This is a device -- perfect for tucking into a purse or utility belt --
which informs one of one's bra size. Clever and all, but I personally
don't wear bras except that one time, and all my female friends know
their bra size already. But I'm sure it will come in handy if I ever take
up writing cheap porn: "Rhiannon unbuttoned her clown outfit to reveal
her firm breasts, which were, hold on, let's say 34D." D+
The soap in question came as part of one of those skin care systems that
promise to invigorate your skin and reassure your pores or somesuch. The
problem is that it's clear glycerine soap. Completely colorless. Which
means that in the water it instantly turns invisible, making it incredibly
likely that you'll slip on it and bang your head against your waterproof
radio and as the surgeon cuts into your skull to relieve the swelling
he'll admire your beautiful skin. D
Lots of interesting crap in here. Like a cookie jar in the shape of
Elvis, so that you can pretend you're retrieving baked goods from the
torso of the King himself. Like clothing so ugly even Presley wouldn't
wear it, each item nonetheless emblazoned with his signature. Perhaps
the most off-putting is a CD of Looney Tunes characters singing Elvis
songs. I can't bear to imagine what Elmer Fudd singing "Love Me Tender"
must sound like. Oh wait, it'd probably sound a lot like Cyndi Lauper.
Not just your ordinary shoe catalog, this was comprised of shoes
that are a) high-heeled, b) tacky, and c) suspiciously large.
Now, all the models in the catalog were women, but I'm not
sure the majority of the buyers are, if you follow me.
But apparently you can't just label your catalog "SHOES FOR
BURLY GUYS IN DRAG" in the current political climate, so they
have to go through the same sad pretense that Playgirl has
been living with for decades. C
At first I was pleased that some light bulb manufacturer had seen
fit to send us a free sample, but the note enclosed informed me that
it was actually the packaging that I was supposed to be
impressed with, given that it had protected the light bulb from
the slings and/or arrows of the US Postal Service. So of course
I took this as a personal challenge, put the lightbulb back in
the package, and proceeded to stomp on it right there in the post
office like some crazed bridegroom at a Jewish wedding. I won.
The package may have stood up to cross-country transport, but it
can't endure the fury of a Shuttlecock. B