A rare photo of an official YPS!! Bored of Directors meeting. For those keeping score at home, that's me with the pipe.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Only Education & Persistence Can Make Sucky Packaging Go Away. Just Say “NO!” to Sucky Packaging!!
This Activity Caused When Sucky Packaging Is NOT Pointed Out Properly. (YPS!! Never condones any form of illegal activity. No, really, we don't. Honest. None.)
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Monday, April 25, 2005
An Intro:
Well folks, it saddens me to say this, but I shall be in training for the next three days straight.
I hate being in trainings, large groups of people make me itch and twitch and bitch like all get-out. On top of that pile of shit, I won’t get to harass the crappola out of the likes of you, which I have grown to LUV.
So with my outtro, I give you a section of something Bone Machine and I have been threatening to co-write but have yet to actually do so. Hopefully with Bone Machine’s help, we’ll get this story told (over time) and .2136 readers out there will giggle a smidge. If not, kiss our asses. Mine first. Oh hell, his first, but then I want to be a close second.
Here's a quick image of a young, fashion-minded, Mr. Bloggerific Himself and a quote:
"On with it man, on with it!!!"
I hate being in trainings, large groups of people make me itch and twitch and bitch like all get-out. On top of that pile of shit, I won’t get to harass the crappola out of the likes of you, which I have grown to LUV.
So with my outtro, I give you a section of something Bone Machine and I have been threatening to co-write but have yet to actually do so. Hopefully with Bone Machine’s help, we’ll get this story told (over time) and .2136 readers out there will giggle a smidge. If not, kiss our asses. Mine first. Oh hell, his first, but then I want to be a close second.
Here's a quick image of a young, fashion-minded, Mr. Bloggerific Himself and a quote:
"On with it man, on with it!!!"
Take a Trip with Bone Machine and Mr. Bloggerific Himself - Part I
Many a bad-hair false-metal concerts ago, Bone Machine and Mr. Bloggerific found themselves going out of town, out of state, out of their way to have a little fun. Sure the dangers of the Hoosier drivers existed. Sure the chance of purchasing an ass-load of shit-ass music was possible. But they cared not, for they were bad motherfuckers. They were a force to be reckoned with. They were two stupid kids that didn’t know a damn fucking thang about no kindsa shit accept laughing their collective bootachamooses all the way to-and-or-fro.
Over the years a certain pattern o’ fun developed that shaped the trips to the very format they are today. Sure there are variations, but at the core of the trips, the essentials take place. A brief overview of what transpires is as follows:
1). Suggestion of trip is made. 2). Approximate departure time is chosen. 3). Gathering of the minds takes place. 4). Gathering of junk food takes place. 5). Road hawgin’ begins with jams a jammin’ at a low roar so’s not to interfere with the classy topics o’ discussion, such a chicks or one of their favorites…poop. 6). Then off to the sister city and hit all the hot spots and make the return trip
Now I know, you’re already dizzy with the hint of high-level of excitement that B&B have, but it ain’t what they do that’s the fun, it’s the magical stuff that happens during these outings that livens it up. To give you an example, allow me to recall one of their more memorable jaunts:
It was a typical trip in mind for Bone Machine and Mr. Bloggerific Himself. They decided to do it up proper and meet at Bloggerific’s house, make a standard stop at the CITGO for a fuelin’-up of the vehicular motion, and tankin’ themselves up on the nectar of the gods. We’re talking top of the line, PRIMO CITGO MAN FUEL-O!! Like fiery fiends-of-fury the voracious duo began an extravaganza like you would not believe. After the swoop-in fill-‘er-up, beverages were nearly always next, and this time was no different. They headed straight for the cold, the stout, and the caffeinated beverages of choice. Over the years this had been modified, but originally Bloggy woulda dove for the biggest fattest bitchin’ container of Dr. Pepper this side of Philpot, Ky. Bone Machine would likely have gone for one of the fancy high-falutin’ colored Mountain Spews. (Bloggy still cringes, but knows when to give a man a wide birth when the beverage choice is taking place. It’s straight-up sacred and shit!)
Post beverage allotment, the two paths would often momentarily diverge at this juncture.
Now, if you could count on Bloggy (and few ever tried because that’s like playing Russian roulette with a lemonade water-pistol made outta bagpipes and a piccolo…you knew the yellow was going to squirt out, you just never knew from which hole) then you’d bet he’d be headed straight for the candy counter. And you’d be right. This would be when you’d want to back away from Bloggy by no less than three-steps. If you weren’t aware of the state of his mind, you’d get a sense of it just by the heavin’ up and down of his chest, the pained whistlin’ sounds shootin’ and snortin’ out of his throat, and that gawd-awfulest alien-like tongue of his sneaking down his shirt and pant leg trying to get an early taste of the goods on the lower shelf. Then, all at once, like lightening, his two whiplash hands would zip out; snag his bounty, and he would skip-to-his-loo all the way to the register to a stunned but smiling cashier. (Bloggy’s candy purchase would be no less than 2 boxes of Red Hots and 1-2 tubes of Chewy Spree.)
Meanwhile, Bone Machine was perusing his options: salted peanuts and/or bark in a pouch, errr uh, that’s beef jerky. Both always got a laugh out of Bloggerific due to the suggestive way Bone Machine “waved his jerky and shook his bag of nuts” while in deep consideration of his purchase. (During the trip, poor driving standards held by fellow drivers would get a sign of disproval from Bone Machine as his bag of nuts would give a little negative-vibe shake as if saying, “No, no, no you bad driving man! Get in your own lane!”)
“Beavis and Butthead” looked like a pair of Mr. Rogers twins on Prozac, compared to these two hopped-up hoodlums.
With the purchases purchased, and in more ways than one, they were off.
Over the years a certain pattern o’ fun developed that shaped the trips to the very format they are today. Sure there are variations, but at the core of the trips, the essentials take place. A brief overview of what transpires is as follows:
1). Suggestion of trip is made. 2). Approximate departure time is chosen. 3). Gathering of the minds takes place. 4). Gathering of junk food takes place. 5). Road hawgin’ begins with jams a jammin’ at a low roar so’s not to interfere with the classy topics o’ discussion, such a chicks or one of their favorites…poop. 6). Then off to the sister city and hit all the hot spots and make the return trip
Now I know, you’re already dizzy with the hint of high-level of excitement that B&B have, but it ain’t what they do that’s the fun, it’s the magical stuff that happens during these outings that livens it up. To give you an example, allow me to recall one of their more memorable jaunts:
It was a typical trip in mind for Bone Machine and Mr. Bloggerific Himself. They decided to do it up proper and meet at Bloggerific’s house, make a standard stop at the CITGO for a fuelin’-up of the vehicular motion, and tankin’ themselves up on the nectar of the gods. We’re talking top of the line, PRIMO CITGO MAN FUEL-O!! Like fiery fiends-of-fury the voracious duo began an extravaganza like you would not believe. After the swoop-in fill-‘er-up, beverages were nearly always next, and this time was no different. They headed straight for the cold, the stout, and the caffeinated beverages of choice. Over the years this had been modified, but originally Bloggy woulda dove for the biggest fattest bitchin’ container of Dr. Pepper this side of Philpot, Ky. Bone Machine would likely have gone for one of the fancy high-falutin’ colored Mountain Spews. (Bloggy still cringes, but knows when to give a man a wide birth when the beverage choice is taking place. It’s straight-up sacred and shit!)
Post beverage allotment, the two paths would often momentarily diverge at this juncture.
Now, if you could count on Bloggy (and few ever tried because that’s like playing Russian roulette with a lemonade water-pistol made outta bagpipes and a piccolo…you knew the yellow was going to squirt out, you just never knew from which hole) then you’d bet he’d be headed straight for the candy counter. And you’d be right. This would be when you’d want to back away from Bloggy by no less than three-steps. If you weren’t aware of the state of his mind, you’d get a sense of it just by the heavin’ up and down of his chest, the pained whistlin’ sounds shootin’ and snortin’ out of his throat, and that gawd-awfulest alien-like tongue of his sneaking down his shirt and pant leg trying to get an early taste of the goods on the lower shelf. Then, all at once, like lightening, his two whiplash hands would zip out; snag his bounty, and he would skip-to-his-loo all the way to the register to a stunned but smiling cashier. (Bloggy’s candy purchase would be no less than 2 boxes of Red Hots and 1-2 tubes of Chewy Spree.)
Meanwhile, Bone Machine was perusing his options: salted peanuts and/or bark in a pouch, errr uh, that’s beef jerky. Both always got a laugh out of Bloggerific due to the suggestive way Bone Machine “waved his jerky and shook his bag of nuts” while in deep consideration of his purchase. (During the trip, poor driving standards held by fellow drivers would get a sign of disproval from Bone Machine as his bag of nuts would give a little negative-vibe shake as if saying, “No, no, no you bad driving man! Get in your own lane!”)
“Beavis and Butthead” looked like a pair of Mr. Rogers twins on Prozac, compared to these two hopped-up hoodlums.
With the purchases purchased, and in more ways than one, they were off.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
A Special Bulletin: Boiled and with Green Tea Please
Did you know? When you’re a guy and your Grandmother’s 25-year-old glass pitcher, the one she used to hold the Thanksgiving dinners’ Lipton Tea, and the same one that you yourself have been using for years for your own green tea (holidays and non-holidays alike) makes a little crackle noise and you wisely and swiftly lift it up and over to a pan sitting next to it so that it catches some of your boiling hot water, that you quickly become aware that the fly on your boxers is open and Mr. Wootzer has chosen the wrong time to come out and say “Hello.”
Rob Halford? Geoff Tate? Ya got nuttin’! Nuttin’!
(Even with green tea mixed in, when it gets burned, your packaging sucks!!)
Rob Halford? Geoff Tate? Ya got nuttin’! Nuttin’!
(Even with green tea mixed in, when it gets burned, your packaging sucks!!)
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Light Them Candles and Shit!!
A Happy YPS!! Birthday goes out to 1/3 of the Angels!
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello
Monday, April 18, 2005
All Humans Do Is Move Stuff Around
Think about it. That’s really all we do. We move stuff. We’re ALL movers.
Poets and writers nervously hope to move and inspire with words. Ditch diggers, ranch hands, and politicians, they shovel a lot of heavy-duty shit and move it all around. In the fall, some of you rake your crackling leaves and move every single one of them from one end of the yard to the other, while I move my gut with guffaw. Accountants and bankers artistically and creatively move zillions of numbers from one column to the next (i.e., from our accounts to theirs). Doctors herd us all from the germ-filled waiting room, to the stainless steel exam room, to the “pay me now bastard” counter. Teachers move themselves around the classroom so the kiddos don’t fall asleep (for any great deal of time anyway).
They couldn’t call them movies if the actors in them didn’t.
At this very moment (or at least when this was written) I’m moving the keys on the keyboard, oh Lord, why don’t weeeee…do something other than just move stuff around?
I look around my living room and there are toys strewn about like the Toy Titanic sank and this is the bottom. Most people would say the toys should to be put up, put away, and put out of sight… moved to the other room. As usual, I disagree. This is our house. Both my son and I occupy this space and we should feel comfortable, at home, welcome to pick up where we left off playing…not just pick up. Maybe folks would run screaming if they came over to this mess, but maybe those are the very folks I’d be glad to see leave.
As I’m thinking about this I also think about how I chose not to move my lazy ass and move the car to Wal-Mart where I would move a cart around the huge-ass building and move stuff off the shelf and into the cart so I could move it out of the cart to the…well you get the idea. I need to get some stuff, but it’s not desperate yet, so I don’t go. I choose not to move. A couple weeks back I chose not to move a repaired printer back to it’s home, one of our head start centers, until a few days after it was fixed. When I did take it back, and hooked it up I talked a sad and crying little boy into smiles and giggles. When I got back to the office, one of The Angels reminded me that everything happens for a reason. Really, if I’m going to be reminded of such a heavy-cool reason-to-be, I’ll take mine straight from an Angel, please.
As we all move our sticky plasma coverings amongst each other, we tend to leave an impression on one another. No worse for the wear our packages, hopefully handled-with-care, are affected. Now we are all together, but no one can say for sure when that is to change and what that change will mean. Before someone moves out of the picture, hopefully we can enjoy what we’ve got while we’ve got, or else what’s the point?
Which is a good question, “what is the point?” The point is this: We may not know. Ever. So celebrate now, before the move, during the move, and after the move…of whatever it is you gotta move.
Here’s to durable non-sucky packaging along the way! May your bubble wrap avoid rupture until a time of your choosing. After all, we need to feel carefree once in a while and dare to burst our own bubble(s). May your plastic protective shield stay sealed until the time is right, and only you will know when that time comes. Here’s to your arrow correctly pointing toward “This way up.” Here’s to pulling the tab on crumb free milk jugs as you wash down those chocolate chip cookies of life. And those cookies? Remember to share. Give the very last bite to your bestest buddy, he’ll return the favor.
And to the hot little blonde with the brand-spanking-new-white-SUV-driving-mentality, you can color me unimpressed darlin’. You can gladly move on down the road, because baby, when you drive like that and cut me off, your shiny new packaging sucks!!
Friday, April 15, 2005
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
At YPS!! We Share the Swank!!
Inside the SWANK Guest Facilities at the offices of Your Packaging Sucks!!
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Bloggy's Temptation
You know, Swampy, you just can't post a picture like this and expect me to not say something nasty. I didn't, but boy I sure did wanna.
http://swampthings.blogspot.com/2005/04/leech.html#comments
http://swampthings.blogspot.com/2005/04/leech.html#comments
Monday, April 11, 2005
Horror at the KFC Buffet
Let me preface this story by saying that I am pretty squeamish when it comes to eating certain foods. Everyone knows about my dislike, nay, flat-out burning hatred of cheese. But when it comes to meat, I’m not a big fan of guts or even meat still attached to a bone (excluding the occasional steak). I’ve been spoiled by my grandmother who always removed chicken from the bone and also removed the skin before frying. God bless her for those things and many, many others. It is ironic that I can sometimes enjoy a Chicken McNugget, but I’m convinced that they aren’t actually real chicken, but some kind of laboratory creation. With that introduction typed, let’s get on with the show before people start throwing Junior Mints at the screen and making a mess of the joint.
About a year ago, I was dining in the lovely facility known as KFC. I was in said establishment with the gentleman that you all have come to know and love as Mr. Bloggerific. It was a rather festive evening and while in the process of dining, a friend of mine named Natalie called on my Bat phone. This serves no real importance to the story other than a weird vice versa type of situation that occurs later. Work with me. It was a particularly tasty meal and all was well or as well as it gets in Owensboro, Kentucky, USA.
About a week later, I was in the same KFC having lunch with Natalie when Mr. Bloggerific calls. OK, that’s it for the vice versa. Weird but nothing paranormal or anything. Anyone saying “Well that vice versa situation sucked ass” has to ask themselves how much they paid to get into this story and besides, no receipt equals no refund. Settle down.
Once again, I went with the buffet and rather than go strictly vegetables again, I opted for some chicken. I’m not a big fan of chicken on the bone so I thought the little nuggets would be nifty, if not completely peachy keen as they intermingled with my mashed potatoes and green beans. After starting with a few bites of mashed potatoes (you rarely can go wrong with mashed potatoes), I moved in on the chicken nuggets. I bit into one and it was sort of funky and extremely tough and chewy. I thought “Damn, this is some tough shit right here.” As a person that occasionally chews on a McNugget, my standards are pretty low. I chalked the entire experience up to overcooked bird, but I gave it another shot and again, the shit was hellaciously chewy and nasty. By this point, I’d given up on the bird altogether and thanked the buffet gods for delicious veggies.
A group of people went up to the counter and we could sort of hear them complaining about something. I didn’t pay my attention to their gripes, but Natalie asks if my gizzards were okay. “MY WHAT?” I’m sure I had an incredibly shocked and pained expression as I (probably) followed that initial question with an equally pained “WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?!” I do know that I didn’t eat the rest of my chicken “nuggets” and I haven’t been back to KFC’s buffet.
In order to sort of tie this in to suck ass packaging, I will say that if you offer a buffet, then you have to supply labels to tell people just what it is that they’re getting. Otherwise, you give some folks the shock of their life when they realize that they’re eating gizzards. I don’t even know what a gizzard is and where it is generally located in the bird before it makes its way to the buffet. But I will say that it's some nasty shit.
About a year ago, I was dining in the lovely facility known as KFC. I was in said establishment with the gentleman that you all have come to know and love as Mr. Bloggerific. It was a rather festive evening and while in the process of dining, a friend of mine named Natalie called on my Bat phone. This serves no real importance to the story other than a weird vice versa type of situation that occurs later. Work with me. It was a particularly tasty meal and all was well or as well as it gets in Owensboro, Kentucky, USA.
About a week later, I was in the same KFC having lunch with Natalie when Mr. Bloggerific calls. OK, that’s it for the vice versa. Weird but nothing paranormal or anything. Anyone saying “Well that vice versa situation sucked ass” has to ask themselves how much they paid to get into this story and besides, no receipt equals no refund. Settle down.
Once again, I went with the buffet and rather than go strictly vegetables again, I opted for some chicken. I’m not a big fan of chicken on the bone so I thought the little nuggets would be nifty, if not completely peachy keen as they intermingled with my mashed potatoes and green beans. After starting with a few bites of mashed potatoes (you rarely can go wrong with mashed potatoes), I moved in on the chicken nuggets. I bit into one and it was sort of funky and extremely tough and chewy. I thought “Damn, this is some tough shit right here.” As a person that occasionally chews on a McNugget, my standards are pretty low. I chalked the entire experience up to overcooked bird, but I gave it another shot and again, the shit was hellaciously chewy and nasty. By this point, I’d given up on the bird altogether and thanked the buffet gods for delicious veggies.
A group of people went up to the counter and we could sort of hear them complaining about something. I didn’t pay my attention to their gripes, but Natalie asks if my gizzards were okay. “MY WHAT?” I’m sure I had an incredibly shocked and pained expression as I (probably) followed that initial question with an equally pained “WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?!” I do know that I didn’t eat the rest of my chicken “nuggets” and I haven’t been back to KFC’s buffet.
In order to sort of tie this in to suck ass packaging, I will say that if you offer a buffet, then you have to supply labels to tell people just what it is that they’re getting. Otherwise, you give some folks the shock of their life when they realize that they’re eating gizzards. I don’t even know what a gizzard is and where it is generally located in the bird before it makes its way to the buffet. But I will say that it's some nasty shit.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Yes. It is Real Leather. (Tours starting at only $5!)
Behind the Scenes at YPS!! Nothing but the top-of-the-line office equipment for the high-end talent that makes up the YPS!! Staff.
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello
Friday, April 08, 2005
Freestylin' Friday
Here ya go, something a little different.
chismbop
How about a one word post to see where our comments take us? Ok. Ready? Here it goes:
chismbop
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
2nd Ever Guest Post: For The Ladies, Because I Care, Damnit!
Tell you what, Rif....you copy and paste it over to YPS if you like. Then my message of tampon hatred will reach more of the masses!!
Kisses, ~J~
Ok, Bone Machine, Mr. Bloggerific, I admit, this should've been a 'YPS' rant, but since it's a lady issue, I thought what better place to put it than in the company of so many other ladies? LOL So forgive me, know you are loved and if you can't stand tampon talk, run...run now.
LADIES! I realize that not everyone has a monthly monster (or visitor or moontime or whatever name you want to doll the torrential flood of fluid that occurs once a month) quite like mine. I mean, I basically hemorrhage for anywhere from 5-8 days. It's like hell, honestly. Can't go anywhere for fear of overflow, if you do you're wearing black...You know the routine. Some women are lucky....They can use what I call the 'joke tampon sizes'...Basically anything other than super or super plus absorbency. It's cute, really, to go to another woman's house and see that she has the 'assortment pack' or even just has pantyliners and the 'regular' absorbency! Oh. MY. GOD. Who are these women and can I be one of them?!
Anyway, all the jealousy of the non-flooders aside, I'd like to offer up a rant about cheap tampons. First of all, WHO is the heartless vagina-impared fuck nugget who designed these? "Absorbent" MY ASS. These things couldn't absorb fuck-all, much less hang tough when the flood gates open up and the red river flows mighty. First, the box. This box is for a patient woman who isn't on her monthly and wants to take her sweet ass time getting through an inch of glue before she gets to her tampons....Which of course, yours truly isn't this woman. I tear off the top nearly completely, THEN enter the worst made tampon in the history of periodkind. It's in CARDBOARD. Ok, I realize that before the age of flushable plastic applicators there was good ole cardboard...Which is what every woman wants to have to shove into her vagina once a month...)really guys, you want a good 'how to be a great guy' tip? Buy her bleached cotton wadded onto a string encased in cardboard...She'll thank you by ass-raping you in your sleep with the extra large dildo she's got hidden that you don't know about). But if you're broke, you have to settle for cardboard. Ouch. I mean, yeah, it's coated with some industrial coating to keep it from tearing you a new one (literally), but you get cheap cardboard wet....Well, let's just say it's still an ouch, but now it's combined with a yell of profanity that will release the demons from any possessed person. So you have to be quick inserting the cheap tampons, because it's either that, or god only knows how things will go from there.
Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the tampon, let me explain something. It's supposed to expand inside the aforementioned orifice so as to absorb the aforementioned liquid. Note the key word here with the cheap tampon is SUPPOSED to. All it does is sit there, quietly letting liquid pass by, so that you are INSURED an overflow of epic, dare I say biblical proportions.
So ladies, Janet's tip of the day is: DO NOT buy cheap tampons from Kroger. EVER. The packaging is a joke, and the product itself gets a minus 10 rating.
Hail to thee, Tampax of Pearl and Kotex the Absorbent. While you still suck for the fact that you are tampons and tampons on a whole are Evil, I must say thou doth tow the line far better than thy competitor, known as For Maximum Value.
To you at Kroger: SUCK IT!! May all the tampons YOU people use be covered in itching powder!!!
Scathingly, ~J~ ;*
Kisses, ~J~
Ok, Bone Machine, Mr. Bloggerific, I admit, this should've been a 'YPS' rant, but since it's a lady issue, I thought what better place to put it than in the company of so many other ladies? LOL So forgive me, know you are loved and if you can't stand tampon talk, run...run now.
LADIES! I realize that not everyone has a monthly monster (or visitor or moontime or whatever name you want to doll the torrential flood of fluid that occurs once a month) quite like mine. I mean, I basically hemorrhage for anywhere from 5-8 days. It's like hell, honestly. Can't go anywhere for fear of overflow, if you do you're wearing black...You know the routine. Some women are lucky....They can use what I call the 'joke tampon sizes'...Basically anything other than super or super plus absorbency. It's cute, really, to go to another woman's house and see that she has the 'assortment pack' or even just has pantyliners and the 'regular' absorbency! Oh. MY. GOD. Who are these women and can I be one of them?!
Anyway, all the jealousy of the non-flooders aside, I'd like to offer up a rant about cheap tampons. First of all, WHO is the heartless vagina-impared fuck nugget who designed these? "Absorbent" MY ASS. These things couldn't absorb fuck-all, much less hang tough when the flood gates open up and the red river flows mighty. First, the box. This box is for a patient woman who isn't on her monthly and wants to take her sweet ass time getting through an inch of glue before she gets to her tampons....Which of course, yours truly isn't this woman. I tear off the top nearly completely, THEN enter the worst made tampon in the history of periodkind. It's in CARDBOARD. Ok, I realize that before the age of flushable plastic applicators there was good ole cardboard...Which is what every woman wants to have to shove into her vagina once a month...)really guys, you want a good 'how to be a great guy' tip? Buy her bleached cotton wadded onto a string encased in cardboard...She'll thank you by ass-raping you in your sleep with the extra large dildo she's got hidden that you don't know about). But if you're broke, you have to settle for cardboard. Ouch. I mean, yeah, it's coated with some industrial coating to keep it from tearing you a new one (literally), but you get cheap cardboard wet....Well, let's just say it's still an ouch, but now it's combined with a yell of profanity that will release the demons from any possessed person. So you have to be quick inserting the cheap tampons, because it's either that, or god only knows how things will go from there.
Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the tampon, let me explain something. It's supposed to expand inside the aforementioned orifice so as to absorb the aforementioned liquid. Note the key word here with the cheap tampon is SUPPOSED to. All it does is sit there, quietly letting liquid pass by, so that you are INSURED an overflow of epic, dare I say biblical proportions.
So ladies, Janet's tip of the day is: DO NOT buy cheap tampons from Kroger. EVER. The packaging is a joke, and the product itself gets a minus 10 rating.
Hail to thee, Tampax of Pearl and Kotex the Absorbent. While you still suck for the fact that you are tampons and tampons on a whole are Evil, I must say thou doth tow the line far better than thy competitor, known as For Maximum Value.
To you at Kroger: SUCK IT!! May all the tampons YOU people use be covered in itching powder!!!
Scathingly, ~J~ ;*
Oh! How Sweet it Is!
Bob's been to the tanning bed. Guess where his tan lines are.
Wicked Action Shot! From Food Joint Mint
The Slaughterhouse Pouch
I will admit that I am a man short on vision when it comes to planning the phenomenon known cryptically as (cue the majestic music)--“Lunch.” As a diabetic, I should probably center my day around meals and plan ahead accordingly. I don’t. I am one of those deviants who wings it through the day. Why plan ahead when something will no doubt come along and knock the wheels off of your plan?
So one day when my lunch plans were derailed completely, I found myself standing in front of a vending machine with freshly cleaned glass (always a plus, in my opinion) and a moderately crisp one dollar bill in hand. I was loaded for bear and the vending machine world was my oyster. Do I go for the beef jerky variation with ingredients like mechanically separated chicken and beef lips? If you think I am joking, check the list of ingredients, champ. I opted for Animal Crackers, because they probably had less grizzly parts and once chewed, those crackers form a paste not unlike wet cement.
I walked away strutting tall, satisfied with my vending machine choice and I plopped down to enjoy my tasty morsels of animal-shaped goodness. After opening the package and taking a look-see, I realized that I didn’t have a happy group of animals, but a packaged slaughterhouse. Decapitated camels, a pony with three legs, an elephant that consisted of nothing but an ass and some pieces that are completely unknown to even the most knowledgeable zoologist.
As you delve deeper into the bagged safari that is a pouch of animal crackers, you’ll find that there isn’t a lot left except those miscellaneous parts. Sure, you could Frankenstein the parts together into some kind of new creature, but that requires a serious amount of creativity and where’s the love?
Towards the bottom of the bag, I began to question my vending machine choice. Maybe I should have skipped the beef-lipped jerky mystery meat stick and the bagged slaughterhouse and gone with the crumbled corn chips that are not in the shape of mangled animals.
So, anyone that puts animal-shaped crackers in glossy bags…your packaging sucks!!
So one day when my lunch plans were derailed completely, I found myself standing in front of a vending machine with freshly cleaned glass (always a plus, in my opinion) and a moderately crisp one dollar bill in hand. I was loaded for bear and the vending machine world was my oyster. Do I go for the beef jerky variation with ingredients like mechanically separated chicken and beef lips? If you think I am joking, check the list of ingredients, champ. I opted for Animal Crackers, because they probably had less grizzly parts and once chewed, those crackers form a paste not unlike wet cement.
I walked away strutting tall, satisfied with my vending machine choice and I plopped down to enjoy my tasty morsels of animal-shaped goodness. After opening the package and taking a look-see, I realized that I didn’t have a happy group of animals, but a packaged slaughterhouse. Decapitated camels, a pony with three legs, an elephant that consisted of nothing but an ass and some pieces that are completely unknown to even the most knowledgeable zoologist.
As you delve deeper into the bagged safari that is a pouch of animal crackers, you’ll find that there isn’t a lot left except those miscellaneous parts. Sure, you could Frankenstein the parts together into some kind of new creature, but that requires a serious amount of creativity and where’s the love?
Towards the bottom of the bag, I began to question my vending machine choice. Maybe I should have skipped the beef-lipped jerky mystery meat stick and the bagged slaughterhouse and gone with the crumbled corn chips that are not in the shape of mangled animals.
So, anyone that puts animal-shaped crackers in glossy bags…your packaging sucks!!
Friday, April 01, 2005
I Kiss You, Fools of April!
I am ze loveeng you, all my dawleeng Fools of ze April! Come, sit with me, have some of ze smoke, and whisper ze naughties into my fur-covered ears. No dawleeng, ze skates and truck are in ze preparations for ze Wednesday nights...
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)