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World Play-Doh Day

Happy World Play-Doh Day

Magick Sandwich Play-Doh DaySeptember 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?)

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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 PlayDoh 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!

Copyright Magick Sandwich

Magick Sandwich

Can’t Make this Stuff Up: Death Row Edition

A death row inmate in Texas wants to donate his body to an artist who will turn it into fish food. Then people will be able to feed him to goldfish in an aquarium set up in an art gallery.

Gene Hathorn killed his own family. Marco Evaristti, the artist, once hosted a dinner party and served meatballs in sauce he made from his own liposuctioned fat.

Is it wrong that I think these guys sound pretty interesting? In fact, I’m feeling so inspired, I’m going to invite my friends over right now. I’ve got some art in my toilet I want them to see.

Magick Sandwich

Where Were You?

Hello, world!

So everyone will know where I am during Michael Jackson’s memorial service, which I’m sure is very important to you all, I am blogging to you from my Blackberry while taking a dump…at Michael Jackson’s memorial service. Well, outside it. They’ve got golden Port-O-Sans out here. It’s pretty plush.

There is so much sadness here. I see it on the faces of parents who must now go back to playing the lottery. Some lobbed their young boys at the passing funeral cortege in a last desperate attempt at pimpdom. I see it also on the faces of the children, who will never know the joy of shaking hands with MJ’s mottled Mr. Happy.

Such a sad day.

Copyright Magick Sandwich

air sex palin magick sandwich

Air Sex World Championship Tonight

As if Air Guitar Nation weren’t cringe-inducing enough, there’s a new way for aficionados of fraud to strut their stuff: it’s called Air Sex.

Like all great pastimes, this originated in Japan. Its founder, seen here in this seminal footage, explains that it is a competition born of necessity. Apparently, Japanese guys are not having a lot of sex and need to practice. In the audience, the Japanese women in the audience appear unimpressed by their ersatz exertions.

The first Air Sex USA Championships took place last year and, as always, we Americans kicked it up a notch. First of all, we added women. Duh! There are several videos to choose from on YouTube documenting the event and I can’t recommend any of them, mainly because I can’t bear to watch them.

Except, that is, for one featuring a horny Sarah Palin taking office after McCain’s Viagra-induced frenzy kills him. (Could this be what Glenn Beck’s fever dreams look like?) The community theater on acid vibe only makes it more difficult to look away. Oh, and it’s acted out to the tune of “War Pigs.”

So if you haven’t barfed your kibble yet and have an interest in an evening of sexual karaoke, head to the Highline Ballroom in NYC tonight for the Air Sex World Championship. Real sex and orgasms are strictly prohibited, so you won’t need a raincoat. Cheer for Team USA and try not to be weirdly turned on: it will be hell on you to explain this to your therapist.
At the intersection of mime and lap dancing lies Air Sex!

Air Sex World Championship – Magick Sandwich takes a look at sexual karaoke and it isn’t pretty.

Scent of a Trekkie

Scent of a Yeoman

Scent of a TrekkieBe a Trekkie or just smell like one with this new cologne from Genki Wear. (Arguing that the correct term is Trekker does not make you cool.)

Other scents in the series include Tiberius to help one emulate the je ne sais quois of a certain starship captain who’s popular with all manner of space booty.

For the ladies, there is Pon Farr, named for the famed estrus cycle in which Vulcans must mate or die. So apply with caution before a night on the town. But remember, Pon Farr only happens every seven years. Be careful what you wish for. And be patient.

If your girlfriend gives you Red Shirt, she may be getting ready to push you out the airlock. Its tagline reads: Because tomorrow may never come. You may be an extra in your own life. Know this, you will not become a series regular.

Whichever scent you choose, snap it up in a hurry. You haven’t much time to douse yourself, covering the musty scent of your parents’ basement, and get to the nearest theater.