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tombstone magick sandwich fixins

Sandwich Fixins #9

 When I can’t stand the clutter in the fridge, I bring you another serving of sandwich fixins.

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What’s the warranty on an exorcism?
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I’m sad that Hugo Chavez’ body was too decomposed to be preserved and displayed like Lenin. It means no one will ever be able to break into his glass casket and dress him in crotchless panties.
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Why do pickles say “Refrigerate After Opening?”
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People who love pigeons should be forced to feed them worms and grubs. Do they
just assume the birds prefer stale bread, with all those carbs and
gluten?  Why isn’t PETA on this?
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Could Lois Lane get cancer from Superman’s X-ray vision?
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If tombstones are our final caption, I’d like mine to read “Ask me
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.
tombstone magick sandwich fixins

Fixins Archive:
Sandwich Fixins #8
Sandwich Fixins #7
Sandwich Fixins #6

Copyright Magick Sandwich

More Great Gifts for Everyone on Your List!

It’s that time of year again. Are you wondering what to get for your loved ones to show you really care? Avoid the Walmart scrum and spread Christmas cheer this season with Magick Sandwich’s sure-to-please holiday gift list!

First, for the friend whose dog makes sweet love to your pant leg as soon as you step in the door, we recommend Hot Doll, the first sex toy for dogs. Its legs boast a “no slide” system and its cone is made from “the same materials used by veterinarians.”

Yes, the cone is exactly what you think it is and yes, it makes your vet sound kinky. It’s also washable, which will make picking up dog poop a joy by comparison. Stylish in black or white, this puppy will set you back 159 euros plus shipping. Did I mention it’s made in France? Of course, it is.

For the aunt who wears leggings because they’re “slimming” and who hasn’t seen south of her own border in umpteen pounds, we suggest the Cuchini Camel Toe Solution. It fits inside her drawers to shore up her sagging nethers. Her inseam will thank you.

If you’d like to see the before and after photos, you’ll have to visit the site. Showing a doggy
sex toy is one thing, but we have to draw the line somewhere. Standards must be maintained. A bacon merkin, on the other hand? Good clean fun.

Distract the coworker who gets preachy about your lunch with What Would Jesus Eat?: The Ultimate Program for Eating Well, Feeling Great and Living Longer. (Spoiler alert: He’s not a fan of processed white bread but He does recommend non-fat cream cheese.)

Along with its companion cookbook, no doubt straight from the savior’s test kitchen, it’s the perfect gift for the believer who wonders, “Are these fishes sourced locally?”

Finally, give that special someone languishing on an organ donor list the gift of a life-sized plush organ from the folks at iheartguts.com.

Some of the organs available are the testicle, ovary, gallbladder, lung, prostate, and spleen. Maybe while Uncle Roy clutches this adorable, festively colored plush liver, he’ll think about taking better care of his next one. If he gets one. If not, you can always re-gift it to one of the other hopeless drunks in your family. Do they sell in bulk?

Well, that’s all for now. Click here for more gift ideas. While you’re at it, see our advice on gifts for depressed and/or lonely friends, bacon lovers and drunkards. Remember: Don’t wait for their birthdays. They may be dead by then.™

More gift-giving know-how:
Great Holiday Gifts: Bacon Edition 
Great Gifts for Depressed Friends!
Great Gifts for Everyone on Your List!

Copyright Notice 2018 Magick Sandwich

Tales from Waiting Room Laughing at Cancer

Tales from the Waiting Room – Laughing at Cancer

Tales from Waiting Room Laughing at CancerFirst one mammogram, then another mammogram plus ultrasound, then biopsies. That’s how I spent the last two weeks of May. I got to know the radiology office better than I’d ever wanted to. On June 1st, I received my diagnosis of breast cancer. I needed an MRI to look for more tumors but couldn’t schedule it until my insurance company authorized it.

Once United Healthcare was sufficiently convinced that a malignancy justified further diagnostic testing, I had the MRI done on June 6th. Then I got a call that I needed a second MRI. The first had “lit up” as if there were multiple growths on both sides but they were pretty confident this was due to hormones, and the images would be “quieter” the following week. I hoped so since my mother had a bilateral mastectomy five years ago for multiple tumors.

On June 12th, I found myself once again in the same waiting room. As before it was nearly full of people, mostly women, in some stage of fear, worry or, worst of all, resignation. Some were drinking contrast dye from a cooler marked DO NOT DRINK. From their involuntary cries of disgust, I gleaned it might be the same barium I drank for a G.I. test 18 years ago. It tasted like moldy drywall. This begs the question: with all the advancements in technology, including the digitally assisted mammography that caught my cancer early, why can’t someone make a contrast solution that tastes better?

While I waited to have the test that would tell me if I had a little cancer or a lot, a news program playing on the wall-mounted TV caught my eye. Someone had shot a guy who was writing a book called Kindness in America. Was this a joke? The report continued: he was hitchhiking across the U.S. gathering stories for his memoir about the kindness of Americans when a drunk man in Montana rolled down the window of his truck and shot him. For no reason.

I cracked up. In my defense, the story also stated that the guy had only been hit in the arm and was okay.  I reasoned that getting shot would help him get a book deal. He’d need to find a way to turn it into a positive experience. He had certainly cheered me up in a rather grim setting.

Update: It turns out that the guy shot himself to get publicity. Perhaps he was affording emergency room staff the opportunity to display kindness by treating him?

Back on planet Waiting Room, I hear my name called. The nurse recognizes me and helps me with the sticky safe lock in the changing room; the phlebotomist remembers which vein she stuck the needle in for the contrast-dye IV catheter (no taste, yay!); and the doctor remembers the classic rock radio station (104.3) I favor from last time.

I ask him if people freak out about MRIs because of the TV show House. He sighs. “All the time,” he says. He’d seen an episode once where green sparks were flying out and had to stop watching because it was so inaccurate. He says it’s too bad because he hears it’s a good show. I tell him the show’s over and people were always having seizures during MRIs, and someone vomited blood in almost every episode, so maybe he hasn’t missed much. He puts the headphones on me, and as the bed rolls me inside, the radio plays Pink Floyd’s Welcome to the Machine. Perfect.

Related posts:
I’m Radioactive – Laughing at Cancer
6 Things You Should Never Tell a Cancer Patient

Copyright Notice 2018 Magick Sandwich

Christmas Gifting 101: A Visual Aid

You’re in that mad, last-minute scramble to find a present for that special someone. When it comes to gift-giving, a scarf is always a safe choice, right? Not always. Behold:
In your frenzy to get out of the store, don’t forget to pay attention to what you’re buying. Unless she wants to look like her nipples sucked a lemon or saw their own shadow and retreated for six more weeks of winter, put this back on the clearance pile. If she’s into that sort of thing, go ahead and get it. I’m sure Freud would have an opinion on this. But he’s dead and anyway, sometimes a scarf is just a scarf.
Copyright Notice 2018 Magick Sandwich

Let’s All Shut Up About September 11th

I can’t wait for September 12th. Why? Not because I fear an attack on the 11th but because I just want everyone to shut up about it.

There’s something unseemly about the orgy of coverage surrounding the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attack. On one level, we deal with the chilling knowledge that we are not safe. Maybe we know somebody who died. Maybe we know somebody who got lucky. Maybe we know somebody who knows somebody. Or we got upset watching it on TV. We all own this experience, at least in our minds.

But before we play “where were you when _____,” let me just say that I am not up for that particular game. Yes, this is a defining moment in modern history, “our” Pearl Harbor, “our” JFK assassination. But it is also defined by this modern age of reality programming and 24-hour news cycles. We would never have seen Walter Cronkite chasing down everyone who had ever been to Dealey Plaza to get their input.

Disaster porn is profitable. Reporters in the field seem to get paid by the tear, as evidenced by a recent CNN interview with a woman whose house had been destroyed by a Texas wildfire.  She was understandably terse, distracted by the sight of her home’s charred remains. The reporter tried to draw her out by asking, “How does this make you feel?” The woman stared at the reporter for a long moment before replying, “I’ve lost everything!” The “what kind of a stupid question is that?” was implied. I assume the people who express that aloud get edited out.

There is also the phenomenon of what I would call Chicken Little Syndrome. CNN coverage of the East Coast earthquake took an absurd turn when the worst thing found was a crack in the Washington Monument. So they covered it for days. That, and some bricks that fell on a car in Virginia. By the time Hurricane Irene started to look like it was headed straight through Central Park, a lot of people thought it was just more hype and didn’t pay attention.

Now the dedication of the September 11 Memorial will be taking place and there’s a “credible threat” of a terrorist attack. Well, duh! Of course, they’d love to let us know we haven’t cut off the head of the snake. Speaking of bin Laden, wasn’t the jubilation a little distasteful, after the moral outrage at al-Qaeda celebrating when the planes hit? I am grateful he’s gone but it’s hard to claim the high ground when we’re jumping up and down about a person, even a villain, being killed.

Networks make money on this. Do we share responsibility for that? Why do we watch? Is there some perverse pleasure in the celebration–sorry, commemoration–of awful events? There are people who suffered and died that day. Most of us were not touched by this tragedy in a purely factual, physically actual way. Why must we lay claim? Have we become a nation of professional mourners? Why can’t we acknowledge this sad anniversary without total media sensory immersion?

It was nice back then when people rallied around the city, proclaiming “we are all New Yorkers.” But we’re not. Visited here once? Saw a movie with the Towers in it? Worried about Homeland Security threat levels in Gary, Indiana? Sorry, thanks for playing. New Yorkers, and I’m proud to be one, will do what they’ve always done. Get up, go to work–orange, yellow, puce alert–doesn’t matter. We remember the fires, the smell, the subway walls covered with signs searching for loved ones that were surely dead. I spent hours thinking I’d lost my husband–he was supposed to be there–but he ran late. We were lucky on a day so many people weren’t.

No offense, but I don’t need anyone to remind me of this. I certainly don’t need Wolf Blitzer “catastrobating,” a term my brother-in-law coined that perfectly captures the breathless reportage that will hopefully climax and enjoy a cigarette on the 12th. That will be the day I can watch the news again, the day I’ll stop getting email ads for The New Yorker’s 9/11 e-book and the day the History Channel will return to its regularly scheduled Hitler-related programming. That sounds like a good day to me.

Copyright Notice 2018 Magick Sandwich

Don’t Cry for Anthony Weiner

Anthony Weiner wipes away tear

Anthony Weiner is finally going to resign. I think he should have done it much sooner. That he didn’t is an indication of his arrogance; to believe he could stay in office was as delusional as the idea he could take and send photos of his shaved genitalia and never get caught.

There’s already a wave of protest online. He didn’t break any laws. Republicans David Vitter, Mark Sanford, and Larry Craig did not resign over infidelity, soliciting prostitutes and lying about it. This is true, with an important exception. Use of government computers and smartphones to send photos and messages would be actionable.

I’m not convinced that a person who used Facebook and Twitter so inappropriately would be able to control the urge–to draw the line–at the office. I think Mr. Weiner may have known that was going to be exposed in the internal investigation.

Did anyone believe him when he denied sending the first crotch photo but said he could not say with certitude whether said crotch was his? That’s parsing the truth on a Clintonian level.

I just want to pause for a moment to address Ginger Lee, the porn actress who exchanged hundreds of emails with Congressman Weiner.

Gloria Allred Ginger Lee Anthony Weiner

Ms. Lee, he asked you to lie about your communications, offered to get you PR help and sent you a statement to give to the press saying he’d sent you only one short message thanking you for your support.

So you held a press conference with Gloria Effing Allred and announced that he always steered your conversations toward sex. Ms. Lee? You’re a porn star! What else would he talk to you about? Spinoza?

Geez, what a messed up world we live in. Sometimes it seems more suited to a Monty Python skit than to objective reality. It would be funny if it weren’t news. In our post-ironic you betcha society, humor, and self-awareness cede more ground every day to empty heads and earnest ignorance.

In the midst of this, a well-endowed Jewish legislator got caught waving his wiener. At a press conference this afternoon, he will wave the white flag. Hopefully, he’ll keep his pants on this time.

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2:25 pm Update:

He just resigned and I have to say that I feel terrible for him. The heckling was obscene. Whatever I feel about this man’s failings, he didn’t deserve that indignity. (Yes, I know how ironic that sounds.) He bore up surprisingly well in the face of inexcusable behavior by many of those in the room. There could have been no more cruel blow to his ego. I’m glad his wife wasn’t there. I hate to think what questions would have been hurled at her. I’m sure there will be much speculation about her absence. I hope they have a supportive group around them. Certainly, none of them were in evidence in that room today.

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June 17, 2018 Update:

>Who knew at the time it could get so, so much worse? Apparently, abject humiliation was an aphrodisiac for Weiner. He got off on the Danger, so to speak. On September 10, 2013, he lost the Democratic primary after receiving less than 5 percent of the vote.

On July 31, 2015, Weiner sexted a photo of his erection, mercifully clothed, with his three-year-old son in bed next to him. It surfaced in the New York Post on August 29, 2016. Hours later, his wife announced she was leaving him. Today, Weiner’s son spent Father’s Day visiting his dad in federal prison, where he’s serving a 21-month term for “sexting” a minor.

This dumb prick and his proud owner have wreaked havoc on a global scale. Huma Abedin worked on Hillary Clinton’s 2016 presidential campaign. Weiner’s use of her work computer to send pics of himself in flagrante de-dick-to enabled the FBI to reopen its fruitless investigation into Clinton’s alleged email server abuse just days before the election and helped Donald J. Trump become president.

Putin, send your thank-you card to: Inmate #79112-054, c/o FMC Devens, Federal Medical Center, PO Box 879, Ayer, MA 01432.

More Weiner:
Weiner Watch 2011
Weiner Watch 2018: Your Dad’s Not So Bad
Anthony Weiner Waves His Wiener Once More
Copyright Notice 2018 Magick Sandwich

Weiner Watch 2011

Anthony Weiner

What’s that in your eye?

As of this writing, Congressman Anthony Weiner has refused to resign over sending photographs of his suspicious package to young girls across this great nation of ours. Predictions as to when he will cave under pressure continue apace. I think it will happen Friday at the latest, sooner if Nancy Pelosi gets her hands on him. But I’m no Jimmy the Greek–for all I know, it’s happening right now. It’s anybody’s guess.

The only certainty is that he will resign, despite his vows to the contrary. Weiner is discovering there is scant support for a crusading lone wolf type, especially when the improprieties revealed are so mind-numbingly stupid. I hope Eliot Spitzer has called to let him know that resignation is the first step toward image rehabilitation. I’m getting tired of watching him twist in the wind.

Anthony Weiner's wiener

The junk shot seen ’round the world.

The blogger who broke this story claims to have a more salacious photograph he is holding as insurance against retaliation from the Democrats. I submit that Weiner has more to fear from the Party than the blogger does. Any number of politicians–on either side of the aisle–could tell him damage done to the Party is not soon forgiven. This begs the question: what the hell is wrong with these people? Men, to be specific. Is there some sort of testosterone poisoning that causes them to secretly father children, to hire an escort from an online site or attempt to pick up a man in an airport bathroom, all while trumpeting “family values”?

And now a man named Weiner pitches a pup tent in his shorts, documents it, then shares it with young girls, thereby exciting himself all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Were he not a public servant, one might admire Weiner’s use of Facebook and Twitter to perfect his own perpetual erection machine. Then again, judicious use of pornography in the privacy of his own home might have achieved the same goal. And he’d still have a career. Facebook and Twitter are public and people share things. Who knew? Apparently not Congressman Weiner.

Anthony Weiner takes his place in a long line of idiots seemingly ruled by their dicks. Conservatives are taking this opportunity to call for the Democratic Party to return donations. Let’s get real here, guys. If the Republicans gave back donations after every sex scandal, they wouldn’t have the proverbial pot to piss in. They’re going to need it when they’re calling the kettle black.

Updates from Weiner World:
Don’t Cry for Anthony Weiner
Anthony Weiner Waves His Wiener Once More
Weiner Watch 2018: Your Dad’s Not So Bad

Copyright Notice 2018 Magick Sandwich