2025 Update: I wrote this in 2008 and shared it with my psychiatrist, who liked it so much he used it in a speech at a conference and told me it was a huge hit. He recently passed away, which made me think of this. It’s important to have a sense of humor, even (or especially) about our darkest thoughts. I can’t feel bad while I’m laughing. I’ll bet you can’t either.
**********
Hey, everybody! Have you been struggling with what to get for those desperately unhappy people in your life? Why wait for an official holiday? (After all, they could be dead by then.) Sad, lonely people are grateful for the smallest gesture and may even feel a flicker of hope before their inexorable fall back into the bottomless pit of despair. Kudos to you, gift-giver!The “I Wish I Were Dead” mug from theonion.com makes a lovely gift for a disillusioned co-worker. And it’s grammatically correct, so it’s also a great gift for your insufferable ex-English major friends who’ll probably live to a ripe old age because they can’t finish editing their suicide notes.
What about a gift for that friend who is teetering on the edge, who hasn’t fully submitted to dejection? The folks at despair.com can help. They have a whole range of products that drive home the laughable futility of hope.
Finally, here’s an honest fashion statement from our pal Archie McPhee. The next time your loved one looks at his pristine wrist, he will be reminded of your generosity and his true outlook on life. Hopefully, he will at least take off that yellow One-Balled Bicyclist band for good! Just make sure it’s taken off before cremation—burning rubber is bad for the environment! Have a great day!
**********
You can still order the cat poster at Despair, Inc. It has an amazing roster of demotivational posters. Unfortunately, The Onion and Archie McPhee have discontinued the mug and wristbands. Given the state of our world, I think now would be a good time to bring them back to life!
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 that 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!
https://magicksandwich.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/Magick-Sandwich-play-doh-e1497730108657.jpg201200kathcomhttps://magicksandwich.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Magick-Sandwich-header.pngkathcom2025-09-16 12:30:002025-09-16 12:20:18Happy World Play-Doh Day
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.
***
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.
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!
https://magicksandwich.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/pimpyourvajajayforvalentine27sday.png200200kathcomhttps://magicksandwich.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Magick-Sandwich-header.pngkathcom2024-02-14 08:05:002025-05-18 18:27:23Pimp Your Vajajay for Valentine’s Day!
I read the news today, oh boy. And somehow chose to spend my time scrolling through a ridiculous number of comments and adding my own to the least consequential Washington Post story I’ve seen in a long time.
For context, a top article today states Biden’s White House will distribute 400 million free N95 masks starting next week to help control the spread of COVID-19, which continues to ravage Earth’s populace abetted by a concurrent plague of ignorance.
Another story details how AT&T and Verizon have agreed to limit their rollout ofnew high-speed 5G networks near airports due to their potential to interfere with “airplane safety technology.” Turns out conspiracy theorists who shriek that 5G transmits COVID-19 simply lack imagination. For my money, dying in a plane crash because some idiot is checking his phone for up-to-the-minute health advice from Joe Rogan is way scarier. (Because of course those same folks will use 5G with no sense of irony. It’s faster.)
The post I chose to comment on is about how supply chain problems are affecting the production of Girl Scout cookies. It mentions Adventurefuls, the new “brownie-inspired cookies with caramel flavored crème and a hint of sea salt.” Although it might not be a straight-up puff piece—some facts are imparted—I would consider this a low-stakes issue so I looked at the comments, curious to read some lighthearted reminiscences.
When the first few seemed to equate Girl Scout cookies with crimes against humanity, I was intrigued, lured as always by the siren song of absurdity accompanied by a chorus of achingly earnest concern. Maybe it’s easiest for me to respond to things like this; no one will perish because I share my particularly bent viewpoint. No one’s mind is likely to be changed, either. But it really doesn’t matter, does it?
There were comments about sexism, racism, exploitation of minors, virulent consumerism, flavor change, etc. Many mentioned high fructose corn syrup in parallel with these concerns. (That assertion, at least, is untrue.) So I was primed to find that annoying when I read this:
CC
I stopped buying Girl Scout cookies when they started using questionable ingredients like high fructose corn syrup and palm oil, the impacts of which are counter to the spirit of scouting, as I understand it. Palm oil, in particular, is the product of deforestation and threatens species like orangutans. As cheap as it is, I imagine the importation of it would be tied up at some of these ports and I’m not losing sleep over this type of supply chain issue.
These cookies aren’t about supporting Girl Scouts, but industries and interests behind it.
I responded:
kathcom
Palm oil, yes. This needs to be phased out of everything. But it is difficult to engineer the same texture and flavors without it. That’s not an excuse but these cookies are like Proust’s madeleine to people. They take them back to their youth and they expect them to taste the same.
But they no longer contain high fructose corn syrup. Of course, it’s easy to hack the sugar shown in the ingredients by listing it in its individual forms to keep the blanket term “sugar” from being one of the first three ingredients.
And, for the love of Pete, of course the makers and importers profit from it. Some of the profits do benefit the Girl Scouts organization in one way or another. Everything we touch, wear, watch, eat and drive benefits some corporate fat cats somewhere. Doesn’t make it right but we have to choose which things we rail against, don’t we? Otherwise, we’d be rocking in a corner, unable to do anything because of its butterfly effect.
I have to decide what I’m going to focus on and realize that my choices have consequences. And, consequently, I’ve spent the last ten minutes writing about how cookies are not going to make my list of corporate greed-head evils. So shame on me, I guess.
Reading this again just now, I can see how mild CC’s comment is. But the die is cast. I spent too much time fashioning a post to stop now. I am reminded once again of why I should avoid comment sections where I can huff up so much fake outrage that I get high on it and fancy myself a balancing force of sarcasm.
Thankfully, I’m not posting this on Reddit where I’d have to ask the question “AITA (Am I The Asshole?)”
Yes. Yes, I am.
https://magicksandwich.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/Girl-Scout-cookie-Magick-Sandwich.png201200kathcomhttps://magicksandwich.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Magick-Sandwich-header.pngkathcom2022-01-19 22:23:392022-01-20 18:48:39When you waste your time in a comment section and need to justify it somehow . . . .
Let’s face it. Valentine’s Day is the cruelest of Hallmark-induced holidays, practically guaranteeing a crappy outcome. Either you’re single and confronted with the perception that there’s something wrong with that, or you’re attached and no matter what you do, it will not be “romantic” enough.
Since romance can be largely attributed to the hormonal rush you feel at the beginning of a relationship, if you’re a few or many years in, you’re basically screwed. Or not screwed, really, since this is a day where the pressure is so high to live up to an imagined standard, it fairly defines the term performance anxiety.
Please allow me to help you navigate this minefield with these handy tips.
1.Size matters. One year my hubby ordered from an 800 number and his order got switched with someone else’s. I got 3 roses delivered to the office while another woman got my 2 dozen. Imagine that guy’s surprise when she called to thank him. Was he psyched not to look like a cheapskate? Did he send her 3 because they’d only slept together once? Did she think he was trying to tell her he was madly in love with her? Was he really just making a friendly gesture? That’s the stuff of sitcoms.
My point is that 3 roses don’t scream “I think you’re hot.” They more likely whisper something like, “Thank you for ignoring my chancre.” Bigger is better, guys. And don’t order from an 800 number. Not ever.
If Valentine’s Day falls on a weekday:
2.Do not turn your gift into more work for your sweetheart. Monday through Thursday, send them in a vase. Otherwise, she’ll have to spend part of her workday locating a vase and sawing at the stems with office shears to cut them to fit it, then cleaning it all up. Work.
If the date falls early in the week, you’re golden. She gets maximum jealousy from her coworkers and they’ll die by Friday—the roses, not the coworkers—so she won’t have to carry them home. Problem solved.
On a Friday afternoon, send them in a box with the little water condoms on them so they won’t dehydrate at her desk. You’ll be making her bring the box home like a UPS guy, but at least she won’t be taking public transit or driving with a sloshing bowl of roses. This is precisely when the flowers stop being a gift and start being a reminder of how thoughtless you are for not foreseeing this problem.
3.You must always send roses. Always. Don’t listen if she tells you not to. Even if she means it, she will feel ripped off. Even if she’s so allergic that she lives in a bubble, she will still want to look at them and touch them through her rubber glove.
But:
4.Do not attach balloons to the bouquet. Although they may look cute on the website, these things should be reserved for invalids in the hospital. And they’ll hate you for them, too. And while we’re on this subject, suffice it to say, the only gift you should give her that comes in a mug is a cup of coffee.
5.Don’t forget the chocolate. Even if she’s diabetic, you will be expected to get her one of those cute little boxes with two truffles so she can have a taste. Hopefully, you’ll remember if she’s diabetic, because nothing ruins a romantic evening like an impromptu coma.
There are additional rules that apply if Valentine’s Day falls on a weekend. Take heed:
6.You must spend the entire day with her. No Xbox, no war porn on the History Channel, no car magazines. Not for one minute. You must stare lovingly into her eyes all day. Don’t think you can get sneaky if she’s blind. She will sense your inattention.
7. Buy her jewelry. You’re in a bind here. It’s unrealistic for her to tote flowers and candy into the office on Monday to show and any tale she tells of a toe-curling weekend of romance will be suspect. (Trust me on this. No one will believe it.) Jewelry is the only proof, so make it good. Remember every carat adds an inch to your wang.
If you don’t have that much scratch and you know her birthstone or favorite color, you can get her something semi-precious and save a bundle. You’ll also look like a hero for being so thoughtful. See how listening when your loved one drones on about herself can benefit you? If not, don’t try to fake it by calling and asking one of her friends. She’ll tell her immediately. We’re bitches.
And here’s one for the ladies:
8.Do not give your man “love coupons.” It may seem cute and sexy to give him things that say stuff like “Good for One Massage with Happy Ending.” In reality, they’ll just sit around until your mother finds them when she comes for a visit…or worse, he’ll try to redeem one and make you feel like a prostitute.
A final tip for everyone:
9.Do things for each other all the time. The saddest thing about this stupid holiday is that it assumes we need a specified day and way to recognize our loved ones. The inference is that we must be directed to appreciate them on one day of the year or we won’t do it at all. Or that we don’t need to. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, even Administrative Professionals Day–aren’t they a little offensive? If we care, don’t we care all the time? If we don’t, then these holidays are all about faking it. No wonder Valentine’s Day sucks so much.
There now, didn’t that sound like an After School Special? I think that’s the name of one of those coupons.
https://magicksandwich.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/pimpyourvajajayforvalentine27sday.png200200kathcomhttps://magicksandwich.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Magick-Sandwich-header.pngkathcom2021-02-01 17:46:002021-02-04 18:20:379 Ways to Prevent Your Own Valentine’s Day Massacre
File this one under You Waited Over a Whole Year to Blog and You Did THIS? As a self-involved person—and, really, we all are unless we’re in a dissociative state—I thought, wow, my life is so interesting! Why don’t I share a window into my diseased psyche to show you all the muy importante things I’ve been doing instead of blogging. (ICE, if you’re reading this, the Spanish was just an affectation. You don’t need to come to my house.)
Last night, while watching Brian Williams interview Edward Snowden, I came to some conclusions about my life, but not what you might think. I had TiVoed it so I could pause Snowden’s frightening revelations about constant technological surveillance to mess around on the internet. I like to work against my self-awareness at times. Keeps it on its toes.
First up, I happened upon this tweet by Geraldo Rivera regarding Brett Kavanaugh’s playful indecent exposure as a Yale student. That’s a Class B misdemeanor in CT that’s punishable by up to a year in prison, by the way, but I’m guessing Geraldo would think I’m just being a prissy bitch. I’ll put it here, although I’ve never seen anyone pad a post with Twitter dross before. I’m a pioneer, I guess.
Say what you want about Twitter. (As if I could stop you.) It’s one of those egalitarian places where everyone’s opinion counts so no one’s counts. Of course, I had to put in my two cents. After midnight, it’s really only a ha’penny worth. (By the way, my Twitter handle is the name of the T-shirt company I started this year, which has made me fabulously wealthy tens of sales.)
Being a night owl neither wit nor wisdom confers. Today, on Instagram, I added details of the CT law mentioned above and recommended that Geraldo ponder whether having an unwelcome dick thrust in his face (or one of his daughter’s faces) might cause him upset. My God, don’t you wish you could hang out with me all the time? Surely my bon mots (French now, pulling out all the stops!) should be collected and preserved in the Smithsonian or in a time capsule so when aliens land to see the blasted hellscape of Earth, they’ll know the extinction of the human race was no big loss.
Anyway, à propos of nothing—note to self: great title for my memoir—I went on Amazon. (The MSNBC interview was over so I could get back to important things.) Someone identifying himself as Ben K. had taken umbrage at the use of fragrance in a natural deodorant. I’d seen his review before and had emailed the company to find out what ingredients fall under their rubric of fragrance.
The company’s answer? Okay stuff, with just a hint of obfuscation that lets me know there’s some minor thing in it that would be questionable to a real Cassandra who drinks alcohol, smokes pot, or just, you know, lives in the world but thinks perfume presents a clear and present danger.
The email also stated there is another, fragrance-free version for sale as well. So I copied the info and clicked on the review to paste it and leave a comment. But someone had beaten me to it. Ben K. had responded to that person that the version on the page is the fragrance-free version. I scanned the product page, ready to pounce on Ben K. for his damnable lie. Alas, I found that Ben K. was correct. So, ever forthright, I acknowledged that. But then, it got weird.
I’d classify this as an existential Amazon review or, perhaps, an Amazon review for depressives. It captures the absurdity of a search for meaning that elevates strangers’ opinions about drain cleaner, shampoo, and super glue to a position of staggering importance, signified by the amount of time I spend poring over them as if they contain the secrets of the universe. I’m not the only one, judging by the fact that “135 people found this review helpful.”
I’ve learned a valuable lesson, which justifies my time-wasting but possibly not the time you’ve wasted reading about it. (My apologies.) I should never tweet late at night and I should always write Amazon reviews late at night.
There was a third benefit, too. As I attempted to drift off to sleep, always difficult after the exhilaration of doing absolutely nothing of substance and having a great time not doing it, I had a flash of insight. I actually sat up and made a note of it on my phone so it wouldn’t be lost in the ether of fitful slumber. It is my new mantra.
Satisfied with the inspirational message served up by my helpful brain, I drifted off to happy sleep, then got up this morning and made it into a T-shirt.
https://magicksandwich.org/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/Sandwichwithhands.png251250kathcomhttps://magicksandwich.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Magick-Sandwich-header.pngkathcom2019-09-17 18:13:242019-09-18 16:25:48My Busy Life
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The “I Wish I Were Dead” mug from theonion.com makes a lovely gift for a disillusioned co-worker. And it’s grammatically correct, so it’s also a great gift for your insufferable ex-English major friends who’ll probably live to a ripe old age because they can’t finish editing their suicide notes.
September 16 is World Play-Doh Day. After writing about it on 
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.
Now that you’re bleached, why not choose the perfect new color? 
