Necessity is the Mother of Invention, but Survivor is the Mother of the Snuggie

On my lunch break this morning, I came home, sat in front of my television for an hour of brain cell genocide when I had to make an important decision. Do I watch Bring It On: All or Nothing or Who Wants to be a Millionaire? It’s a common complaint, but out of 300+ channels, these are the only things that even remotely piqued my interest. Lucky for you all, I went for Bring It On, and while it’s nowhere near as good as the original, it is one amazingly bad flick. Lucky for me I tuned in just in time to watch Hayden Planetarium krumping:


And then I had a revelation. Everything bad is secretly good. This explains an infinite number of things: why Meg and I routinely quote lines from Center Stage (Meg is far better at this game than I am), why the Snuggie has its own Wikipedia entry, and why Kristinia DeBarge was able to release that trash heap of a song.

So this makes for quite a conundrum. Meg and I have been brainstorming about a good product to invent to fiscally supplement our current meager incomes. And while we routinely scoff at the likes of the Go Girl and the Kush and the Comfort Wipe, we may need to divert our attentions from the cure for cancer to an Automatic Ass-Hair Braider. I was going to characterize the biochemical processes of motivation, to make a wonder pill of will power, but I should probably look into making something that’ll make your farts smell like fresh linen instead.

When did this happen? When did we stop inventing televisions and clock radios and focus instead on vibrator/razor combinations? Is everything that is worthwhile already invented? Last time I checked my compendium of science fiction movies, we still are in need of flying cars, teleportation, and time travel. So if we can get on that instead, I’d really appreciate it. But I have a theory as to the cause of all this obsession with making the trivial aspects of our everyday lives easier.

Survivor.

Hear me out. Survivor was one of the first reality TV game shows, which was the first time your average Joe Schmoe got their first taste of fame and maybe a little bit of fortune. Once Survivor got big, a new batch of TV shows came out for other types of people. You have your Bachelor/Bachelorette/Who Wants To Get Syphillis types of shows, for the lonely people out there who are moderately attractive. American Idol/So You Think You Can Dance/Whore Out Your Talent for Fame shows for people with an actual talent who are moderately attractive. Deal or No Deal/Wipeout/Shows Where Moderately Attractive or At Least Generally Likeable Who Have No Discernible Talent Compete for Money and Fame. Notice anything similar between all these shows? There’s no room for ugly people on reality TV shows (unless that show is The Swan and you are receiving plastic surgery to be not so ugly anymore).

So now everyone who is moderately attractive (or wants to be more moderately attractive via The Biggest Loser or Dance Your Ass Off) is getting famous and making a little money. What about everyone else; those with, shall we say, a face made for radio? How can they get a piece of the pie?

Well, the majority of them are watching their more attractive neighbors and friends eat bugs with Joe Rogan for money, or race around the globe for money, or remember the lyrics to songs with Wayne Brady for money. But a minority of the rest of them can somehow get financial backing to produce the first genius idea they have while on the can. They aren’t going to get famous (Does anyone know who invented the Snuggie? Didn’t think so.) but they can make a few bucks.

And the cultural landscape is primed for a few moronic ideas. Of course people are going to need something to help them wipe their fat asses, because they are too busy watching other fat asses lose weight on television. And while they’re watching TV, they get cold, but don’t want to take their arms out from their blanket to change the channel because Hole in the Wall just doesn’t translate from Japanese television, so naturally they need a Snuggie.

In conclusion, if Mark Burnett had never produced Survivor, then Germany would never have produced the ShamWow and that guy would never have punched that hooker, and Billy Mays might still be alive (R.I.P.).

So I’m not sure what this post says about me, since I was able to reference all of these trashy reality TV shows. Either I’m slovenly and physically repulsive, or I’m slated to invent the next Peekaru. Probably a little of both? In the meantime, I’ll be working on that motivation pill. Once I work up to it.

De-bunking "The Kush"

Have you heard about this newfangled product called "The Kush"? I have. Because you keep emailing it to me being like LOLZYAHHAHAHA YOU NEED THIS, YOU FREAK! Now, while I always love getting emails from you fine people, I'm slightly offended so many of you insinuated I need The Kush. What is The Kush, you may ask? Well...

"The Kush is designed to fit between the breasts to maintain a more natural shape while resting on your side. No straps, no underwires, no constraints, no adhesives and no garments needed - the slip-resistant surface and contoured shape help keep Kush in place as a woman rolls from one side to the other during sleep. Providing millions of women with the opportunity for a more restful and natural sleep, Kush Supports Like A Dream"

Here's my beef with The Kush: it, like so many other things, is trying to make a ho into a housewife. The Kush acts like it's a helpful product for big-hootered girls. But it's not. And that offends me. I can only see two groups of people for whom The Kush would be helpful:

1.) Old Saggy Tits McGee
2.) Women recovering from breast enhancement surgery who can't sleep on their side without experiencing pain

For both of these groups of women, I'm sure The Kush is super helpful. And to them I say mozel tov! But I don't appreciate the insinuation that girls with boobs bigger than a C-cup need to sleep with the aid of a boob separating device. I already feel like a freak. Life is hard with monster boobs: dresses are hard to zip; you can't wear button-up shirts without the middle button looking like it's clinging on for dear life; they don't make hot lingerie in size "circus freak"; bathing suites look pornogrpahic; your friends always try on your bra at sleepovers and stuff 'em with grapefruits and strut around and everyone has a good laugh but secretly you're crying on the inside—it's hard, OK?! It's not all giggles and motorboatin'. So thanks Kush, thanks for telling the world that in addition to these every day struggles, I also have to sleep with my arm between my boobs:


Who are you? Steve Carell? Boobs do not feel like sandbags. When you lay on your side, they don't stack on top of each other and cause you discomfort. They just kind of chill there. Now I know you're saying, "Well your boobs just chill there Meg because you're a young 24-year-old. When you get older they're going to turn into sandbags and drop to your knees and then who'll be buying a Kush?!" And to that, I say FINE! GREAT! GRAND! WONDERFUL! But advertise accordingly! Don't show a young, pert chick attempting to fist her boobs to sleep, when you really should only be showing this:


Because that is your target audience. That is who this product is made for. And yes, of course no one wants to see their grandma tittie-fucking a purple god-knows-what, but guess what? That's not my problem! Stop making me look like a freak! Just advertise your product using the person who should actually be using it! Like are we really supposed to think this product is the new, hip way to wipe your ass?

No, of course not! We all know this is for comically obese people who can't wipe themselves. Why are we dressing it up and pretending it's something it's not? Everywhere I look, I see false advertising and this American consumer will not stand for it!

In order to properly debunk The Kush's dishonest marketing campaign completely, I did a few experiments last night.

Exhibit A:

Here I am lying on my side. I assure you that I am not wearing a bra and I am in a comfortable sleeping position. Notice that once in a side-sleeping position, my boobs do not stack like giant cinder blocks crushing my spine and everything else that stands in their way.

Exhibit B:

A Jesus candle, the shape and width of which is comparable to The Kush. It fits perfectly betwixt the bosoms and it's holy iconography reinforces that this is a good, clean, Christian experiment.

Exhibit C:

Notice that when the Jesus candle is placed between the bosoms, it does not rest comfortably, but rather falls out of place. Now this could be because I'm using a large, heavy Jesus candle and not a slip-resistant Kush, sure, but it could also be because in reality, younger breasts don't stack like painful human bricks on top of each other when one lays on her side. And yet, this is exactly what The Kush asks us to believe. The Kush shows a young, pert woman using their product and promises to, and I quote, "fit between the breasts and maintain a more natural shape." To which I say SHENANIGANS! How can the breasts in question maintain their natural shape, if they are already in their naturally separated shape to begin with? Ah-hah! They can't. The young woman in the video is just a rue to glamorize the product and distract you from those who really need it—the old and the surgically modified. Which are both a fine set of people. God willing, I'll be both old and surgically modified myself one day. All I'm saying is, I'm neither old nor surgically modified yet. So stop advertising my body type as your product's average user because you're making me look like a sandbag-breasted über freak.

Oh Kush. Your tangled web of lies has turned you into yet another stupid and useless product that somebody somewhere (who's not me) is profiting from, much like The Snuggie, The Tinge, The Peekaru and the Go-Girl.

Therefore, Jesus and I proudly proclaim this myth: BUSTED.