Make sure your volume is up! 🙂
Okay, so those of you who know me know that as far a I’m concerned, women never have to “use the bathroom” for anything besides powdering their noses.
I don’t like bathroom talk.
If I could, I’d pretend bathrooms don’t exist.
I don’t wanna know what goes on it one, why I shouldn’t “go in there for 20 minutes” or anything else related to bathroom things. It’s just gross.
You guys have heard me before say that my idea of heaven is that when I die God will let me play with a truckload of non-pooping otters. It’s not heaven if they poop on you.
So, needless to say when I saw the latest Cottonelle ad I almost threw up in my mouth, out of my mouth, on to the cats and all over the floor.
Seriously, don’t we all know the purpose of toilet paper?
Do we really need a commercial where a girl in white pants, who has clearly snorted too much blow, asks a man if he thinks this new TP is so good that he can go commando? (Cause there are just so many new fangled things one can do to TP to make it tons better—ugh, idiots.) And I love that they picked someone with a delightfully cheery British accent…does that somehow make it more proper to discuss your bowels and what they do?? Good Lord…
Anyway, apparently, rippled TP is the first and only difference between having a poopy butt and not having one. Does this mean we’ve all walked around nasty our entire lives until this particular TP? Yay! Saved by new TP! Now I can have a friend or two because I’m not basking in my own glorious filth all day, every day.
While I am loathe to give this gross and disgusting company any publicity, click on Miss Poo’s jolly face to watch the revolting video where, when you get down to it, she’s asking strangers, “Can you wipe your ass well enough to not get filth all over the inside of your pants?” I mean, c’mon people? Really? Is NOTHING SACRED ANYMORE!!!???? Must we talk about mookie stinks making a permanent home on your panties in such graphic and disgusting detail on television???
So, here’s what I vote for.
Below is the kind of TP ad I wanna see (though I’d rather see none at all!).
The TV screen would be all white with a still shot of a roll of pristine TP (and maybe an otter or two) and it would have a voiceover that read:
This TP is not made of razor blades.
This TP will not cause you to bleed, get herpes or go insane.
Use it like you’ve been using TP for decades and it’ll do about the same thing that all others do.
Oh, it’s a little softer, if you like that kind of thing.
Now, go back to your happy life and forget I’ve just spent 15 seconds talking about your ass and its relationship with TP.
Thank you and good night.
That’s all I need to know, dammit!
I need nothing more than that and I’m good.
So can we please just say no to these kinds of ads?
Plus, I’m a Charmin girl anyway.
I had an 11th grade student of mine 100 years ago when I taught high school write a poem about me and my butt being squeezable like Charmin*. Lordy, those kids were wonderfully inappropriate. Anyway, I’ve been a Charmin girl ever since cause it still makes me giggle.
Okay, no more butt talk. I’m out.
*Click here to hear Mr. Whipple yet at women for squeezing the Charmin. 😉
I’m telling you, if I’d worked as hard in high school as I do now on Angry Birds, I’d have been able to skip college entirely.
They say the first step towards solving a problem is admitting there is one. Well, here I go. I’m an Angry Birds junkie. Full on, tap the vein junkie. When Angry Birds first came out a few people showed it to me and it looked so boring that I had no interest whatsoever. Then one day, while fucking off and wasting time with my Minion (my awesome employee at my last job), I played it for a few minutes on his phone. After what felt like 5 minutes, but was more like 19 hours, he was finally able to wrench his phone out of my fearsome clutches. Each time, prior to his phone’s eventual release, when he’d edge closer to my drooling, glassy-eyed self, I’d growl through gritted teeth, “I’ll give it back you when you take it from my cold, dead hands.” Charlton Heston and I make quite the formidable pair. 🙂 He wisely backed away until he had no choice but to risk life and limb in order to retrieve his phone. I only stabbed him once, so I think he fared pretty well.
Since then, I’ve played and played and played until my fingers hurt, my eyes crossed and my patience sapped. Those sonofabitching pigs!!! Why are they such nasty little bastards? Why, when lazily relaxing in a block of wood, can’t they just DIE when they tip over? WHY? Is God punishing me??? 😉
Here are my thoughts on each evil, time-sucking, life-draining version:
My hubby and I will sit outside in the backyard, playing one version or another on our phones (which is MUCH harder than playing on a computer) and all anyone who might overhear us would hear would be, (stop reading if you don’t like cuss words!) “Damn son of a bitch fucker! I’m going to fly to Rovio and kill all those whores for ever writing this program! I hope they all die in a shitstorm of, well, shit. Why didn’t their mothers drown them in the tub when they were infants??? DAMN THESE PEOPLE!! ARRRRRRRGH!!!!” Then, when I’ve gotten 3 stars on everything there is to get 3 stars on I say, “DAMN those people at Rovio! Why can’t they churn this stuff out faster? I don’t have any episodes left. What am I supposed to do now? Do you know when the next release is? I need to look it up to see if I can find out. Yeah, there has to be one soon.” All of this is said with imploring eyes and a little spittle caught in the corner of my mouth (icky!).
I’m quite sure that depiction rivals any other kind of junkie. Angry Birds is my smack. There is no doubt about it. I have it on my Kindle Fire, my Nook, my phone, through Facebook. And when my last phone was dying a horrible death I refused to get a new one until I could find a way to back up my Angry Birds games so that I didn’t have to restart them from the beginning. I’m quite sure doing so would have landed me in the looney bin.
After all this confessing and cussing, I think I feel the need to go play some Space to see if I can beat my own high scores. Those pokey puppies at Rovio are taking their SWEET ASS TIME releasing any new levels, so a girl has to do what she has to do–revisit what I’ve already conquered. It’s like when a single girl wants nookie but doesn’t want to add any “numbers” to her growing list of partners. She can just go back to where she’s been before, have some fun, but keep the same count. (Ladies, you know what I’m talking about here!) I’m going to go do the same thing with Angry Birds, though it is slightly less satisfying I must admit.;)