© 2008 Stan Spire
Women are big suckers for cosmetic crap.
TeeVee is littered with ads and infomercials for various skin products that are supposed to erase any signs of aging for women getting long in the tooth. A spokeswoman – usually some over-the-hill actress – will go on about how her facial product will make any hag look like a teenager.
Of course, the spokeswoman does look young for her age. But with the same make-up and special lighting and camera filters and plastic surgery to boot, a trilobite would look sexier and younger.
If you pay attention, check out the spokeswoman’s saggy, wrinkly neck. No flaws with her face; they all moved down into her throat area. (Better stay out of the woods during turkey hunting season.)
Well, at least one spokeswoman is smart enough to cover up her gobbler skin with an array of sparkling jewelry hanging around her neck.
Men are big suckers for cosmetic crap.
Got some gray on top of your head? Cover it up with this product. No one will notice.
“Joe, you look different but I can’t figure it out. Did you lose some weight?”
Naw, Joe just flooded his scalp with black dye. Overnight his salt and pepper hair has disappeared. Now he looks like a middle-aged chump with shoe polish saturating his follicles.
When this gray-covering crap first appeared on the market, the manufacturer had to deal with the stigma of men using dye like age-worried women. There was something – well, unmanly about it. So the TeeVee ads would stress that product would be found at most drugstores in THE MENS SECTION. The announcer’s deep voice would reassure the male viewer that real men do use hair dye. After all, it was being sold in THE MENS SECTION. Why, you would go to that particular aisle and see beefy lumberjacks and pro football players buying the stuff.
In fact one recent commercial uses the he-man sports angle to hawk hair dye to men. Two guys carry on like sportscasters, following the “game” of a graybeard trying to score in a singles bar with a younger woman, a luscious blonde. But she’s turned off by the graybeard’s lack of completely dark hair.
So the scene is played again but this time, note the sportscasters, the graybeard is now a blackbeard (while remaining a bluebeard through it all.) The woman responds to his advance and blackbeard goes home with her. The two sportscasters follow the couple to an apartment house, standing outside with their mikes, proclaiming the man has “scored.” The commercial ends with the two sportscasters lurking outside the apartment window, two losers hanging around for the “color commentary.”
And married men are also targeted. There’s this “cute” TeeVee ad featuring two young girls bugging their father to hide any natural signs of aging. The girls want him to use a special product from THE MENS SECTION. They’re so happy when their father gives in. Even Mom is happy. Her female offspring pussywhipped her husband into doing some silly, proving what she has always suspected: Dad ain’t a real man.
Mom applies her age-defying facial lotion and touches up her hair dye. It’s time to trawl for a stud.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Batman, Shatman
© 2008 Stan Spire
The new Batman movie is greater than the return of Jesus! Everyone says so, ergo it must be true. Especially the TeeVee nooz and all those late night talk shows.
Heath Ledger. Why he deserves an Oscar award for his portrayal of the Joker. And don’t say anything bad about him. He died from an accidental overdose. Tragic. Ergo, his performance is critic-proof. Greater than Jesus dying on the cross.
So since everyone in the lamestream media says the new Batman movie – The Dork Knight Returns or whatever it’s called - is so fucking great, I won’t have to see it. It would be so great that I couldn’t handle it.
Too bad Jack Nicholson didn’t die when he portrayed the Joker in the previous series of Batman movies. He sucked as the Joker. Overrated ham. But I can say that because he didn’t die: he’s alive and not critic-proof.
Then there’s Marlon Brando who sucked even more in another superhero series, Superman, with Christopher Reeves in the title role. The magnificent Marlon portrayed Superman’s Kryptonian father, Jor-El, as a pretentious albino. Oops, Brando is dead. I’ll have to retract that criticism.
After I die no one can say anything bad about me. It’s not nice to speak ill of corpses.
The new Batman movie is greater than the return of Jesus! Everyone says so, ergo it must be true. Especially the TeeVee nooz and all those late night talk shows.
Heath Ledger. Why he deserves an Oscar award for his portrayal of the Joker. And don’t say anything bad about him. He died from an accidental overdose. Tragic. Ergo, his performance is critic-proof. Greater than Jesus dying on the cross.
So since everyone in the lamestream media says the new Batman movie – The Dork Knight Returns or whatever it’s called - is so fucking great, I won’t have to see it. It would be so great that I couldn’t handle it.
Too bad Jack Nicholson didn’t die when he portrayed the Joker in the previous series of Batman movies. He sucked as the Joker. Overrated ham. But I can say that because he didn’t die: he’s alive and not critic-proof.
Then there’s Marlon Brando who sucked even more in another superhero series, Superman, with Christopher Reeves in the title role. The magnificent Marlon portrayed Superman’s Kryptonian father, Jor-El, as a pretentious albino. Oops, Brando is dead. I’ll have to retract that criticism.
After I die no one can say anything bad about me. It’s not nice to speak ill of corpses.
The Next-To-Nothing Advantage
©2008 Stan Spire
Being down and almost out does have a couple of advantages.
Despite the economy going down the toilet thanks to our boob president, I don’t have to worry about losing my car or home.
But the main advantage is that I have time to read, research, and know a bit more about all the bullshit going on with the Elite who control this country.
The Elite wants the average Joe or Jane working long hours, fretting about paying bills, so that they’re too distracted to be aware of what is really going on. That’s how the Elite sold America on the War in Iraq. Most people were too busy to look behind the claims: weapons of mass destruction, Saddam was behind 9/11, all the lies. Joe and Jane were trying to get through another day. Sound bites are easy to digest. In-depth analysis takes time to chew on.
And when Joe and Jane America did have some free time, it was spent relaxing, catching a break from the daily grind. They didn’t have the energy to question the Big Lies from the White House. After all, George W must know what he’s doing: he was elected president.
The Elite don’t want anyone to have too much free time. After all, citizens might notice the smell of the stuff being shoveled down on them.
But the Elite are really screwing things up. With the economy sliding into a depression, people will be laid off, stuck at home, nowhere to go. And like me, they will have plenty of opportunity to think and challenge the BS.
Being down and almost out does have a couple of advantages.
Despite the economy going down the toilet thanks to our boob president, I don’t have to worry about losing my car or home.
But the main advantage is that I have time to read, research, and know a bit more about all the bullshit going on with the Elite who control this country.
The Elite wants the average Joe or Jane working long hours, fretting about paying bills, so that they’re too distracted to be aware of what is really going on. That’s how the Elite sold America on the War in Iraq. Most people were too busy to look behind the claims: weapons of mass destruction, Saddam was behind 9/11, all the lies. Joe and Jane were trying to get through another day. Sound bites are easy to digest. In-depth analysis takes time to chew on.
And when Joe and Jane America did have some free time, it was spent relaxing, catching a break from the daily grind. They didn’t have the energy to question the Big Lies from the White House. After all, George W must know what he’s doing: he was elected president.
The Elite don’t want anyone to have too much free time. After all, citizens might notice the smell of the stuff being shoveled down on them.
But the Elite are really screwing things up. With the economy sliding into a depression, people will be laid off, stuck at home, nowhere to go. And like me, they will have plenty of opportunity to think and challenge the BS.
The “Spendiferous” Adirondacks
© 2008 Stan Spire
Sometimes I get the rabbit ears angled just right so I receive decent signals from the few broadcast TeeVee stations in this neck of the woods. Unlike cable TeeVee with over 100 channels, my choices are limited to around five stations. And like cable Teevee, usually there’s crap on.
A while ago the local Public BS station was running a special documentary about the Adirondacks. Yup, top notch cinematography, splendiferous scenery. The vast expanses, the majestic mountains, the sparkling lakes and streams – they call this God’s Country. So much nature, unspoiled, to be enjoyed.
But you ain’t driving into the heart of the Adirondacks for a hike when you don’t have a car to get there. And thanks to the Commander in Chimp in the White House, even if you have a car, it takes a hefty bank loan to fill it up.
The lakes and streams are nice if you can have a sailboat or a canoe. I live near Lake Champlain and all I can do is walk along the lake, watching the rich bastards sail by in their expensive toys while I suck wind.
It’s irritating to hear someone tell me, “Don’t you enjoy the all that free natural beauty?” Sure, if I have the bucks to afford it.
Sometimes I get the rabbit ears angled just right so I receive decent signals from the few broadcast TeeVee stations in this neck of the woods. Unlike cable TeeVee with over 100 channels, my choices are limited to around five stations. And like cable Teevee, usually there’s crap on.
A while ago the local Public BS station was running a special documentary about the Adirondacks. Yup, top notch cinematography, splendiferous scenery. The vast expanses, the majestic mountains, the sparkling lakes and streams – they call this God’s Country. So much nature, unspoiled, to be enjoyed.
But you ain’t driving into the heart of the Adirondacks for a hike when you don’t have a car to get there. And thanks to the Commander in Chimp in the White House, even if you have a car, it takes a hefty bank loan to fill it up.
The lakes and streams are nice if you can have a sailboat or a canoe. I live near Lake Champlain and all I can do is walk along the lake, watching the rich bastards sail by in their expensive toys while I suck wind.
It’s irritating to hear someone tell me, “Don’t you enjoy the all that free natural beauty?” Sure, if I have the bucks to afford it.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Success Stories
© 2008 Stan Spire
Check my new email and there it is, waiting. Worse than any spam. A “friend” from my past is trying to contact me.
It’s happened a couple of times. A backstabber I knew in college. Then another asshat I tolerated in high school. Each acts like he’s my Best Buddy.
Each Best Buddy – high school and college - wants to know how I’m doing. True concern or is the competition continuing?
There’s always some competition between friends; it’s human nature. But I had realized with each Best Buddy that competition was a key part of the so-called friendship.
High School Best Buddy would practice, practice, practice his tennis game. Then he would invite me over for a “friendly” set. I wasn’t into winning a contest. I just wanted to enjoy a sport for its own sake, fun and exercise. I didn’t make jokes about his ability: I wasn’t into ball-busting. Without trying I ended up winning. High School Best Buddy got mad, throwing his racket off into the distance.
College Best Buddy was into a different kind of game playing. Mind games. He would make up stories about me to ruin my dates. He would poison the well by pissing in it. One time a date was nervous during the entire evening. She acted like I was a psychopath, waiting for the right opportunity to attack and kill her.
But that wasn’t College Best Buddy’s only dirty play. He told me that a girl I knew thought I was an asshole, even though she never made any such statement. He was a pathological lying prick, a manipulator jealous of everyone around him.
The email inquiries from the Best Buddies arrived at different times but both used the same approach. Each one wrote that he wasn’t sure that I was the same person he knew many years ago. A normal person would dash a quick email and just ask if I’m the same guy he “palled around” with in school without going into great details.
But each of these Best Buddy pissants had to tell me about his successful life. College BB noted that he was getting married while pursuing a great artistic career. High School BB mentioned that he was a family man, has three kids, a good job. All the details I avoid learning by not attending any school reunions.
So I didn’t reply. I’m not ashamed that, materially or socially speaking, I don’t have that much compared to either one. Psychologically, I’m way ahead.
I don’t talk with ghosts.
The past is dead.
Check my new email and there it is, waiting. Worse than any spam. A “friend” from my past is trying to contact me.
It’s happened a couple of times. A backstabber I knew in college. Then another asshat I tolerated in high school. Each acts like he’s my Best Buddy.
Each Best Buddy – high school and college - wants to know how I’m doing. True concern or is the competition continuing?
There’s always some competition between friends; it’s human nature. But I had realized with each Best Buddy that competition was a key part of the so-called friendship.
High School Best Buddy would practice, practice, practice his tennis game. Then he would invite me over for a “friendly” set. I wasn’t into winning a contest. I just wanted to enjoy a sport for its own sake, fun and exercise. I didn’t make jokes about his ability: I wasn’t into ball-busting. Without trying I ended up winning. High School Best Buddy got mad, throwing his racket off into the distance.
College Best Buddy was into a different kind of game playing. Mind games. He would make up stories about me to ruin my dates. He would poison the well by pissing in it. One time a date was nervous during the entire evening. She acted like I was a psychopath, waiting for the right opportunity to attack and kill her.
But that wasn’t College Best Buddy’s only dirty play. He told me that a girl I knew thought I was an asshole, even though she never made any such statement. He was a pathological lying prick, a manipulator jealous of everyone around him.
The email inquiries from the Best Buddies arrived at different times but both used the same approach. Each one wrote that he wasn’t sure that I was the same person he knew many years ago. A normal person would dash a quick email and just ask if I’m the same guy he “palled around” with in school without going into great details.
But each of these Best Buddy pissants had to tell me about his successful life. College BB noted that he was getting married while pursuing a great artistic career. High School BB mentioned that he was a family man, has three kids, a good job. All the details I avoid learning by not attending any school reunions.
So I didn’t reply. I’m not ashamed that, materially or socially speaking, I don’t have that much compared to either one. Psychologically, I’m way ahead.
I don’t talk with ghosts.
The past is dead.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Millionaire Newsreader Fakes Sympathy
© Copyright 2008 Stan Spire
Recently on the CBS Evening News anchordoll Katie Couric uttered something along this line:
You put a few food items on the conveyor belt at the supermarket and your eyes bug out when the total is run up on the checkout register.
As if Katie Couric shops at a common supermarket with the hoi polloi, trying to stretch her budget. It’s said she pulls in 15 million dollars a year for reading the news on TeeVee. It’s more likely that her eyes would bug out from too much Botox.
There’s an anecdote about a politician running for office who said he understood how hard it was for the average family to put food on the table. So a reporter asked him: What does a quart of milk cost? How much for a loaf of bread?
The politician had glib answers to all sorts of questions – except those two.
Hey, Katie -- What are you paying for milk and bread?
15 million dollars a year. Using my calculator from the dollar store, I estimate that what I’m living on is less than .06% of Katie’s modest income. Not 6%. Not .6%. Just .06%.
I love it when one of these wealthy TeeVee journalists go on about the poor, especially when they mention that a small percentage of Americans control over 90 percent of the wealth. These journalists pretend to care, going through the motions without complaining too loudly or forcefully. After all, their corporate masters wouldn’t be happy.
Another phony concern by overpaid TeeVee newsreaders is the high cost of medical insurance for the average American.
Gee, I hope Katie is covered. After all, those treatments to keep her looking young can’t be cheap (even though the results look that way).
Recently on the CBS Evening News anchordoll Katie Couric uttered something along this line:
You put a few food items on the conveyor belt at the supermarket and your eyes bug out when the total is run up on the checkout register.
As if Katie Couric shops at a common supermarket with the hoi polloi, trying to stretch her budget. It’s said she pulls in 15 million dollars a year for reading the news on TeeVee. It’s more likely that her eyes would bug out from too much Botox.
There’s an anecdote about a politician running for office who said he understood how hard it was for the average family to put food on the table. So a reporter asked him: What does a quart of milk cost? How much for a loaf of bread?
The politician had glib answers to all sorts of questions – except those two.
Hey, Katie -- What are you paying for milk and bread?
15 million dollars a year. Using my calculator from the dollar store, I estimate that what I’m living on is less than .06% of Katie’s modest income. Not 6%. Not .6%. Just .06%.
I love it when one of these wealthy TeeVee journalists go on about the poor, especially when they mention that a small percentage of Americans control over 90 percent of the wealth. These journalists pretend to care, going through the motions without complaining too loudly or forcefully. After all, their corporate masters wouldn’t be happy.
Another phony concern by overpaid TeeVee newsreaders is the high cost of medical insurance for the average American.
Gee, I hope Katie is covered. After all, those treatments to keep her looking young can’t be cheap (even though the results look that way).
May Day Is My Day
© Copyright 2008 Stan Spire
It’s appropriate that my birthday falls on the first day of May. Mayday is the international radio codeword used by planes and ships in distress to request help.
But lately I’m not crashing or sinking – thanks to self-help. I’m treading water while more people also fall in around me. High gas and food prices. The screwed up housing market. Jobs being lost. Welcome to the sea of piss.
Since I’m near bottom – no job, car, or home – I have nothing much to lose.
A birthday can be a time for reflection. Me, I’ve got jackshit to reflect on.
Of course, over the last 12 months, some things have irked me. One in particular was a newspaper profile of a woman discussing her professional and family life. Divorced, she was looking for a special man to date. Ironically, I asked her out on a date some time ago, but after accepting she suddenly decided to cancel. Apparently I’m not special enough.
But for someone like her, no man is. So I cross that annoyance off the list.
For some getting older means being less driven, not as critical, accepting things as they are. It’s called senility.
I accept nothing as it is. But I’ve learned what is worth pursuing and what isn’t worth a leak in the woods. The social scene around here is bleak. Tried a dating club one time. What a joke. A few of the women I met should’ve skipped the dating club and went straight to group therapy. Talk about unreality and unattraction. The best way for a guy to approach dating in this neck of the woods is to combine LSD with Viagra.
It’s appropriate that my birthday falls on the first day of May. Mayday is the international radio codeword used by planes and ships in distress to request help.
But lately I’m not crashing or sinking – thanks to self-help. I’m treading water while more people also fall in around me. High gas and food prices. The screwed up housing market. Jobs being lost. Welcome to the sea of piss.
Since I’m near bottom – no job, car, or home – I have nothing much to lose.
A birthday can be a time for reflection. Me, I’ve got jackshit to reflect on.
Of course, over the last 12 months, some things have irked me. One in particular was a newspaper profile of a woman discussing her professional and family life. Divorced, she was looking for a special man to date. Ironically, I asked her out on a date some time ago, but after accepting she suddenly decided to cancel. Apparently I’m not special enough.
But for someone like her, no man is. So I cross that annoyance off the list.
For some getting older means being less driven, not as critical, accepting things as they are. It’s called senility.
I accept nothing as it is. But I’ve learned what is worth pursuing and what isn’t worth a leak in the woods. The social scene around here is bleak. Tried a dating club one time. What a joke. A few of the women I met should’ve skipped the dating club and went straight to group therapy. Talk about unreality and unattraction. The best way for a guy to approach dating in this neck of the woods is to combine LSD with Viagra.
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