Tag Archive for: magick sandwich

Feckless Douche of the Week: Scott Lively and his Pink Swastika

Update: Nearly 13 years ago, I named Scott Lively Top Douchebag on Life without Feck, my blog later subsumed by Magick Sandwich. Back then, he knocked Mark Williams off the pedestal. Williams dropped off the map after being kicked out of Tea Party Express because he wrote a racist blog post. Was he a proto-victim of cancel culture? If so, good riddance.

Isn’t it funny how perspectives change? It could be argued that the MAGA Republican faction is the deformed progeny of the Tea Party. On the other hand, the Tea Party seems quaint by comparison in our post-insurrection hellscape.

Well, stand back and stand by: Though we may have reached Peak Douchebaggery in 2023, Scott Lively still stands tall, long after publishing The Pink Swastika: Homosexuality in the Nazi Party.

After wallowing in this guy’s wretchedness for a post that would reach tens of readers, I was feeling a little, oh, I don’t know, pissed off, so I had some childish fun with Mr. Lively’s Wikipedia page, sprinkling into his bio things like, “He enjoys butt stuff in the afternoon.” Unfortunately, my edits are gone.

But this guy hasn’t gone away. I’m sure he’s proud to be branded an extremist by the Human Rights CampaignSouthern Poverty Law Center, and other groups. He has fought to pass anti-gay legislation in Latvia and Uganda and publicly praised Vladimir Putin for criminalizing “gay propaganda.” What a guy.

Did I mention he’s a pastor? He says has changed his focus from persecuting gays to spending more time with his flock in Abiding Truth Ministries, his tax-exempt church. Its website is appropriately named atmchurch.org, since Lively’s parishioners are his living ATMs.

And now, here is my inelegant segue into my original post, already in progress:

I first became acquainted with Pastor Scott Lively, president of “Defend the Family” and co-author of The Pink Swastika, on July 28, 2010, when he appeared in a segment of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.

Daily Show Scott Lively Gay Reichs

Jason Jones interviews Scott Lively, douchebag extraordinaire.

Pastor Lively told Jason Jones, “Open homosexuals are distinct from everybody else, men and women, in being exceptionally brutal and savage….Adolf Hitler used homosexual soldiers because they were more savage than natural men,” adding, “they didn’t have the restraint a normal man has. It was easier for them to do some of the terrible things that the Nazis did.”

Lively told Jones he wishes this cup could be taken from him:

“It’s not easy to be a person who tells the truth when a large part of the population doesn’t want to hear it. Frankly, I wish I’d gotten a different assignment….I woulda loved to just been hanging out on the beach someplace. But instead I got stuck with dealing with homosexual Nazis.”

Researching Pastor Lively, I discovered more interesting nuggets about Hitler and his cronies. The initial meeting of what would become the Nazi Party occurred in a gay bar. Each young Brownshirt was matched up with a homosexual male adult to initiate him into the league of gay Aryan supermen.

How to explain the extermination of gays by the Third Reich? Lively has a simple answer. “The Nazis did persecute homosexuals to distract public attention away from their homosexuality.”

I was shocked at the number of sites recommending The Pink Swastika as a source of well-supported historical facts being suppressed by gay activists and even by the National Holocaust Museum. The book is now in its fourth edition due to nice Christian groups all over the Internet plugging it almost as hard as they peddle the Almighty. [Note: I’m unsure what edition it is on now, but I found someone selling the 5th edition paperback on Walmart.com. I shudder to think what content Google will serve me now.]

Then it all started to make me ill. WWJB, people? What would Jesus blog? I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t take to the Web in support of a book that advocates murdering homosexuals. I’m not talking about the Nazis this time: I’m referring to Pastor Lively’s book, sermons, and life’s work.

“Pastor,”–because quotes should flank that honorific like traffic cones–you seem every bit as brutal and savage as the fantasy you promote as truth. Far be it from me to suggest that you tell this story to the next guy you see with a swastika tattoo. I’m sure he’d enjoy acquainting you with your feminine side.

But that wouldn’t be very Christian of me, would it? Not that I’m Christian; I’m not. But I have a conscience. Since you most likely believe in an afterlife, allow me to paint you a picture. Fire. Brimstone. You, servicing Satan’s balls for eternity. (I hear he swings both ways. You got a problem with that?) Bon appetit!

More douches:
Feckless Douche of the Week: Mark Williams
Feckless Douche of the Week: Rush Limbaugh

Magick Sandwich Copyright Notice 2023

picture of new Girl Scout cookie

When you waste your time in a comment section and need to justify it somehow . . . .

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 of new 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.

Now I’m going to go buy cookies from the Girl Scouts of Greater NY’s Troop 6000, which serves the NYC shelter system. I found it through the link @ivankadanka posted: https://www.goodmorningamerica.com/living/story/buy-cookies-troop-girl-scouts-york-city-shelter-75469499

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.

Magick Sandwich copyright notice 2022

Magick Sandwich

My Busy Life

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.

Geraldo Rivera tweet re Kavanaughs wang waving

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.)

Fighting Words Designs tweet

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.

existential Amazon review Magick Sandwich

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.

You’re welcome.

Copyright Notice 2019 Magick Sandwich

Anthony Weiner Watch 2018

Weiner Watch 2018: Your Dad’s Not So Bad

Anthony Weiner Watch 2018

That’s the look of love.

There are all sorts of reasons Father’s Day can suck, most having to do with some combination of unrealized expectations, righteous ingratitude, and too much (or too little) alcohol. But it could be worse: your dad could be Anthony Weiner.

Imagine, if you will, that on July 31, 2015, your daddy is babysitting you while your mommy travels around the country working to get Hillary Clinton elected as leader of the free world. You toddle into the bedroom where he is lying with his smartphone held aloft and a happy-Mr.-Howdy tent in his Jockey shorts.

He loves you so much that, when you curl up next to him and go to sleep with your blankie, he snaps a heartwarming pic of you and his throbbing crotch brain and sends it to the 40-something divorcée he’s just been texting about his fond memories of a favorite massage parlor in his old neighborhood. It’s a Norman Rockwell moment. (Not the artist: the guy in the drunk tank who jizzes on your shoes and says, “You’re welcome.”)

Someone shares this lovely father-son moment with the New York Post on August 29, 2016. Your mommy doesn’t understand and leaves your daddy the same day. Since then, grownups love to see you spend time with your daddy because there’s always someone watching. They call this being a “witness.”

After the FBI finds out your daddy used your mommy’s work computer to send photos to nice ladies, it reopens its dead case against Hillary Clinton, and your daddy helps Donald Trump become president. A year later, on November 6, 2017, your daddy goes “up the river” to federal prison for sending obscene material to an underage girl.

Today is Father’s Day and you’re going to see your daddy. You’re happy, even though you were secretly hoping to get there by boat. Mommy drives; you never even see the river. She doesn’t come in with you, though. You don’t need her to be there with you. After all, you’re six whole years old now. You feel her loving support from the parking lot.

You have fun, once you get past all the security protecting your daddy. You hug and have vending machine snacks and he tells you sad stories about inmates (like Bernie Madoff’s brother Peter) who don’t get many visits from family for some reason.

Daddy tells you he’ll get out May 14, 2019. Yay! He promises he’ll be really friendly and go door-to-door and introduce himself to all of your neighbors. He says that even though he has to do it because he’s now called a “quote-unquote sex offender,” he really wants to.

Then he asks if he can borrow your phone.

More Weiner:
Weiner Watch 2011
Don’t Cry for Anthony Weiner
Anthony Weiner Waves His Wiener Once More
Copyright Notice 2018 Magick Sandwich

6 things you should never tell cancer patient

6 Things You Should Never Tell a Cancer Patient

6 things you should never tell cancer patientFive years ago, on June 1, 2012, I found out that, like one in eight women in America, I had breast cancer. Within a two-week period, one of our cats died, my husband lost his job, his aunt passed away and, while he was in Illinois attending her funeral, I got the news by phone.

It was caught early by an eagle-eyed radiologist who saw a small spot on my digital mammogram. Insurance companies often won’t cover this more sensitive test because it costs more. In January of 2016, the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force raised the recommended age at which women should begin mammography screening from 40 to 50. (The medical community had opposed the change since it was first proposed in 2009.) Had I waited that long, I might be dead now.

I had a lumpectomy on July 3rd, followed by chemotherapy and radiation, which finished up at the end of January 2013. Five years later, I’m still cancer-free.

I bonded with several women going through the same thing. We’d pass our time in the waiting room joking about how none of us had lost weight from chemo despite what movies show, and how easy it is to forget where your eyebrows were after they fall out: Sometimes you draw them on and look angry or surprised, or angry on one side and surprised on the other.

We also talked about the comments well-meaning people said to us when they found out we had cancer. I related my friend’s story of how strangers touched her belly when she was pregnant, then got offended when she told them to stop. With cancer, too, people feel entitled to weigh in, assuming a level of familiarity that may not exist.

Here is my list, gleaned from my experience, of six things you should never tell a cancer patient:

1. Everything happens for a reason. Yes, the reason is cancer. Is it because I paid the gas bill late or didn’t send a Christmas card? Think this through, please. Even if there is some cosmic plan, is that supposed to cheer me up? (“Your death will provide a valuable life lesson for your family.”)

2. [She] is fighting a battle with cancer. My chest is not a war zone. I prefer to say I’m having a slap fight with cancer. Sounds less ominous and it’s a nice visual, too. I’ve rarely heard anyone say, “She just gave up. What a wuss!”

3. Check out this email from Johns Hopkins about what really causes cancer. This is a hoax that’s been circulating since 2008. Johns Hopkins has repeatedly refuted it, but it still terrifies people. Whoever who wrote this should be flogged.

4. This [alternative therapy] really works. Ever meet someone who cured cancer by drinking his own pee? Probably not. Want to talk to Steve Jobs about the miracle macrobiotic cure he did for months before agreeing to conventional treatment? Oh, that’s right, you can’t: he’s dead.

5. Cheese causes cancer. I blame some Internet sub-genius for starting the Big-Dairy-doesn’t-want-you-to-know-this-is-killing-you panic about casein, what Alex Jones likes to call an excitotoxin. (Funny, that’s what I call him.) Casein is a protein found in mammalian milk, including human milk. So…breastfeeding causes cancer? Milk is murder?

I’m not saying I’m an expert. Having cancer doesn’t make you an expert any more than sitting on an airplane makes you a pilot. I understand that sickness scares people; it’s only human to want to define it and reassure themselves it won’t happen to them. Bullshit artists like Louise Hay have made a lot of money blaming people for their own illnesses. Which brings me to:

6. Negativity causes cancer. If that’s true, the person who says this must be riddled with it.

You know how they say a stranger is just a friend with an unsolicited opinion you haven’t heard yet? (Okay, nobody says that, but I’m trying to start a trend.) Everyone from my cat’s veterinarian to a city’s worth of taxi drivers felt compelled to share their wisdom. I wish I’d had the presence of mind to say, “Oh, this isn’t from chemo. I shaved my head to commemorate that time I killed someone for sticking his nose in my business.”

Sometimes a little negativity can be fun, no?

Related posts:
I’m Radioactive – Laughing at Cancer
Tales from the Waiting Room – Laughing at Cancer
Pink Ribbon Products from Car Horns to Handguns

Copyright Notice 2018 Magick Sandwich

Mother Lode of Stupid Baby Names

The Mother Lode of Stupid Baby Names

Bad Baby Names

As we wait with bated breath to learn the name Kim Kardashian and Kanye West choose for North West’s little brother (because nothing else is going on in the world), let Magick Sandwich entertain you with its nearly comprehensive yet thoroughly incomprehensible list of stupid baby names and the sadists who came up with them.

Repeat Offenders

Jessica Simpson and Eric Johnson named their daughter Maxwell Drew in honor of his dad’s middle name and Jessica’s mom’s middle name, respectively. Son Ace Knute was born 20 months later in 2013. He was named Knute after Eric’s grandfather and Ace after, what? A bandage? Frehley? The Red Baron?

Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale named their youngest son Apollo Bowie Flynn after their mothers’ maiden names. Since their other sons, Zuma Nesta Rock and Kingston James McGregor, were named for Stefani and Rossdale’s favorite places, can we assume they took a secret trip to the moon between tours? (Maybe that’s what split them up–it sucked all the oxygen out of their relationship.)

Soleil Moon Frye and Jason Goldberg have a son, Lyric Sonny Roads, and two daughters, Poet Sienna Rose and Jagger Joseph Blue, names that remind us of ice cream, crayons and paint chips, not necessarily in that order.

Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin named their son Moses for a song he wrote for Coldplay and daughter Apple because it sounded “lovely and clean,” not because they were on a fruit cleanse or illegally downloading better music onto their iPods. If only their kids could consciously uncouple from their names.

Girls

Jay-Z and Beyoncé liked Blue Ivy, the name they chose for their daughter, so much that they tried to have it trademarked. It had already been taken by a Boston wedding planner. Isn’t there a site they could have checked first? Yes–Trademark Electronic Search System (TESS), in case you ever need it.

Alicia Keys and Swiss Beatz named their daughter Egypt in honor of a life-changing trip. Thank goodness it wasn’t to Bayonne.

Holly Madison, previously one of “The Girls Next Door” known for letting Hugh Hefner play with her lady parts, named her daughter (with Pasquale Rotella, not Hef) Rainbow Aurora. Warm up the stripper pole. Was Inflamed Herpes Sore already taken?

According to Mila Kunis and Ashton Kutcher, they decided to name their daughter Wyatt after coming up with it at a Lakers game. Anything would be preferable to actually watching a Lakers game.

Kristen Bell and Dax Shepard named their daughter Lincoln Bell and claimed it had nothing to do with our sixteenth president. Instead, she was named after Shepard’s first car. If so, it’s a good thing it wasn’t a Gremlin. Then they’d have to explain their kid had nothing to do with a certain beloved movie franchise from the 1980s.

Why did Zooey Deschanel and Jacob Pechenik name their daughter Elsie Otter? Zoey explained on the Today Show, “We just really liked the name Elsie and then we both love otters. They’re very sweet, and they’re also smart.”

Otters are vicious carnivores. Narwhals are cute. Everybody knows that.

At least Elsie is a recognizable name. Blake Anderson named his daughter Mars Ilah. Mars. Ilah. Lorenzo Lamas named his daughter Press. That isn’t even a proper name, is it? Garlic, cider, permanent: those are presses.

Rob Morrow named his daughter Tu. Tu Morrow. What a dick.

Other questionable girl’s names include Arlo Lemoyne Yoko (Johnny Knoxville); Romy Hero (Sam Taylor-Wood); Royal Reign (L’il Kim); Pilot Inspektor (Jason Lee); Moxie Crimefighter (Penn Jillette); Maxwell Lue (Lindsay Sloane); Autumn James (Jennifer Love Hewitt); Harper (Tiffani Amber-Thiessen); Harper Seven (Victoria Beckham); and James (Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds).

Boys

Musicians Ciara and Future named their son Future. It’s too bad his dad’s given name is Nayvadius Wilburn. Otherwise, he could be called Future II and that would put us in mind of another beloved movie franchise of the 1980s.

It should come as no shock that Jenelle Evans of “16 and Pregnant” gave birth to son Jace Vahn when she was sixteen. Last year, she had another son and named him Kaiser Orion.

Kaiser joins Banjo (Rachel Griffiths); Kal-El (Nicolas Cage); Bodhi Ransom (Megan Fox and Brian Austin Green); Kase Townes (Jewel and Ty Murray); Meredith Daniel (Jay Mohr), Sundance (Kerri Walsh); Bear Blaze (Kate Winslet); Bear Blu (Alicia Silverstone); Axl Jack (Fergie); Kroy (Kim Zolciak); Zolten (Jillette again); Brooklyn, Romeo and Cruz (Beckham again).

Double Winners

Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon occupy a category unto themselves: first-timers guilty of multiple offenses after the birth of their twins. They named their girl Monroe after Mariah’s idol, Marilyn Monroe. What inspired them to name their son Moroccan? He’s named after the décor in one of Mariah’s favorite rooms of her $9 million penthouse in New York.

It gets weirder. Cannon bragged that Mariah insisted her Madison Square Garden performance of Fantasy be played during labor, so the twins emerged to the sound of applause.

The Stupid Baby Name Award goes to…

Jeremy Sisto and Addie Layne, who named their daughter Charlie-Ballerina in 2009. They wanted to call her Charlie Kyd, but David Duchovny had already used Kyd for his son. So when their son was born in 2012, they named him Bastian Kick. They reasoned that Kick was close to Kyd and, according to Sisto, “He felt like a ‘B’ somehow … and we went for the B’s,” What, he didn’t deserve a hyphen?

Congratulations,  Moms and Dads! You suck. Luckily, you can afford the therapy your children will require for the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder they will experience after suffering through their childhoods saddled with names so stupid, fruit flies would kill themselves to avoid a lifetime of embarrassment…and they only live a few weeks.

Kids, you can change your name! If you want to mess with your parents’ heads, switch to something even crazier. May we suggest Glyph, Magma, Subvert, Irony, Periodic Table or ellemenopee?

More crazy names:
Stupid Baby Names Generator, or Zuma Nesta Rock Paper Scissors: Home Edition
Stupid Baby Names, Part Duh
Still More Stupid Baby Names

Copyright Magick Sandwich

Gifts for Idiots

Gifts for Idiots

In the crush of holiday shopping, it’s easy to forget to take time to thank the season’s real innovators, those who work at the frontiers of imagination to add ever more useless crap to the world. This season, let’s honor them with the ridicule they so richly deserve before consigning their wares to the landfill of memory.

 

The Selfie Brush “makes your cellphone easy to hold for the best selfies ever”
because what girl doesn’t want to turn her iPhone into a cheap plastic hairbrush?
The Theradome LH80 Pro laser helmet costs $895 and promises to slow hair loss. Though it admits new hair growth may take up to a year to appear, this is worth every penny to the giver who gets another person to spend 365 days looking like an extra from TRON.
Even the most die-hard atheist might feel a bit blasphemous about taking a bite out of the baby Jesus, even if he is in reality a chocolate-covered cherry limned in frosting. But don’t worry: this edible Nativity scene is one of Oprah’s Favorite Things. The thought of her chowing down on the wise men might be disturbing but she’s the closest thing we have to a deity, so if She says it’s okay, it’s okay. Bon appetit.
Finally, for only $12,500, Celestis Pets will launch a “symbolic portion of [your pet’s] cremated remains” into deep space and “provides your beloved pet with an incredible journey through the stars, allowing them to explore places they could have only dreamed of in life.” I’m not sure what my cat Rocky dreamed of but I’m pretty sure he would have spent that money on hookers and blow.
Here’s to a happy holiday season filled with fun, good cheer and the sneaking suspicion that if Fido finds out you’re seriously considering sending his ashes into zero gravity, he will chew on your soft parts while you sleep.

 

Copyright Magick Sandwich