing moment or two if the kids read it first. It’s not as noxious as what’s happening on the New York subway, involving photos of men’s, uh, turnstiles, but still.

All I want is a little truth in advertising. Instead of Garden, Home, Pest Control, it’d be Garden of Frenzied Ecstasy; Home of Stuff That’ll Get You Hot, Hot, Hot; and Control Those Pesky Passions with the Touch of a Button. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go cut some sheet metal and find my library card.


*My word for snail mail box, i.e., “all the dead-tree junk that comes by USPS.” Isn’t “snailbox” a lot snazzier?
**Do I have to define everything ? “Harken” means “to give heed or attention to what is said, listen.” You wouldn’t use it like this: “Dub had 17 beers and harkened all over his wife’s new car.”
***Or just click here and visit pages 17-18. You know you want to.

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The night the bed fell: 21st century update

If you’re about my age* and had good English teachers in high school, you might have been assigned to read a classic James Thurber piece called, “The Night the Bed Fell.” I won’t even try to recount this delightfully loony story, but I will shamelessly appropriate the title for my own true (!) tale of woe.

The background: My wife and I had to have the floors in our new house redone before we could bring in our furniture. In the meantime, we could either stay in a hotel or camp out in the house, using a cheap futon for a couch and sleeping on a brand-new, high-tech inflatable bed.

I won’t tell you where we bought the thing, except that it’s a gigundous corporation whose name rhymes with “Paul Blart.” However, it’s light-years ahead of those old air mattresses people used to use for camping, rock festivals, etc. It has a frame that keeps the mattress off the floor, a pump that starts automatically if the air gets low, and the whole kit & caboodle** zips up in a wheeled bag you can roll around. (IF you’ve got a strong back, because it weighs approximately as much as a boxcar full of lead.)

One night we climbed into bed after a long day of meeting with contractors, shopping for appliances, hanging light fixtures, and the like. This gets tiring, especially for us non-spring chickens, so we were definitely looking forward to a good night’s rest.

But after a few minutes I noticed the mattress felt softer than before. Instead of being on it, I seemed to be sinking into it, rocking and swaying as though it were a waterbed. (If you remember those, you’re no tenderfoot either.)

Neither of us spoke right away, not wanting to admit the ugly truth: Our 21st-century rest and relaxation station was leaking like an email server, and with us still aboard it was falling like a rogue soufflé. We tried pumping it up, but before long were sagging toward the floorboards again. By then it was nearly 11 p.m.

Put yourself in our state of mind: tired, sweaty, mad, frustrated, wanting nothing more than to sleep and having no bed. We also were too beat to go to a motel, so we dragged ourselves and our mattress pads into the den and switched the futon from couch to bed mode. We were so worn out that we slept reasonably well, though the futon was as wide as an ironing board and not as soft.

Needless to say, we got a refund for this amazing contrivance and won’t buy another one. I won’t take the comfort of a real, well-made, mattress-and-box spring bed for granted either.

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*Classified information, though I admit I’m old enough to know the words to “Land of a Thousand  Dances,” which are: “Na na na na na, na na na na na na na na na, na na na na.”
**The lot, pack, or crowd. “Canoodle” is quite different! Send any post-millennial types (i.e., kids, children, young ‘uns, squirts, sprouts etc) out of the room before you look it up.