Good for what ails ya in north east Asia

I grow ever- slacker at this blogging lark. Soon I may have to go into a chrysalis and re-emerge with a new online presence (much like MAS did with his awesome literalist take on Handwashings).

Until then, fancy a brew?

Employees Must Wash Hands

Salmonella outbreak traced to Georgia peanut processing plant: process engineer Poop Fingers Magee placed on administrative leave, egg tartare taken off lunch room menu, management condemned for enhancing share holder value by replacing fresh peanuts with old ones from jar on Grandma's coffee table.

Film at 11.

Flame On

I don't patronize chain restaurants as a rule. Aside from any touchy feely reasons, I live on the end of a very long corporate supply chain and thus would rather give my $4 sandwich money to the local bloke who bought haddock caught by boats I can see from my office window rather than industrially produced and stored beef or chicken from thousands of miles distant (Yummmmmm! Fresh...not).

This doesn't mean I can't admire Burger King's absoulutely stellar advertising efforts of late (they even have Arby's trying to copy them: cf the creepy beef hat erection ad the sandwich chain is running). Case in point:

Burger King 'Flame' Cologne for Men

For many English men out there, smelling all beefy used to mean emulating this guy. No longer...

Stumped for Gifts? 09

After much hoo-haa and fannying about, I am proud to present this year's burnt offering on the altar of rubbish commerce:

Stumped for Gifts? 09
Traditionally, I have always started the Stumped for Gifts? guide with a present idea that is in tune with the religious underpinnings of Christmas. This year is no exception, and I am proud to suggest The Cockney Bible:


I sincerely hope it contains the phrase, "Judas, you effin slag".

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Political gifts are always good fun, especially those in dubious taste. Here's a classic rife with not so hidden symbolism:


The Maggie Thatcher nutcracker. As we are dealing in stereotypes, I await with trepidation the "Once you go Barak, you never go back" lemon zester.

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Stave of the realization that you will never marry and that other people think you smell of cat pee and tinned food by immersing yourself in the pet fantasy:


How Cunning is Your Cat? What a concept. According to the product information: A series of 9 tests to determine just how cunning your cat really is. Tests include: testing your moggy's curiosity, body image and intelligence. A free catnip mouse has been included to give Tibbs a bit of encouragement. Suitable for cats.

Of course, we know cats aren't cunning. They are instead the pure distillation of evil.

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Since childhood I've been a sucker for ads that start "Amaze your friends, shock your spouse, or co-workers...". That said, I'm not sure if slip on "Tattoo Sleeves" are for me:


Although the sellers raise a good point in this troubled economy: Now you can get "inked" by night and still keep your day job with our amazingly cool "tattoo sleeves".
Wondering how it works? Me neither, but just in case: the tattoo is printed directly on the stretchable fabric sleeves fabric which is a machine washable nylon. And now you know.

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I always like a gift that does what it says on the tin:



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And finally, if anyone wants to get a gift that will enable siblings to play board games against each other without cheating or fighting for the first time in their lifetimes (I know of which I type), might I suggest Choc-opoly?


As the makers say, In Chocolate-opoly players buy favorite chocolate properties, collect chunks of chocolate and trade them in for chocolate factories

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On a final holiday note, the season of goodwill to all even extends in one instance from me to Britain's vilest newspaper, The Daily Mail if only in this solitary instance. With clenched teeth, I present the Mail's (unintentionally?) hilarious account of a debacle at a Christmas-centric theme park:

Furious parents attack Santa and his elves as tempers fray at Winter 'blunderland' theme park
As tempers fray, it seems this little corner of Lapland, which opened on the Dorset-Hampshire border at the weekend, is going from mudbath to bloodbath. One security guard, who obligingly told visitors at the gate they were about to be 'ripped off', quit after being hit on the head by one who didn't appreciate the advice....

Happy holidays!

Weasel's Black Friday to follow soon

Be aware: the annual "Stumped for Gifts?" holiday gift guide will soon be making its appearance on these pages.

Begin the clipping of the coupons.

Stumped for Gifts? 2005

Stumped for Gifts? 2006

Stumped for Gifts? 2007

Overheard Joke...

Q: What is the difference between a pigeon and an investment banker?

A: A pigeon can still put a deposit on a Ferrari

Clown Club? Is that Microsoft's Version of Google Apps?

I have no particular animus against Microsoft, and found this ad (below) strangely calming and enjoyable. And yet, I haven't the first idea what the heck it has to do with software:



To me this ad reveals that John Hodgman's performances in the Mac commercials were apparently based on Bill Gates himself and not a generic pc bumbler, however. Nice research, John.

Mais oui, je suis Anglais. Porquoi?

British cuisine has made great strides over recent years. The rationing-blighted food memories that GIs brought home to the States in the forties might still dominate popular culture's references to Brit-grub, but as anyone who has eaten in Blighty recently can tell you most dishes are delicious (if a bit on the starchy, waterproofing side of the ledger).

So it is with a mixture of both trepidation and excitement that I offer up the bangers-and-mash cone. As described in the press release:

"It may look like a 99 Flake* from afar, but it’s just the latest sign of the British adapting eating habits due to increasingly cold summers. Aunt Bessie’s is breathing new life into the fortunes of the ice cream van by offering cones filled with creamy mashed potatoes and a banger (sausage) topped with gravy and a sprinkling of garden peas."

Yum.

(*A true delicacy).

Marketing Thought

In much the same vein as when retired senator Bob Dole endorsed Viagra, perhaps male urinary weak stream medication Flomax should ask retired NASCAR driver Dick Trickle to serve as pitchman.

The Business of Wisdom Weasel is Business

Tijuana: where Harlan Sanders found the inspiration for the Kentucky Fried Cocaine Mule
As regular visitors to these pages can testify, hardly a day goes by when I'm not trying to live the American Dream by hustlin' to make a dollah (or something along those lines). I've investigated numerous get rich quick schemes, tried out for Jeopardy, attempted to open a seasonal mall for the past three Christmases, and even offered to sell prints of a photo myself sporting a moustache sealed in ziploc bags- all to no avail. I am still perpetually short of the folding green and still have to resort to tricks like colouring my toes with magic marker to disguise the holes in my socks.

This Monday last I had an epiphany (which was a bit awkward, as the ecclesiastical calendar had moved on to Holy Week). Why was I busting my gizzards doing all the hard work myself when I could find some chumps (that would be you) to do the heavy lifting for me? I didn't need to work for a living, I needed to come up with ideas I could franchise!

So chumps, your time has come. Help ol' WW coin it well large by signing up today to bring one of the following exciting franchise opportunities to your community:

The Bunshole: Customers love approaching the little round window at this cinnamon bun-shaped drive-thru coffee 'n pastries joint, as the skidmarks in the parking lot demonstrate. Our franchisees ensure repeat custom by offering a cup of joe and a sticky one to go just like mother used to make back in ol' Liechtenstein (or country of patron's choice). As we always say at the Bunshole, its all gooey goodness in the end.

Big Papi's Schmears: Make your fortune servicing the ultimate niche market- baseball loving Jewish ladies in for their annual exam. Who wouldn't want a bagel before, after, or during having the groinal HVAC folks in? And to make things even better, David "Big Papi" Ortiz's beaming mug will be toasted on the outside of every delicious kosher bublik! Because as Ortiz says, Papi cares about good nutrition and Papi cares about healthy lady bits (points to sky, points to dugout, ducks down to get mobbed at home plate).

Popeye's Wiccan & Biscuits: Hubble, bubble, boiling, GRAVY! Yum.

Perv's: This is a true "fire and forget" franchise, and couples perfectly with the business profile of many north American strip- and mini-malls. Almost every town and community has a "Curves", the women-only no-pressure supportive gym. Perv's is the essence of simplicity. Where there is a Curves, there is usually either an empty Fashion Bug or Chinese buffet next door. Simply rent the empty storefront, slap some dark film on the windows, drill holes in the wall that abuts Curves, set lawn chairs in front of said holes, and watch as the dirty old men and their lovely filthy money roll in. You may want to wear gloves when cashing out.

Kentucky Fried Eggs: After signing up for a KFE franchise you won't care which came first- you'll be too busy counting your money! Eggs are cheaper than chickens and can be marketed either on their own merits or as "hen veal", exciting the traditional fast food customer and gourmet alike. And given that the word "egg" is four letters shorter than "chicken" your menus will be cheaper to produce too. Just buy a fyolator, a supply of our special blend of 11 herbs and spices (and occasionally bits of shell), dust the eggs, and cook 'em well! The only issue existing franchisees report is that their customers have difficulty getting past the gag factor involved in consuming the rapidly congealing contents of the "Family 105 piece egg bucket" but rest assured our marketing support professionals are working on it.

Remember these are limited opportunities- don't miss out on your chance to send Weasel's daughter to a good university!

Maybe the Name is Worse that the Side Effects...

a piece by Stephen Jon
A new pharmaceutical ad has hit the American airwaves, chums, this one for yet another compound designed to combat the excess of acidic bile that is a byproduct of our dyspeptic age.

Now that heart burn is a disease rather than a discomfort these products are to be expected. This one however has a most unfortunate name:

AcipHex

I'm sure it looked fine written down, but based on the way they pronounce it in the commercial I don't think I'll be rushing to guzzle handfuls of "ass effects" any time soon.

Their product sounds like either porn foley or a pair of lift-and-separate shorts for the terminally saggy. I'll have none of it.

He has the baseball autographs- now he wants Belichick's

NFL Commish Goodell to meet with Sen. Specter about Patriot's Spygate

What's the deal Arlen? Did Freddie Mitchell put you up to this?

Nothing good has come out of Pennsylvania since Richard Sassaman.

In Brief....

Hello!

Gosh, aren't we all busy? Why yes, yes we are. I of course am no exception to this general busy-ness trend and despite constant promises to myself and others that I will blog more and slump exhaustedly on the couch less, I am afraid I have being doing far too much of the latter. Must be the weather. And the 7 month old who is far too much fun to play with (see figure a).

Figure A- Weaselette in a sturdy bag. From the other blog.

Anyway, a few thoughts before I'm off away to the kitchen to desecrate some channa dhal with some fried prawns:

On their dashboard page, Blogger proudly says:

"We are excited to announce that Blogger is now available in three more languages: Arabic, Hebrew, and Persian!"
Right there, the key to peace in the middle east. With blogging now available in their native tongues, Israelis, Palestinians, Iranians, et al will no longer be able to see to squabble and fight as their heads will be up their own asses, like the rest of us bloggers. No katusha rockets today- all of Hamas are too busy flaming each other in the comments of a post about a random bit of gossip about Mahmoud al-Zahar's beard trimming technique. Genius.

I hope the writer's strike ends soon so that Rob Riggle can get back to work on The Daily Show and no longer has to make those unbelievably awful Budweiser commercials. I had no idea that quality copywriters had come out in sympathy with their WGA bretheren.

Finally, in their commercials, MacDonalds are now pulling a Campbells and are inserting basic unmutable facts as selling points. In the case of Micky D's, it seems that they are proud to serve "USDA inspected beef". Awesome! Their burgers are made from meat that's at least pet food grade! What they would like us to think of is "USDA Prime", but show me prime beef that you can sell a 1/4 pound of (with bun and extras) for 99c and I'll show you what you thought was rabbit was cat (a long story involving my grandmother, the butcher's shop, World War II, rationing, and the lesson to never buy game without its head on).

Tata,
Keep it special out there.
Weasel

Are Prescription Ads Bad Performance Art?

Yet another wonderfully vile advertisement for prescription medication is doing the rounds on American TV. It is standard in this field that the level of butterflies and flowers in the ad are in inverse proportion to the general squirm-inducing nature of the malady the drug is intended to treat. A classic of the genre, this one is for a prescription laxative.

Setting aside how horrendously egg-bound one must be to need a prescription strength laxative, what really grates are the contraindication warnings. Apparently, those afflicted with severe diarrhea should not take the prescription laxative. Presumably this is the scatalogical equivalent of matter and anti-matter. You have been warned. If you have the squirts, don't take the roto-rooter pill lest the universe implode or something.

What sort of maniac would do that? If you have the shits, is the first thought that crosses your mind really "Ooooh- a powerful laxative should help me feel better!"? Jesus.

Yuck. Sorry for sharing.

Now With Real Animal Meat!

Campbell's are running ads for their "chunky soup" line touting the presence of "farm grown vegetables" in their recipes.

As opposed to what?

If Quebec Leaves, Maybe We Can Join Canada

Proof that the NFL Network is involved in some sort of intricate kick-back scheme with New England's bar owners:

Fans’ no-win scenario: Many in N.E. may miss record game

Because Time Warner are cheap and because the NFL Network is greedy, most Mainers (and Vermonters, New Hampshirites, and even some Massholes) aren't going to be able to see the final regular season Pats game on proper TV. If the Pats beat the Dolphins tomorrow the game against the Giants on the 27th might result in the first undefeated team since Miami in 1972 (and the most victories in the regular season by any team, ever). It won't be on TV up here however because the NFL took the game for its own fledgling network, a network that cable companies don't want to pay over the odds for (and nobody seems to be clamoring to watch most of the time- not even for shows featuring Andy Reid's parenting advice or contraception tips from Tom Brady).

I don't give a crap about the cable politics, nor do I particularly care to see Rich Eisen's fat and unfunny head on my TV screen on a regular basis. Like many up here, I would like to have the option to see each of the very few NFL games played each year during their pathetically short season. This is like when those asses on the Weather Channel stand with their heads in front of Maine on the map while discussing a big storm; we can't get any respect up here from the less rugged bits of American broadcasting (bass fishing shows? Check. Stuff we actually want to watch? Nope).

We don't have much else to sustain us- it is cold, dark, everything is covered in dirty, old crusted snow, and it is only December. Show the damn game, assholes.

The Much Anticipated Holiday Gift Guide 2007

For the past two years it has been my distinct honour to offer up a humble selections of goodies that might appeal to readers in search of gift ideas for their loved ones. This year let us brook no exception, and plunge (collectively weeping) into:

Wisdom Weasel's Holiday Gift Guide, 2007.
Yeah, He hath spoken typed

I did make that bit above blink but it was really annoying. Lets get to the gifts!

If you have to tolerate a numismatist in your life why not annoy the hell out of them with fake coins? Specifically, fake state quarters. My personal pick is Texas:


Although New York flipping everyone off is pretty good too.

For those of you resigned to eating fish on Friday and taking contraceptive advice from an elderly German who believes wankentuggen to be a mortal sin, why not wow the ladies with the whiff of Pope? Not Alexander Pope, but rather Pope Pius IX's cologne.

You'll need the Swiss Guards to beat back the horde of mitre-hungry women.

Too phallocentric? Well, here's one for the ladies. Celebrate the fact that your leg hair is so long it's growing out on your moustache and a hairy mole just by your left ear with a Velvet Vulva purse. Not only does the bag have the power to render you unable to spell the word "magical", it also will separate the true new men from the boys at the local whole food co-op. If said fellow can look at your purse without blushing or grimacing he is truly worthy to worship at your musk temple. Buy yourself one today for winter solstice, because chances are if you are considering this purse your significant other is either made of plastic or is an utter wuss.

Now if that was all too much for the hairy knuckled bloke types out there, rinse your memory clean with these:

Shower Breasts: no better way to show you are single (and to stay that way).

Everyone has a drunk who is near death in their family. Instead of all those tiresome interventions and drying out clinics, why not bow to the inevitable and buy the old sot one of these:



Chances are you'll get it back in the will, given that old drunks are pretty sentimental, so think of it less as a gift and more as a deferred investment.

Love installation art? Love music? Hate Italians? Get one of these.

If you happen to be a Scottish born leader of a G-8 nation eager to win back the respect of your electorate while putting clear blue water between yourself and your predecessor, why not invest in a poisoned chalice? Give Basra back to the sectarianly divided Iraqis. You'll get less of these:


But those poor sods in Southern Iraq will get more of these:


But they are used to it, eh? And now that Belfast has gone quiet, we Brits need somewhere for urban warfare training. I mean, without a divided and violent city to wade into occasionally, how are we going to trumpet our peacekeeping expertise?

OK, finally (thank god, eh?): for the person who has everything, facial lunch meat!


Merry Christmas!

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And in return for all of this, if you want to get me a present, track down the region 1 DVD of this:

I Should Just Carry the Camera Everywhere

Sometimes one has no other option than to go to "The Worst Place in the World" (™ Country Mouse), especially at 8am on a public holiday when every right-minded local bourgeois shopkeeper is enjoying a bacon sandwich in his pajamas rather than opening his shop. Even at that relatively early hour, the aisles were full of waddling Wal-Martians (™ Country Mouse), shuffling and drooling like the unholy offspring of George Romero and Ronald McDonald.

While paying for my shopping in the "Express Lane" (so named it seemed because the employee manning the register had expressed her brain out her nose at some point in her distant adolecence rather than for any speedy checkout procedures) I happened to glance up at a large cardboard box next to the cigarettes on a rack behind her station. Written on it were the words:

"Expired Tobaccy"
Such is the influence of Wal Mart's Bentonville, Arkansas home office that it even extends to the English language, it seems. I wonder if in internal memos they refer to shoes as "daggun foot leathers"? Just a thought.

Leg Update

>
The story continues... This man is either a true Homo Americanus Rutilus Gutter or one of the most brilliant performance artists to emerge out of the Carolinas for a good long stretch.

And That's Supposed to Make Me Rush to The Store?

I know athletes make a lot of money from endorsements, but I still get unreasonably creeped out when I hear at the tart of every Red Sox radio broadcast:

"Just For Men- the hair color Tim Wakefield uses."

The only thing this tells me is that should I begin to go grey I can use the same shade as a be-goateed born-again knuckleballer. Not much of a recommendation.

Although in its defense, its not as creepy as Johnny Pesky's Enzyte endorsement.

Enzyte: for your Pesky pole.