The real golden ticket here is the Mugworth V-Steam; You sit on what is essentially a mini-throne, and a combination of infrared and mugwort steam cleanses your uterus, et al. It is an energetic release—not just a steam douche—that balances female hormone levels. If you’re in LA, you have to do it.
Gwyneth Paltrow, GOOP.com
Gwyneth dear, clearly you never got the owner’s manual. How else to explain your ignorance of something that is only a couple feet from your face at all times? Though I’m sure you are so flexible from your spiritual yoga practice that you’re one plow pose away from direct nose-to-labia confrontation, I feel that you need a visual aid. To wit:
Have one of your servants fetch a hand mirror and position it so that you can see your pudendum in all its undoubtedly depilated glory. Note the geography. (Remember, it’s that class you took while perfecting your Blue Steel facial pose.) If you can see your uterus from here, then you won’t need a doula to massage your perineum with sacred oils during childbirth. You can just shoot them out like they’re on a waterslide at Six Flags.
In fact, short of borrowing a pressure washer from your local car wash, steam will most assuredly not reach your uterus. (Note: Steam Douche: excellent band name.) The mini-throne is essentially a chair with a hole in it through which the spa taps your Iron Man residuals. As for the “energetic release,” it’s possible…if your vagina is pulling a very tiny train.
I do have to thank you for the information on how steam affects hormone levels. It explains that weird day at the gym when I spent too much time in the sauna and turned into a man.
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What would Breast Cancer Month (aka October) be without a smorgasbord of pink-tastic breast cancer awareness-themed treats from cookies, mints, hard lemonade, jelly beans, popcorn and PEZ to ribbon-shaped cakes, chocolates, cupcake sprinkles, lollipops, pasta and bagels? Rarely has life-threatening illness tasted so delicious.
Of course, we shouldn’t forget the memorial pink ribbon products not meant to pass through the alimentary canal: perfume, knee socks, beer koozies, curling irons, chewing gum, flip flops, beach balls, tote bags, vegetable peelers, bathrobes, fishing rods, chip clips, aprons, emery boards, tiaras (tiari?), golf tees, teddy bears, car fresheners, tablecloths, tambourines, mailbox covers, guns, gnomes, cowbells and vibrators.
Puns are a perennial favorite and seem to grow more tortured with each passing year. Suit up in a pink ribbon Speedo from Breaststroke 4 Hope, “designed to inspire the aquatic community to dive in and make a difference. Let’s fight breast cancer together, one lap at a time.” (That last bit would make a good strip club promotion, too.) While I’m sure this is an earnest, worthwhile endeavor, with its website listed as Coming Soon and 12 likes to date on Facebook, someone needs to get out of the pool and get to work.
The Keep A Breast Foundation appeals to youth culture with “i❤boobies!” wristbands and makes early detection cool with its #checkyourselfie Twitter campaign. I’m happy that, aside from a few confused bird lovers, its site reaches hip youngsters who won’t pay attention to important things with boring or yucky names. Though its moniker is catchy, I wish KAB had found a different play on words to suggest we keep both breasts. Perhaps the bracelet should say “i❤booby!”, though it seems wrong to play favorites with one’s breasts…or fun bags, for any young people reading this.
Baker Hughes, an oilfield service company, painted 1,000 of its drill bits pink, apparently to raise awareness miles underground where they will hydraulically fracture rock to free patches of oil. It then donated $100,000 to the Susan G. Komen Foundation and adopted the slogan “Doing Our Bit for the Cure.” The company reported $5,700,000,000 in revenue with a net profit of $336,000,000 in the first quarter of 2014. Projected annually, Baker Hughes has given .007% of its profits to the charity. In this instance, it would seem that the “bit” has a third meaning, as in “Giving a Little Bit for the Cure.”
The Komen foundation, which licensed the use of its signature pink hue, has come under fire for partnering with a company that pumps toxic chemicals into the earth, potentially poisoning drinking water and off-gassing pollutants that accelerate climate change (if you believe in that sort of thing). Perhaps Komen could use a new motto for its tees, hats and gloves: Frack Cancer. It’s a tad naughty but still appropriate for a church picnic. That idea is free of charge but if you use it, can I claim it on my taxes?
I began my journey into the heart of pinkness innocently enough, intending only to write about JC Penney’s ads, in which pennies (get it?) are held over women’s breasts. Critics complain they devalue women but I say kudos to them for sexualizing small change. Lincoln would be so proud. At least they tell us to save them, not pinch them. That would be disrespectful.
Of the above products, gun, alcohol and vibrator sales benefit cancer research. The National Football League is the real hero here, donating 8% of profits from sales—this month only—of its half dollar coins. (Why not give them directly to charity? They are money, right?) Since October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month, the NFL will do its part to raise awareness by continuing to beat women with impunity and children where indicated. You’re welcome.
More like this:
Back in June of 2011, I thought we had put the issue of Anthony Weiner to bed, as it were. He had finally resigned from Congress after a “sexting” scandal. Whether you call it moral turpitude or just good clean fun, Mr. Weiner, with his tailor-made-for-a-joke name, had shown an astonishing lack of judgment and paid a steep price for it.
How could anyone trust a public official who thought randy Facebook messages and Twitter pics of his own congressional member were a good idea? The photographic proof that he shaved himself bald as a toddler might not be technically illegal but I believe it constitutes an ocular assault, creating a face/testicle association that can only be overcome by never seeing either again.
After a period of denial that his political life was over (as reported in our own Weiner Watch 2011), he resigned. His beleaguered wife gave birth and he disappeared into private life, taking the memory of his pristine taint with him. And all was well until it wasn’t. Mr. Weiner had taken time off, done a lot of soul-searching and decided he should run for New York City mayor.
Perhaps he was emboldened by Eliot Spitzer’s current run for city Comptroller. Spitzer was a tough attorney general with a reputation for chasing bad guys like an Old West marshal before being elected governor of New York State. He derailed his career by getting caught patronizing prostitutes and gradually rehabilitated his image by (1) acknowledging his hubris, (2) appearing as an expert on his own and other TV shows, and (3) taking a pummeling from comedians like Stephen Colbert, who asked him why we should elect a comptroller who has no self-“comp”trol. A good sense of humor goes a long way with New Yorkers. I just hope he’s learned his lesson.
Which brings me back to Mr. Weiner. Apparently, he has not kept his wiener under wraps and has consequently seared my brain further with the mercifully pixellated yet still obviously denuded object of his affection. (I’m sure the uncensored version is available for viewing but I’m not going to look for it. I have nothing against the penis per se. I just believe in our right to choose.)
In his 2011 press conference, he admitted sending naked pics but said he couldn’t be sure it was his penis in the photos that surfaced. I’ve heard of face blindness before, a brain disorder that renders the sufferer unable to identify any face, but this may be the first recorded case of dick blindness. Waking up each morning unable to recognize his own groin would explain his constant urge to get reacquainted and his compulsion to photograph it. In essence, he was sending a digitized flyer that might read something like this:
So many people have seen it, it’s surprising no one has claimed it yet. Perhaps he should try putting it on the side of a milk carton.
The shame of being forced to resign from Congress has not dimmed Weiner’s enthusiasm for engaging in smutty wordplay and sharing images of his proud phallus. Having been through this before, he still believes he can be taken seriously as a political candidate without fear of ridicule or more scandal. It’s difficult to see this as anything but an IQ test Weiner can’t seem to pass. But there are a couple of differences this time.
On Tuesday, his wife Huma Abedin was by his side at the press conference and gave a poignant speech. It’s a savvy move. If she can forgive him, can’t we all? Then a reporter asked Weiner when his wife found out that he had continued to send messages even after his resignation from Congress. His reply? “She knew all along, um, the process as I was more and more honest with her.” Funny, that sounds much like what happens when lies fail, one after another, until the truth is all that’s left.
It’s a shaky basis for a claim to the moral high ground but hardly enough to disqualify him for public office. I can even forgive him for thinking that switching from Facebook to Yahoo would protect him from discovery. For me, the final nail in the coffin of Weiner’s career is his choice of pseudonym: Carlos Danger.
When I can’t stand the clutter in the fridge, I bring you another serving of sandwich fixins.
just assume the birds prefer stale bread, with all those carbs and
gluten? Why isn’t PETA on this?
about alternative medicine.” Or maybe “Incurable romantic.” I also like
“This isn’t my gum.” I can’t decide. Maybe I could pay people to let me
carve things onto their dead loved ones’ gravestones. That could work.
Looking for a great gift for the alcoholic in your life? It can be hard to find something new for that special someone who’s tasted everything from Purell to paint thinner. Take things up a notch with Magick Sandwich’s guide to tasty vodkas. They’re the classiest Christmas gifts yet to come with a screw top.
Chances are, you know someone who’s forsaken food in favor of booze. Now, he can have both. We’ve discussed the joys of bacon vodka here, so let us now extol the virtues of Alaska Distillery’s Smoked Salmon vodka. It’s a little taste of the Pacific Northwest with what’s sure to be an even more distinctive flavor on the way back up.
Smirnoff Espresso vodka is eye-opener, hair-of-the-dog and morning joe all rolled into one. Brought to you by the master of liver killing libations, Smirnoff shows mercy by disguising its usual vodka tang. The same could be accomplished with Starbucks’ coffee grounds salvaged from a Dumpster. But that would be harder to wrap.
Is your buddy bloated from too much 7- Eleven wine? With its dietetic fruit flavor and implied protection from scurvy, Belvedere Pink Grapefruit vodka is an excellent choice. It shows you care about his bleeding gums but not enough to let him into your house.
For those with a sweet tooth—though not necessarily an actual tooth—we recommend Cupcake vodka, in flavors like Devil’s Food and Frosting. Pinnacle Cotton Candy vodka, conjuring images of the county fair midway, is a yummy choice, too, unless it reminds him of the time he got turned down for a job as a carny because he was too dirty.
Your best choice of all may be Medea vodka. Though it boasts no interesting flavor, its bottle has a scrolling LED display on which you can program your most heartfelt message, such as, “We really think you should get some help.” No intervention necessary!
We hope this helps with your last-minute holiday shopping. Bottoms up!
Last-Minute Gifts – Wine Warning