Memorial Day and Overstated Valor.

This past weekend I hope everybody enjoyed Memorial Day. A day set aside to give honor to the brave men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice. As a veteran, I am glad I didn't have to pay that price.
   It also a good time to call attention to the terrible people who pretend to be veterans in some sick attempt to get attention. It is called Stolen Valor, and there are several organizations out there dedicated to exposing these wackos.
   But the VA has come up with a new designation, and I think they have overstepped their bounds. Recently the VA called and told me that I was guilty of Overstated Valor, and that I was no longer allowed to call myself a Decorated Combat Marine Veteran. I explained that I was in fact a Marine who had awarded citations and been in combat. They told me, and I quote, "barely."
    When I asked what that meant, they told me that I wasn't a very good Marine, that the war I was in only lasted for four days, and that furthermore, most of my ribbons were unit accommodations that I hadn't really done anything to earn. I told them that I thought they were being a little picky, and that I had bravely faced combat. They said that was called being young and dumb, with an emphasis on the dumb.
   Eventually their labyrinthine arguments and their threats to expose my browser results (like I'm the only person in the world who Googles "I love to punch kittens") forced me to give up the fight. But as a compromise they have generously sent me a replacement ribbon.

I wonder when Participant Day will be?

Things I Learned This Christmas.

Christmas is a time of giving and of sharing. And if you don't do it right, it's a time of yelling, and tears, and thrown cutlery. In an effort to help educate my gentle readers, I'll share with you some of the things I learned this Christmas. I'm the ghost of Christmas Oops.

If your wife gives you a coupon book of romantic things the two of you can do in the bedroom, you shouldn't regift that in the company gift exchange.

If the office Christmas party's dress code is business casual, they don't mean work from home business casual. They expect you to wear pants.

At ugly sweater parties, things are a slightly more casual, and the whole wear your pants thing is a little less strictly enforced. Just kidding, you totally still have to wear pants.

If you give somebody a gift of alcohol, you are expected to give them all of it. Apparently three beers of a six pack, or half a bottle of Champagne, or the worm at the bottom of a bottle of Tequila is not considered a quality gift.

Even the most died in the wool Republican will get their panties in a wad, if you try to employ trickle down economics with the money they gave you to spend on presents for the children.

Children are naturally excited and rambunctious during the lead-up to Christmas. You should deal with them with patience and kindness, and not by spiking their yuletide treats with Nyquil and Xanax.

A traditional Christmas meal can bring your family closer and be a special time for all. A bottle of ham flavored vodka and some candy canes is not technically considered a meal.

You should be gentle when explaining to your children that Santa doesn't exist. And not throw a road kill badger and a Santa suit into a wood chipper, and tell them that Santa owed money to the wrong people.

No matter how you try to explain it, getting wasted while singing Karaoke at the local dive bar is not considered caroling with the church choir.

I learned many other things this Christmas, but I'm dictating this, and my one phone call from jail is about to run out. Merry -click-.

Another on the list of things that might have been funny a month ago. 

I Can't Believe How Stupid My Smartphone Is.

Hey. Is the boss there?

Oh my God, where are you? Where have you been? Are you alright? Man the boss is going to kill you. She called in the cops and the FBI. Were you kidnapped? Did you go on the lamb after robbing a bank?
What? No. I just went to my scheduled 2PM appointment. Look, is the boss there?
What? You haven't been seen or heard from in days. How can you be at your appointment? Ooh, did you get abducted by aliens?
Yeah right, aliens are illegal. I heard that on the internet. What do you think I am, some kind of moran?
Well...
I'm not! Can I talk to the boss or not?
Not right now. She's on her way to meet with her lawyer and insurance agent. Why don't you tell me what happened.
It's this stupid smartphone you guys gave me.
The stupid smartphone we gave you made you disappear for three days? What, did you discover Candy Crush?
No. I just typed in the address for my next appointment, and then followed the directions.
It was fifteen minutes from your previous appointment. Did you walk? No, even that wouldn't take three days. Did you pull the van? Did you dismantle the van, carry the pieces over and reassemble it?
NO! I just drove.
For three days?
Yes.

We've been calling you nonstop.
I can't talk on my phone while I'm driving. It's against the law.
Ugh. You couldn't have been driving the whole time, didn't you ever stop?
Yes, I stopped at five every day. I was told; no overtime.
Why didn't you answer your phone then? We called you a hundreds of times.
Hey, after five, it's me time. I don't answer the work phone when I'm off. I leave my work at work.
You are so stupid. So where are you?
At the address! And now nobody is here. And it's snowing and I'm cold.
It's snowing?!
Yes.
Are you sure that it's not just sand, and maybe you're just drunk again?
No. I know the difference. If you get sand in your underwear it itches, if you get snow in there, it makes your junk all cold and then melts and people think you wet yourself.
Why would you put snow down your pants?
D'uh! To see if it was itchy. It's not. On an unrelated note, my man parts are tingly.
Oh my gaw, too much info. You are stupid and strange man.
Abe thinks I'm plenty smart.
Abe is your lucky penny. He doesn't think anything.
He told me you were going to say that. You're just jealous.
Of what?
His shiny beard. 
Well, I have news for Abe and you. You are not a smart man. You are an idiot. Smart men don't get lost for three days when they're only supposed to be going across town.
I just did what the dummy-phone told me to do.
The smartphone told you to drive to where it was snowing?
No. Yes. I typed in the address. 1321 Elm Street, Avila Beach, California., and here I am.
It was probably just an algorithm. It couldn't find the address you were looking for because you typed in something wrong, or whatever, so it found the closest matching address through some complex algorithm. It happened to me one time, it gave me the directions to get to the McDonalds in London, England, but I had the good sense to ignore the map.
Algorithm? How does a map use rhythm to tell you where to go? I didn't even have the radio on. That's stupid. 
No. You're stupid. I take that back, you're looking up at stupid. You're in the basement of stupid. You are sub-stupid.
No, I'm not. I just might be a little lost. Go outside, and see if you can see me. I'm right under the sun. 
We're all under the sun. You're not near here, it doesn't snow here! EVER!
Well, I don't know what to tell you. I'm here and I'm freezing. Nobody is home, and I don't know what to do.
Look down at your phone. Where are you? What does it say on the address thingy?
I told you, 1321 Elm Street... Detroit, MI.
You're in Michigan?
Is Detroit in Michigan? 
Yes.
Then I guess so. Is that near where I'm supposed to be?
Close. You're only 2500 miles off. Give or take. Didn't you realize something was wrong when you had been driving for three days to something that was around the corner?
I thought maybe it was a shortcut.
I'm not entirely sure you know what a shortcut is. Never mind. Now we need to figure out how to get you home.  There's no way we can trust you to get back yourself. Maybe somebody can get you pointed back West. Can you ask somebody for directions or have them program our address in the map app on your smart phone?
No. I don't see anybody. Oh look, there's a guy. Hold on, I'll ask him. Hey mister. Are you done playing hockey? Strange, I don't even see a hockey rink around here. Anyways, can you help me with my phone? Just type in the the address for me. Oh I'm sorry. I didn't notice that you had a giant hook where your hand should be. Probably shouldn't play hockey with that thing, you could hurt somebody. It sure looks sharp. Oh I get it, you're not playing hockey, you must have been ice fishing and you were using that chainsaw to cut holes in the ice. Boy that chainsaw sure has seen it's better days, huh? Is that rust? What kind of lube are you using? It's all clotty and brown and icky. You should probably take that into the shop. You want me to come closer and see for myself? OK office, I got to go, this nice gentleman's going to show me how his chainsaw works, but then I'm sure he'll help me out.
-click- 
Man, we lose more plumbers that way.

Swing A Dead Cat.

Well you can, but they don't like it. 

In all fairness, there are tons of ridiculously good looking men here as well.

The Great Thing About Facebook.

My whole life I have been, what you might call, socially awkward. Or more accurately, socially inept. Although, people rarely use those phrases. Dork, nerd, spaz, weirdo, and freak, were more common. I just have a hard time fitting in. I am aware of my failings, but am powerless to change.
   The thing is, I can almost appear normal in a one on one conversation. I don't look at your face while we talk, and I often talk about myself, or my own interests more than I should, but still, almost normal. But the more people you add to a conversation, the odder I come off. I don't know when to jump into the flow of a conversation, so I will stay uncomfortably silent for long periods of time and then blurt out meaningless factoids or unrelated opinions.
   And then came Facebook, Twitter, Google+, and the like. And my life totally changed. Now instead of only the people in my direct vicinity being aware that I am incapable of human interaction, I broadcast it to the whole world.

Sorry world. I'm not trying to be a douche. 

California Beer T-Shirt Design

That's How They Do It In The Movies.

Come in. Please sit down. No. On a chair.
Sorry, I get nervous.
People sit on chairs, not on the floor.
I know, it's just that you look mad. And I get nervous. I think I pee'd a little.
Gross! I am a little mad. Do you know why?
Spam?
What?!
Your inbox is full of spam every morning and you just can't take it anymore. That's why you are mad.
No, it's you.
I don't have a problem with spam, I have a pretty good internet filter, and I...
SHUT UP! You're my problem.
Oh no ma'am, I'm not sending you any spam, I promise.
Screw spam. I'm not thinking about spam, I'm not worried about spam, I'm not mad about spam. I'm upset with you. As an employee.
Oh.
How long have you worked here?
Uh, two months.
Do you know why I hired you?
Because I am qualified. In fact I'm over qualified.
Hmm, no. You admitted in your interview that you're afraid of water and once accidentally set yourself on fire. Terrible traits in a plumber.
My sparkling personality.
You sparkle like a turd, and you have the personality of a used teabag.
My intelligence?
You couldn't get out of the office the first day. You were trying to push on a pull door.
That happens to everybody.
Yes, but most people figure it out after several seconds. Most people don't call 911 and claim they are being held against their will.
That was embarrassing.
For both of us. You're obviously not going to guess, so I'll tell you why you I hired you. Because you begged, and begged, and pleaded, and groveled, and and you had tears rolling down your face and you were all red and blotchy and you had giant snot bubbles coming out of your nose...
In the manliest way possible.
What?!
I was groveling in the manliest way possible.
I've seen manlier kindergarten girls having a tea party. Seriously.
Some of those kids are pretty tough.
...with snot bubbles coming out of your nose, like a little baby, you got down on your knees and pleaded and said you would be a good worker and that you needed a job because you needed money for beer and that you were afraid of being homeless and on the streets because you are not a strong man and that your were afraid the other transients were going to make you their hobo wife. And I hired you because I figured anybody this desperate would be concerned with doing a good job.
I am concerned with doing a good job.
You have a funny way of showing it.
In all fairness, there wasn't really much real work to do today. It was mostly busy work. 
I understand. Every business has days like that. So what did we ask you to do?
Wash the company vehicles.
...And?
I washed the vehicles.
Is that what you call that little display?
What else would it be called? I washed the vehicles. Twice. I wasn't satisfied with how clean they came out the first time. I asked you if I could do it again. I thought you would admire the fact that I was a perfectionist.
I was impressed. And when you asked to get your car washing gear from home, during your lunch break, I agreed.
I'm more comfortable with the stuff I use to wash my own cars with.
That sounds reasonable.
So after lunch, I washed the vehicles again. They came out great! Have you seen them?
No, I haven't had a chance yet.
They're really clean.
I haven't had a chance to see them yet, because I've been on the phone with the cops, and the businesses next door, and the neighbors, and TV news crews, for the last several hours.
Do they want me to wash their cars as well?
NO! Well creepy old man Cronce did, but he's just a perv. No. They are upset about the show.
What show?
Whatever that was you were doing in the parking lot!
I was just washing cars. Is it against the law to wash cars?
It is the way you did it. Who taught you how to wash cars like that?
Every music video, TV show, and movie, for the last 30 years.
Oh my G... You are a very stupid man.
That's not what my horoscope says.
I guess that does explain why you were washing the cars while blaring Cherry Pie by Warrant and Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard. I'm still not entirely sure how you managed to move in slow motion, though.

That's just how it's done. If it's really important, play loud music and move in slow motion.
Those are just montages. Not instructional videos. Those are just images designed to make horny teenagers, hornier.
I don't know, I've watched a lot of TV and movies in my day. And I've never seen a car get washed by somebody that wasn't in a bikini.
Did it ever occur to you that, that isn't reality?
How could they show something that wasn't true? That's unpossible. 
I... You... ARGH!!! Your stupidity is so dense and so immense, that I frankly can't believe that you haven't triggered entropy, and sucked the entire universe into a black hole of your dumbness.
Huh?
Did you ever notice in the videos of the people washing the cars, that the people washing the cars in said bikinis, were in fact young, nubile, well endowed women, of the female persuasion, and not in fact bald middle aged men?
Really?
Yes. Really. Every single time. Not one middle aged guy. Not one.
Well, that's kinda sexist, don't you think? 
No it's socially accepted societal norms. Men don't wear bikinis. Women do.
So, only women can wash cars?
NO! Only women can wear bikinis!
I'm confused. Cars are getting washed, so somebody is wearing bikinis. 
GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!

I Fear I've Been Gone Too Long.

How to begin?
How about; sometimes fears are justified.
   My old house isn't selling, California is twice as expensive, I make less money than before, I'm living with in-laws, and I haven't written in four months. The jury is out on me turning into my father, and/or ruining my children. When I catch Ebola, I'll have completed the fear trifecta. (I know I listed more than three things, but octo-fecta isn't a thing. Stop being so literal.)
   I guess the only solution is to stay fantastically drunk. Although that might actually cause several of my other fears to manifest, I will be too bombed to care.

So here's to my fears, 

I'll drown 'em with beers. 

It's time to draw and write

and get on with life.

This is still not what I imagined as the personification of facing my fears, but it's closer than the last one.

I'm afraid you're stuck with me.

Terrifyingly Normal Fears.

When I was a child I was afraid of many things. I was afraid of the dark, horror movies and pretty girls. I was small and timid and life seemed so scary. I grew up and joined the Marine Corps, and I even went into combat. But for the most part I was just too stupid to feel fear. 

   Now I am a full grown man, and my fears multiply by the day. They run the gamut from the mundane to the bizarre: I fear that something awful will happen to my children. I fear that I will totally screw up my children. I fear that I won't be able to beat this stupid f*cking writers block, (did I ever even do creative stuff?) I fear that I will go crazy, but not the happy eccentric movie crazy, the eat somebody's face off crazy. I fear that one day my poor posture will reach a critical point and first my shoulders and then my spine will begin folding up on themselves, like a travel map, until I simply disappear, having halved myself out of existence. I fear that doesn't make sense. I fear that I will turn into my dead alcoholic father. And the current fear du jour is the fear of moving to California where I don't have a job and I might fail and we will lose all of out stuff and end up on the streets and we won't be able to sell our current house and I have a month and a half to get it on the market and... and... God, what I wouldn't give to be afraid of some plain ordinary C.H.U.D. right at the moment. 

Man, I Can Fight, Club.

I was in JC Penny's trying on Docker's. Some prissy model kept giving me the eye.
What?! 
He just stared at me silently. Disapprovingly. Haughtily.
Dude, if you don't stop staring at me, I am going to pop you right in your vacant, stupid, too good looking, face.
Unfazed, he continued to watch me.
If you're looking for a date, I don't swing that way.
Silent glare.
Am I not good enough to shop in your store, is that it?
Unbroken eye contact. This jerk is looking down on me.
OK. That's it pretty boy. You asked for it. 
I stalk over and square up on him. He continues to mad dog me. I reach back as far as I can, to deliver a haymaker. He's a brave one, I'll give him that, 'cause he doesn't even flinch as I hurl all my weight behind one heavy fist.
I catch him right in on a chiseled cheek bone with a rewarding THONK!
His head snaps to the side looking off in an impossible angle, but he doesn't even whimper.
You brave magnificent bastard.
The store manager shouts at me so I have to run out of the store, but my life's mission is now clear. These stoic denizens of the retail world, demand an underground fight club.

Alright, first rule of the fight club is nobody talks about the fight club. Got it? No talking. Ever.
What was that? Did you say something? No? Good. Let's get to it.
Alright, Nike and Adidas, I'll fight you both at the same time. Nobody else jump in, got it? Stay out of it Polo Golf. Yes, I see you Ms. Lululemon, I'll be fine. Maybe later we can go strike a pose, if you know what I mean.
HEY YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THOSE MANNEQUINS? I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME BACK IN HERE?!
Oh crap, the security guard. Damnit, Active Wear, you were supposed to warn us if you saw him. EVERYBODY RUN! What's wrong with you guys? RUN! 

Trip To Mars.

Congratulations are definitely in order for my latest accomplishment. I just received a letter from NASA informing me that I have been accepted for their upcoming mission to Mars. Apparently I will be on the maiden voyage that will seek to establish human life on another planet. I will travel seven months in a one man spacecraft and then land on Mars, in what I am told, is a revolutionary method that NASA scientists are almost positive will allow me to survive.

   Oddly enough, I don't really have any responsibilities once I get there, which is good because I don't really have any skills. I would've thought you would have to be an engineer or a scientist to be selected, but I guess not. I offered to take soil samples and perform experiments, but they told me not to touch anything. I'm just supposed to hang out. I guess they'll probably send me supplies or something.

   I'm told that I shouldn't expect immediate retrieval, or more accurately, don't count on ever leaving. The really weird thing is, I didn't even apply. When I questioned NASA about how my name got on the list, I was told that my wife, children, parents, boss, pastor, kindergarden teacher, cousins, grocery store clerks, former Marine Corps buddies, and… well basically everyone I've ever met, signed a petition to send me, on what kinda looks like a one way trip to Mars. It must be because I'm so awesome.

The Transformer Least Likely To Get A Movie.

Oh my God. We're being attacked by giant alien robots. What should I do?

Have no fear, human earthling, Señor Toast is here. A heroic Autobot.

WHA?! A robot? In my kitchen? 

Yes. It is me. A robot. And I am in you're kitchen.

What are you doing here?

I have come to fight evil. That's what Autobots do.

Great. But, where did you come from?

I was disguised in plain sight in the garage. That's what Autobots do.

There's only a bunch of boxes in the garage, but OK. Go do something heroic.

I will…

Well?

What do you think I should do?

Go out there and fight them with your lasers and blasters. 

Uhhh. I don't exactly have lasers or blasters. 

What?!

I never passed the lasers and blasters qualification course. 

OK… Well how about you transform into your alternate form.

Oh, that's a great idea. Thank you.

BEEP. SWISHK. SHHHOOP. CLICK. BIFFFFT. SSSIIIIIK.

There.

You're a toaster?! What good is that? What are you going to distract them with a full breakfast?
No.
Are you going to attempt to electrocute them?
No.
Are you some kind of death toaster?
No. 
So you're just a plain old ordinary toaster?
I wish.
But your box says you're a toaster.

The form you see, IS my alternate form. 

YOU'RE A BOX?!
Yes human.
Can I get inside to hide from the evil space robots?
No. There isn't any room.
So... you transform from a lame, useless robot into a plain ordinary cardboard box?
Yes. I must seem a technological wonder to your human brain.
My human brain thinks you suck.

Super Secret Undercover Disguise.

My wife works at an upscale health food/grocery store. Sometimes I go in just to say hi, but she is worried that she is going to get in trouble because I am always hanging out, and her bosses think she should be working instead of talking. She also she claims that her work is getting tired of a plumber roaming around the aisles. I guess I don't fit in with the upscale clientele that they are hoping to attract. But I want to see her, so super secret undercover disguises are my only option.
    I need to go as somebody that has money, because those are the kind of clients her store is looking for. Who has more money than an Oil Sheik?

    Oops. I was too conspicuous. In the absence of a single person of Arabic descent in my entire city, my disguise had the opposite effect and drew attention to me and embarrassed my wife to tears. Also my full beard and rather distinctive face were visible to all. Back to the drawing board. 

Apparently ninjas aren't as invisible as one would think. In the desert. In the middle of the day. And swords are somewhat frowned upon in polite society. My wife is threatening to leave me if I ever wear a disguise into her store again. What to do? I can't bear to lose her, but I can't stand to be apart for eight hours either. I know. When are you ever in less of a disguise than when in your birthday suit? But it is verboten to walk around the city naked. Easily solved; I'll just wear an overcoat until I get inside.

Afternoon Delight.

Sir, may I talk to you?
Absolutely. I always have time for Margie, my best waitress.
Actually, it's Hazel.
Sorry. Hansel.
HAZEL.
Hazel?
That's right. And I'm the manager.
Are you sure? I thought her name was some common eye color, like blue or green. Green. That sounds right.
No sir. It's Hazel. Me. I'm Hazel. I'm your manager. Hazel the Manager. That's me.
OK, if you insist… Well, Ms. Chartreuse, I'm glad we had this talk.
It's HAZEL DAMNIT!
I'm not sure I've ever heard that surname. Is it German?
No, you idiot. It's a curse.
I can imagine it is. If I were you I would change my name, to something less of a burden. Poor thing. Going through life with a name like Damnit, no wonder you're so grumpy.
I'm grumpy, because I work for you, and you are undoubtedly the stupidest person in the ENTIRE world.
Olive. I simply can't put up with this kind of insubordination. I'm going to have to fire you.
ARGH! You can't fire me, you moron.
I certainly can. I own this fine establishment.
You can't fire me, because... I'm your daughter.
Are you sure?
I am. Besides, nobody would claim to be related to you if they weren't.
Ah, good point... I think… Uhmm, Jade, what was your point?
I hate you.
Maybe we should try couples counseling.
We are not a couple. Again, I'm your daughter.
Oh right. Well, I'm glad we got this all cleared up. If there is nothing else, I have some important matters to get to.
We haven't resolved anything. And watching Spanish TV with the sound off doesn't qualify as important matters.
Nag, nag, nag. You sound just like your mother.
You've never been married. I'm adopted. Now don't talk. Just listen. It's about the new dessert, it's causing problems.
…
This is the part where you talk.
You said not to.
Oh for goodness sake, you're such an idiot. Never mind. The dessert. You need to fix it.
What's wrong with the dessert? Coffee ice cream and chocolate cake, covered in mocha syrup. A perfect dessert to pick you up in the middle of the day.
It's delicious, Dad.
That's not what you said a minute ago Gretel. Is the dessert OK or not? 
The dessert is fine. It's the name that's the problem.
The name?
You called it Afternoon Delight.
D'uh. I know what I called it. I was the one that called it that. Dessert after lunch, is an Afternoon Delight.
Great idea. Unfortunately our waitstaff is getting sexually harassed now. Five of them quit today.
Don't look at me. I only fist bump now, no more butt slaps or chest bumps.
No. The customers are harassing the workers.
I don't see how the dessert has anything to do with that.
Afternoon Delight is a euphemism for daytime sex.
Maybe to you space age, internet kids.
It came from from a song written in the 1970's.
Oh. How does it go?
SkYYYyyyy rockets in flight, afternoon delight, AAAaaafternoon delight.
I've heard that song. It's not about sex. It's about the space program.
No. No, it's not. It's definitely about sex.
OK, I'll take your word for it. But I can't change the name of the dessert, we just got 10,000 menus printed.
Then you have to at least change the sign out front. Otherwise we won't have any wait staff left.
I can see the sign from here. It looks fine to me.
You don't see a problem?
No.
No problem at all?
Looks great.
You don't think that a sign that reads ASK YOUR SERVER FOR AFTERNOON DELIGHT, EXPERIENCE A HAPPY ENDING, is going to be misinterpreted?
No. Dessert is the happy ending to any meal. What's wrong with that?

A-Z Wrap-Up Post.

You can use the official A-Z badge if you want. But mine is cooler. Go ahead, steal it, you know you want to. 

Zero Gravity Vacations.

Dear "Space Commander Flip,"

    I am writing to demand a full refund of my $1000. I recently watched the video of my Zero Gravity Vacation and it confirmed my suspicions that I had been duped. I knew the price was too good to be true, but the draw of space overcame my good sense.
   When I returned from my journey I was ecstatic, but as I came off of my euphoria I began to doubt my memories. Why you actually sent a video that exposes your fraud is beyond me. I now know without a shadow of a doubt that I did not in fact go to space, but that I was drugged and the subject of a crude charade.
   The Tang you served me when I arrived at your "camp," was undoubtedly laced with some form of hallucinogenic, most likely LSD, and the events that transpired thereafter were choreographed to deceive. Here are the major infractions, as I see them.
•  I now see that my spacesuit was in fact tinfoil, and the helmet was a regular cardboard box, with eye slits cut in it.
•  The space ship was a white Pontiac Montana with USA painted on the side. You simply drove me around your neighborhood, while listening to Space Oddity.
•  The "Hot Alien Babe" I was getting cozy with, was in fact some sketchy meth head painted green, with few teeth, wearing antennae, in a silver bathing suit. (I should've known this one was too good to be true.)
•  The space walk was a particularly egregious offense, you tied me to some weather balloons and launched me into the atmosphere. How is that safe?

   In conclusion, please return the full amount I paid for this bogus adventure, or I will be forced to turn you in. Also, do you know if the green woman is currently dating anyone right now? If she isn't, would you please give her my phone number?

Sincerely,

Lloyd Adamson

YAZOO®. The First Non-Pickpocketable Wallet In History.

When you travel the question is often; where do I store my valuables? My cash? My passport? My keys? And credit cards?
   Traditional wallets beg to be pickpocketed. Hotel safes are only as safe as the employees aren't corrupt, plus you don't have your valuables on your person. And worst of all there is the fanny pack, the dorky alternative that is sure to draw the derision of all the locals, marking you as a rube and a fool. What to do?
   Now with the YAZOO® patented wallet, you simply place your valuables inside of the handy dandy ergonomically designed YAZOO® Wallet, slide the wallet into the organic pocket mother nature provided for you, and the thieves will never stand a chance. You'll rest assured knowing you have your possessions in your possession, and that they are completely safe and as close as the next restroom.

X Marks The Spot Unisex Light Up Underwear Briefs.

Whisper-A-Gram.

The novelty message market is glutted; there is stripper-a-grams, and rap-a-grams, and dance-a-grams, and… uh, there's others. OK, maybe not glutted, but there's a lot. The one thing they all share is they are loud and annoying. But what the person you want to A-Gram works in a library or hates loud noises? That's where Flip's Whisper-A-Grams come in; simply give us your message and tell us who it goes to, and one of our rehabbed ex-cons will surprise your recipient with a unique and subduedly fun greeting.  

Vulture Protection.

Now before you get the wrong idea, I am not talking about saving endangered vultures, or birth control for vultures, or even human condoms from Vulture brands. No, I am talking about the scourge of the pet vulture world; dirty carrion covered vulture heads.
   Now nature has done it's best to try and alleviate this problem by providing the vulture with a bare head that the sun can bake dead flesh off of; but nature doesn't hold a candle to good old American latex rubbers. Simply place a Vulture Condom on your pet vulture before he goes off to feast on road kill. When he returns, simply pull off the bloody sheath, and you can can nuzzle your friend without tasting the decaying skunk he had for dinner.