Holidays Archives - Magick Sandwich

Pimp Your Vajajay for Valentine’s Day!

February 14, 2024

2024: When I wrote this thirteen years ago, I had no idea this post would be evergreen. Most things come and go quickly but every product and service I mentioned here is still a thing, more than a decade later. In fact, it’s become so mainstream that Gwyneth Paltrow’s This Smells Like My Vagina candle became a bestseller on her lifestyle/vanity brand, Goop. It had cedar notes, which must have come in handy when she was trying to keep moths out of her cashmere panties. It’s been replaced with the Hands Off My Vagina candle, which, while topical, might not set the most date-friendly mood. Then there’s her jade egg, purported to balance hormones when inserted in the, well, you know. She had to walk that claim back . . . a little bow-leggedly, perhaps? (It’s listed as Final Sale. Get one while you can so you won’t have to shove some phony-baloney stone up your yoni.)

But I digress. Without further ado, here is how you can still pimp your vajajay for Valentine’s Day.

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Dear Reader, are you pining for romance this Valentine’s Day? Do you have a guy but your love life is ho-hum? Is he happy to spend all his time uptown? Well, drop those thongs, girls! The Magick Sandwich is going to show you how to put the magic back in your, um, sandwich.

Maybe your sweetheart is acomoclitic. In other words, he prefers and is aroused by hairless genitalia. After a quick Google check to confirm he’s not a registered sex offender, pop some Percocet and head over to your friendly neighborhood waxing establishment. There you’ll pay someone to tear off all your pubic hair while you hold your legs in the air. And not in a good way.

But wait, there’s more! There’s a pretty good possibility that you’ll get a few in-grown hairs. Quelle horreur! Your hoo-hah beautification process has only just begun. Luckily, in the war against unattractive privates, you’ve got weapons.

The folks at Haven Spa in New York offer a first-rate vajacial. The Peach Smoothie promises to “gently cleanse the area with a special exfoliating AHA scrub, followed by an expert application of an acid peel to help free those trapped hairs and blocked pores.” Thank goodness they’re using experts to apply the acid. Have you ever gotten hot sauce in your eye? Imagine it in your crotch.

Once you’re properly denuded, head to Juvenex for its Gyno Spa Cure. This “ancient remedy that Asian cultures have known for centuries” involves squatting over a steaming bucket of water and herbs “to irrigate the vaginal passage and restore optimum health.” (Did you know your vagina was sick?) If you can hold a squat through the twelve recommended sessions, your inner thighs will be as hard as rock. If you’re weak, though, you might fall into the bucket and end up with your labia looking like a couple of poached chicken cutlets.

Speaking of womanly wares, have you looked at them lately? Really, really looked? Ladies, there’s only one acceptable hue down there. Otherwise, how could there be such a thing as discoloration? Luckily, a product exists to combat this new source of shame. South Beach Skin Solutions sells a lightening gel that uses sodium hydroxide, also known as lye. The CDC lists it as a hazardous chemical that should not touch the skin. Did I mention that it’s used in drain cleaners and wood strippers? But why be a worrywart? Isn’t the uniform tint of our collective genitalia worth the risk?

Now that you’re bleached, why not choose the perfect new color? My New Pink Button was invented by a paramedical esthetician “after she discovered her own genital color loss.” She gives you several options. There’s the Marilyn, the lightest shade, for a subtle change. Bettie is hot pink, Ginger is rosy and Audrey is a bold burgundy. (I’ll never see Breakfast at Tiffany’s the same way again.) One blogger tried it and said the powdered dye tastes suspiciously like Kool-Aid.

While we’re there, let’s say hello to our neighbor, the anus. Why should he miss out on all the fun? He’s been waxed, buffed, and steamed but only because of proximity. He’s the janitor to your pretty cheerleader in the high school of your pelvis. Make him feel special with My Pink Wink. (I’m trying to erase that visual as we speak.) Pink Wink bleaches the rectum using kojic acid, which can cause allergic contact dermatitis. Red rash, bumps, itching, pain, blisters, and dry, red patches of skin—the same reaction you’d get from poison ivy or poison oak. Sexy.

After you’ve been plucked, bleached, and dyed, you may feel like something’s missing. Namely, pubic covering. How to replace those curlies? Well, you could purchase a merkin made of human hair.

It seems a bit silly to glue on a stranger’s bush after all the effort you’ve made to go bald. For something a little different, I submit to you the bacon merkin:

Just when you thought bacon and sex couldn’t get any better, now there’s Bacon Sex®! Imagine the possibilities. But please keep them to yourselves; I can’t get past the hygiene issues.

For those not thrilled by the prospect of having nethers redolent of breakfast meat, there is a more elegant solution to the quest for pubic decor. I’m talking about vajazzling. Jennifer Love Hewitt has become the de facto spokeswoman for this most intimate embellishment. Here, she tells George Lopez all about it:

“After a breakup, a friend of mine Swarovski-crystalled my ‘precious lady’ and it shined like a disco ball,” she explained, adding, “I am currently vajazzled.” I’m duly impressed, but I have a question. How “precious” can she be if you keep letting your new boyfriend slam his dick in her face? That ain’t no way to treat a lady, Miss Hewitt.

In conclusion, there are many ways to disguise the loathsome state of our loins. Even Barbie, our greatest feminine icon, decorates her smooth, hairless, featureless vagina.

Note: At some point in the intervening years, the humorous video of a vajazzled Barbie in various states of undress and absurd situations became sufficiently “triggering” that YouTube included an adult content warning. (It’s a doll, people.) As of this year, the video has been banned in the US. The only place I can find it now is on the Facebook page of Barpipa Kozmetični Salon in Slovenia. I assure you that there is nothing pornographic, no reason to fear clicking on the link. I’m probably wasting my breath here. Anyone who would find this upsetting didn’t read this far, having clutched their pearls and fainted many paragraphs ago.

Click here if you dare.

If it’s good enough for Barbie and Jen, it’s good enough for us. But be careful: those crystals are a choking hazard. Happy Valentine’s Day, everybody!

More Valentine’s Day advice:
9 Ways to Prevent Your Own Valentine’s Day Massacre
4 New Products to Try on Valentine’s Day
Crazy Beauty Treatments for Valentine’s Day
Lonely on Valentine’s Day? There’s an App for That

Happy Father’s Day!

June 18, 2023

someecards.com - For You on this Father's Day: I told your kid what you did to his Mommy. You're welcome.

Lonely on Valentine’s Day? There’s an App for That

January 31, 2021

It’s Valentine’s Day again, when lonely souls feel contractually obligated to search for a good time. They need look no further than their smartphones with the OhMiBod app, available since 2012 on iTunes and now, fittingly, on Google Play. This breakthrough for the hands-free onanist allows one to operate one’s vibrator remotely.

Designed for touch screen control, the app also works with the iPad and iPod touch. A tap on the screen accesses five preloaded settings, including “Ooh I like!” and the mysterious “Fire Alarm.” For a more personalized experience, OhMiBod can direct the massager to pulsate with the beat of one’s favorite songs, perhaps causing bass-heavy rock bands to edge out, say, Moby, on one’s playlist.

Of course, this remote can be used by couples as well. What boyfriend wouldn’t want to take a break from playing Angry Birds to pleasure his woman while watching porn and indulging in low-tech masturbation in another room?

Steve Jobs would be so proud.

More to love:
Pimp Your Vajajay for Valentine’s Day!
9 Ways to Prevent Your Own Valentine’s Day Massacre

Henry David Thoreau, Beloved Bullsh*t Artist

July 12, 2017

Today is the 200th anniversary of Henry David Thoreau’s birth on July 12, 1817. The fondness and nostalgia his name evokes are undeniable. National Simplicity Day was created many years ago to commemorate his birthday each year.

But romantic notions of Thoreau’s retreat into nature don’t stand up to scrutiny. While his conclusions may be valid, his description of the circumstances which led to them is demonstrably false.

The James Frey of his time, Thoreau passed off fiction as memoir. Unlike Frey, he was never called to account by the 17th-century equivalent of Oprah.

Henry David Thoreau, author, ersatz ascetic, armchair philosopher and navel-gazing misanthrope, was a consummate bullshit artist. Here’s what led us to this unpopular opinion.

Thoreau famously went to live in a cabin in the woods, the better to ponder life without the inconvenience of other people and the irritations of everyday, well, life.

In Walden: or, A Life in the Woods, he wrote, “I frequently tramped eight or ten miles through the deepest snow to keep an appointment with a beechtree, or a yellow birch, or an old acquaintance among the pines.”

Thoreau certainly could turn a phrase; many of them clog the arteries of inspirational sites and satisfy the sweet tooth of quote-mongers who reverently offer them up on posters, mousepads and coffee mugs.

He neglected to mention that the area was bustling with people year-round. A commuter train passed nearby. He hosted parties. He lived a twenty-minute walk from his parent’s house and made the trip several times a week to enjoy his mother’s cooking.

The man who advised his readers to eat only one meal a day to avoid indulging base appetites was visited by his mother and sisters at least once a week to bring him food, tidy up the cabin and clean his laundry.

Exhortations to simplify one’s life can be helpful, but they often mask disdain and smug superiority. Thoreau reminds us of the intrepid explorer in a documentary, ostensibly forging a path trodden moments before by the cameraman walking backward in front of him.

Have a happy National Simplicity Day but if you can’t keep it simple, don’t worry: you’re in good company.

Happy World Play-Doh Day

September 16, 2016

September 16 is World Play-Doh Day. After writing about it on Worldwide Weird Holidays, I found that some of the prose was a bit inappropriate for that site—in other words, perfect for Magick Sandwich. Call it WWWH After Dark, if you will. (I’m pretty sure you won’t.)

Fun Facts about Play-Doh: The compound was created in 1933 to clean coal soot off wallpaper. The inventor ripped off the formula homemakers and servants had used for decades.

By 1956, homes didn’t use coal anymore. No soot, no need for the cleaner. The company was tanking when the sister-in-law of an employee suggested repurposing it as a toy and came up with the name. Of course, she received no credit or payment.

The employee convinced Bob Keeshan, a.k.a. Captain Kangaroo, to feature it on his show once a week in exchange for a percentage of the sales. Similar to payola schemes run by radio disc jockeys, this was truly a case of “pay to play” or “pay to play-doh,” if you’re feeling punny.

Bonus Fun Fact: A tell-all book by longtime stage manager Daniel B. Morgan alleges that Keeshan liked to expose himself before the show, sticking a pencil under his little captain and waving it at Hugh “Lumpy” Brannum, who played Mr. Green Jeans. Per Morgan:

“Then the Captain would come through the door, greet everyone, and hang the keys on the key hook. On with the show! So now, at the end of the program (which probably included credits), Bob was backstage reading the final voice-over…(and) during Bob’s final read, Lumpy pulled out his penis and began to pee on Bob’s leg.”

Captain Kangaroo liked to pull out his dick before greeting his fan base of millions of small children. Doesn’t everybody? (I need to Purell my childhood memories. Can someone find out if that’s possible?)

*****

Do you long for the simple charms of shaping and smushing, but can’t figure out how to integrate Play-Doh into your daily work routine without attracting undue attention? How awkward would a trip to Human Resources be? Even the most exhaustive employee handbook has no listing for “Play-Doh, abuse of.” There are no talking points, no rehab to recommend.

On second thought, there could be a highly-specialized treatment center somewhere in, say, Malibu. Right now, someone is getting equine therapy to break the cycle of Play-Doh addiction. In case you’re unfamiliar with the modality, the Equine Psychotherapy website explains: “It is the discipline of using horses as a means to provide metaphoric experiences in order to promote emotional growth.” It sounds a lot like getting a horse to babysit so the human can go grab a cocktail. (Horse-sit: say it three times fast.)

Now you can avoid the humiliation of being narced on by coworkers—and the deceptively pleasant-sounding shame spiral which follows—while enjoying the essence of Play-Doh every moment of every day with no risk of sanctions. Demeter Fragrance Library, the maker of such classic scents as Lobster and Funeral Home, offers Play–Doh cologne.

Don’t be surprised if the scent inspires an admirer to pull on your pigtails. (Apparently, little boys used to do that to little girls they liked, but we can’t find anyone who’s seen or done it.) Guys, it’s unisex, so if you spritz it on, don’t be surprised if someone pulls on your man-bun.

On the subject of male grooming, why is practiced, casual vanity so often inversely proportional to a man’s personal hygiene habits? I’m thinking of a 1980s TV star who claims to have no interest in fashion but festoons himself every day with at least ten necklaces and as many rings as his fingers can hold. (We have no problem with male adornment, just hypocrisy.) Coincidentally, he looks like he hasn’t taken a shower since the 1980s. Surely there’s a circus nearby where the elephants can wait a moment so he can be hosed down.

Back to the hairdo: A man-bun says, “I write poetry, I love to cuddle, I’m sensitive and attentive and I smell like a week-old, bloated goat carcass.” Happy World Play-Doh Day, everybody!

Happy Awkward Moments Day

March 18, 2016

is for Awkward

This post originally appeared on our sister site, Worldwide Weird Holidays. It seems like a good fit for Magick Sandwich readers, too. We hope you’ll enjoy it! (Feel free to share your own awkward moments in the Comments Section!)

adjective US /ˈɔk·wərd/ 1. difficult to use, do, or deal with: The computer came in a big box that was awkward to carry. 2. causing inconvenience, anxiety, or embarrassment: It was an awkward situation, because the restaurant was too expensive for us but we didn’t want to just get up and walk out. 3. Someone who feels awkward feels embarrassed or nervous: We were the first to arrive at the party and felt a little awkward. 4. lacking grace or skill when moving: He’s too awkward – he’ll never be a good dancer. (Definition from Cambridge Academic Content Dictionary)

Warning: If you decide to listen to this audio clip at the office, be warned that it is automatically followed by the pronunciation of the word “pedophile.” That will not be easy to explain to Human Resources.

In honor of Awkward Moments Day, we’d like to offer a few examples of instances when you would gladly teleport onto the face of the sun to get away from the situation in which you find yourself.

You meet your boyfriend’s parents and, in the middle of dinner, realize you have a need to defecate that will not be denied. You excuse yourself to use their bathroom. When you finish, the toilet won’t flush. Panic-stricken, you flush again. The toilet overflows.

You keep telling your parents about a favorite show you’re sure they’ll love. When they visit, you queue it up on Netflix. Unfortunately, you forgot about the nudity and “sexposition”–when boring plot points are discussed while two or more people enjoy each other’s earthly wares. You might call it Game of Thrones Syndrome when you’re ready to laugh about it a decade from now. But most likely, never.

You’re on your way out when a neighbor gets on the elevator with you. You say hi and then stare at the door as if it’s so interesting it should be hanging in an art gallery. You purposely lag behind when getting off on the first floor, but she holds the front door open so you have to break into a half-jog to catch up. You say “thanks,” she says, “you’re welcome,” and turns away. You realize you’re going in the same direction.

After everyone else leaves and the boss is gone, you blast rap music through the office’s stereo system. The doorbell rings and you buzz the person in, figuring it’s a late delivery. But it’s a prospective client who’s stopped by to pick up information just as a song kicks in with, “Hey, m*f*, hey, m*f*, yo!” You scramble to turn it off, then pretend nothing happened, desperate that he do the same. After a minute that feels like an hour, he turns around and leaves.

Your debit card is rejected after the cashier has rung up a huge load of groceries. You start to sweat as you ask her to try again, stammering about how it must be a mistake, that you checked your balance just hours before. You try to ignore her facial expression as she puts your bags aside so you can run to the store’s ATM. Once there, you realize it’s not a mistake, and you can either go back, remove items and split payment between cash and the card…or run away and never shop there again.

You’re wheeling a cart stuffed with dirty clothes to the laundromat. As you cross the street, you see a cute guy walking toward you. You think he might be looking at you; you’re not interested but, still, it’s nice to be noticed. The cart abruptly halts as the wheels catch on the edge of the curb, and you walk into it, bashing your shins and falling over it as it tips over, spilling your underwear out onto the ground as the guy passes by. He never breaks stride.

Have a happy Awkward Moments Day!

October 15 is Global Handwashing Day

October 15, 2015

The following piece was originally published on Worldwide Weird Holidays. It seemed like a good fit for the Sandwich as well. I hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

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October 15 is Global Handwashing Day

We know, we know: eww! When it comes to that ill-advised hot dog wolfed at a highway rest stop, we are all Mulder: we want to believe. That counter’s clean, the food freshly prepared by people who treat every day as handwashing day. So this must be one of those silly made-up holidays. Right? Why are we still talking about this?

Global Handwashing Day was founded in 2008 by the Global Public-Private Partnership for Handwashing to raise awareness of how proper hygiene can prevent disease transmitted by hand. Here’s a tweet promoting the holiday and graphic embedded in it.

Why #GlobalHandwashingDay? B/C 1 trillion germs can live in 1 gram of poop (abt weight of a paper clip)! http://bit.ly/1JUaOrD

Wait a second. The numbers don’t match in the tweet and its graphic. Although I think we can all agree that either number is unsettling, we feel it’s our duty to get to the bottom of this. Who knew that researching this would end up in such a dark place?

Okay, now that we’ve got our juvenile punning (mostly) out of the way, let’s learn a little bit about the strangers in our poop. According to a study cited by the Centers for Disease Control, a gram of feces can contain a total of 1 trillion germs. So the tweet is right. Reporting of the number of viruses and bacteria, however, varies wildly. You might want to take our word for it. The Google search alone will make you want to douse yourself in hand sanitizer (which, by the way, isn’t as effective as you might think.)

Now that you’ve got a face full of feces facts, here’s a dollop more. A German site called my.microbes aims to be the first social network to connect members with similar microbial profiles to “share experiences, remedies, health and diet tips.” Watch out, Match.com!

If you’ve got your mind on your manure and your manure on your mind, track your output with the PoopLog app. According to the developer, he updated it to include the ability to attach photos because “it is the most requested feature from my users.” PoopLog allows you to track your bowel movements using the Bristol Stool Scale.

The Bristol Scale was devised in England and is very, well, descriptive. Click here to view it but maybe not when you’re eating sausage. We’re not showing it here because we don’t want to support poop porn. We will show you this enthusiastic review of PoopLog, though:

Leland, we wish you the best in your turd analysis. Perhaps Places I’ve Pooped would be a valuable app for you, too. Just a quick word of advice: turn off the flash when you take a shelfie™* in a public place, which we fervently hope is a restroom. The uninformed might frown on you taking a photo of what came from your posterior for posterity.

Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to go wash our hands. We may never stop.

*sh– + selfie: don’t make us spell this out