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.
Showing posts with label the tinge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the tinge. Show all posts
7.08.2009
6.25.2009
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...
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.
"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.
5.07.2009
That's a lot of Look (and my violet psyche)
I did a lot of research on walking poles this morning. I wanted to avoid writing a post about how ridiculous this woman looks, only to have someone point out that these poles are made for people with Parkinson's disease or something and oh, aren't I just a horrible person? Because this woman looks like she could possibly have a shake. And there's plenty of uneven pavement in this city—Lord knows I've experienced it first hand. Although it would prove me wrong, I really had hoped this was the case. It would make me feel better about this woman and our society as a whole.
So I went to Google and typed in "urban walking sticks." Via the second link, I discovered The Nordic Walking Pole, The American Nordic Walking Association and their blog, the Nordic Walking Blog. What is Nordic Walking, you ask? Well, "Nordic Walking is a great fitness workout for people who are looking for a fun physical activity and maximum health benefits combined with convenience." (Read: It's speed walking with two sticks.)
Now, I'm not hating on Nordic Walking. I watched the exclusive web trailer and while, yes, you do indeed look stupid while Nordic Walking, it apparently targets 90% of your muscles and seems to be a good fitness option for the older crowd. Hell! I'm even gonna go ahead and say that Nordic Blading looks kind of legit:
So I get Nordic Walking. I may not like it, but I get it. I am an educated consumer in the art of Nordic Walking.
But here's the thing: the woman in question was not Nordic Walking. I wouldn't even say she was walking at all; it was more of a meander than anything else. Being educated in the art of Nordic Walking, I also know that for Nordic Walking to be effective, the poles must be shoulder-width apart, at their proper 45-degree angle, hands open and in the "grip-and-go" state.
Therefore, I am able to mock this woman, free of all guilt or ignorance.
Now, the problem I have with this woman's misuse of her Nordic Walking poles is the same problem I have with The Snuggie/Slanket, The Peekaru and The Tinge: it's stupid and unnecessary and someone (who is not me) is making money off of your stupidity and need of said unnecessary products. And I hate it.
I just don't understand why this woman feels the need to walk around with Nordic Walking poles at all. Lady you're clearly not exercising; you're just slowly walking to the office. And you're walking through fucking Dupont, not the god damn Himalayas. It's not that challenging of a walk. I know this because I live in Dupont Circle. If it were challenging to walk around Dupont everyday, do you think I'd live there? No. Because I am a fat, lazy, house cat who hates a challenge. If I can do it, you can do it.
And this isn't even the first able-bodied jackass I've seen sauntering around the city with walking poles! There are plenty of 'em out there! Check out this father-son team featured on the Nordic Walking Blog:
What?! You're not exercising! You're not even hiking! You are literally walking on the flattest, most lush-green-grass-covered plane of earth in existence! What, your son doesn't get beat-up enough at school so you decided to give him two sticks and take him on a walk to the local yacht club? Good idea. That'll make a man out of him. What sort of father are you?! This photo isn't "family fun," it's evidence for someone to call Child Services.
Sigh. I just. Don't. Get it. If you're not going to use the walking sticks for their intended low-resistance, high-results purpose, then why use them at all? Because you look absolutely ridiculous! And I can completely understand looking ridiculous if it means dropping a few pounds. Fuck, I'd commute to work in a sombrero and assless chaps if it means dropping even half a dress size. But would I walk around in a sombrero and assless chaps just for funsies? No. Because I still have a shred of self-respect left. One single shred.
Yesterday someone I follow on Twitter tweeted a link to a "What Color is Your Psyche?" quiz. Being bored as fuck, I dediced to take it. I was very displeased with my results, so I made Anna and Chris take it as well. Now, both of their results were pretty accurate and yet, here's mine:
Your Psyche is Violet |
 You are spiritual, intuitive, and serene. People trust you to rescue them from bad situations, and you usually come through. While you are quite enlightened, you find that your path is very lonely. When you are too violet: you can't connect to ordinary life or ordinary people When you don't have enough violet: you lack wisdom and can't learn from the past |
What?! First of all, I am the least spiritual, intuitive and serene person you will ever meet. "Neurotic," "stressed out" and "tense" are three better terms to describe myself. And my path in life is destined to be "very lonely"?! Not even just plain lonely, but very lonely? What the fuck is that?? I want off this path! I mean, being enlightened is great and all, but I don't want to be very lonely for the rest of my life! Look at that sad, emo avatar! I don't want to be the girl who picks flowers and cries!
I'm scared that this whole urban walking pole craze, Tinge, Snuggie/Slanket/Peekaru nonsense is just further proof of my lonely enlightenment. Because I don't want to walk down a very lonely path for the rest of my life without the aid of two European crafted Nordic Walking poles.
5.04.2009
Update!
- Although Matt Roberts, inventor of The Tinge vibrator slash razor, had enough free time to read my blog, comment on my blog and send me a passive-aggressive email mocking my broken Slammock dreams, he is faaarrrrr too busy to respond to my Tinge Challenge. In the words of the great Stephanie Tanner; how rude! In the words of the greater Mr. Bear; go fuck yourself dickweed.
- I still have yet to hug John McCain. I believe this is directly correlated to the tears I cry every night and the nightmares I wake from every morning.
- Although I lost The Great JDate Debate, I never emailed my J-Stud. This is primarily because I don't have a JDate account and refuse to pay $40 for a one-month subscription just to email him. It's a recession and sorry guy, but you're not $40 hot. $15 hot? Sure! But $40? Pfff, please...I'm not even $40 hot, so don't take it too personally.
Oddly enough, a few weeks after our debate, JDate matched Anna's roommate Jill with JStud #1. She emailed him and heard crickets back. Perhaps he was too busy ruminating about how cool the ocean is or was on a hat factory tour somewhere. Our loss.
- Although I still think I'm cursed, I never went in for my reiki-healing session. This, again, is related to my lack of the monies. However, I opened my umbrella in my apartment by accident last week and have now convinced myself that I've doubled my curse and will die ofswine flu the H1N1 virus soon. Maybe I'll start saving the Mall Madness dollars I get paid in and actually go?
- Alex got me a subscription to GQ for my birthday! (Please don't tell my mom.)
- Lazy-Eyed Tim's story checked out. He really is best friends with my boss. Even better, he apparently just took over the DC/MD/NoVa veneer territory and will from now on be working out of our office frequently. We already have an event scheduled together in two weeks...soooo get ready for more Lazy-Eyed Tim stories!
- Despite my best efforts, Helena still hasn't gotten Twitter. Thus, I will be ghost-writing Helena's Twitter updates until she gets an account of her own. Follow "her" at twitter.com/hojo6969.
- I still have yet to hug John McCain. I believe this is directly correlated to the tears I cry every night and the nightmares I wake from every morning.
- Although I lost The Great JDate Debate, I never emailed my J-Stud. This is primarily because I don't have a JDate account and refuse to pay $40 for a one-month subscription just to email him. It's a recession and sorry guy, but you're not $40 hot. $15 hot? Sure! But $40? Pfff, please...I'm not even $40 hot, so don't take it too personally.
Oddly enough, a few weeks after our debate, JDate matched Anna's roommate Jill with JStud #1. She emailed him and heard crickets back. Perhaps he was too busy ruminating about how cool the ocean is or was on a hat factory tour somewhere. Our loss.
- Although I still think I'm cursed, I never went in for my reiki-healing session. This, again, is related to my lack of the monies. However, I opened my umbrella in my apartment by accident last week and have now convinced myself that I've doubled my curse and will die of
- Alex got me a subscription to GQ for my birthday! (Please don't tell my mom.)
- Lazy-Eyed Tim's story checked out. He really is best friends with my boss. Even better, he apparently just took over the DC/MD/NoVa veneer territory and will from now on be working out of our office frequently. We already have an event scheduled together in two weeks...soooo get ready for more Lazy-Eyed Tim stories!
- Despite my best efforts, Helena still hasn't gotten Twitter. Thus, I will be ghost-writing Helena's Twitter updates until she gets an account of her own. Follow "her" at twitter.com/hojo6969.
4.09.2009
The Tinge Challenge
I received the following email yesterday regarding last week's rant on The Tinge, vibrator slash razor:
Alright smart ass. You're pissed; I get it. But there is absolutely no need to drag my broken Slammock dreams into the fight! That's just below the belt, Matthew. Something tells me that when your first grade class was going around the room saying what you wanted to be when you grow up, little Matty didn't say "inventor of the scariest vibrator known to man!" So, back off.
That being said, I do appreciate this email. When I propose questions on the blog like, "what the fuck was this person thinking when he invented this," I'm not just hypothetically asking the cosmos. I want an answer. For example, if the Snuggie people were to email me and say, "Look, me and my buddy were high as cats playing X-Box and I put my robe on backwards so I could fully grasp the controller but keep my arms warm," I'd probably hate the Snuggie 67% less than I do today. So, I'm not trying to be snide when I say thank you Matt. Thank you for taking the time to explain The Tinge to me.
However, I still can't get behind it. Let's go point-by-point, shall we?
Lipstick
Nail Polish
Or a Sponge
These manage to be common household objects, while still being comfortable enough to stimulate my hoo-hah. Because on the most basic and human level, a razor blade is just not appetizing. I'm sorry. Take discreet smoking devices, for exmple. My sister has a smoking device that's made to look like a cigarette that's helped me out in many a public situation. But you know what probably wouldn't have been as effective? A bong disguised as a shot gun that you smoke by sucking through the barrel and pulling the trigger. While clever and well-disguised, it still looks like I'm about to blow my fucking brains out, Matt. See the difference?
2: While in vibrating mode it is virtually impossible to cut yourself as the safety cap cannot come in-voluntarily.
As my friend Andrew pointed out, I'd feel a whole better had you said "While in vibrating mode, it is fucking impossible to cut yourself."
3: If this still makes you uncomfortable you can easily remove the razor blade all together
Well if I did that I'd just be left with a razor and a vibrator. Which I already have. The whole novelty of your product lies in you combining the two for me. Why would I wear my robe backwards when I can buy a Snuggie, which comes backwards?
The first smart ass email I sent back to Matt was fueled by my anger about the Slammock jab:
But then I remembered that my vibrator recently broke and it's a recession. So, I added 2 and 2 and sent this:
Sadly, I never got a response.
Look Mateo...I don't want to fight with you. Your goal is to bring pleasure into this world, and I respect the hell out of that! I think the real enemy here is Daily Candy for writing a snarky litte review of your product with the shiteous (albeit hilarious) title "Cut a Rug" and releasing it on April Fool's Day so nobody thinks your product is real. And yet, you put their review on the front page of your website and write me a nasty email? Come on, Matt! I'm two seconds away from adding you to the official 2b1b Boycott List.
But that doesn't have to happen. I can be your best friend, or I can be your enemy. The choice is yours and yours alone.
So I challenge you Matt. I challenge you to let me try and review your product. Put your money where your mouth is.
Or rather, put your razor where my clit is, as it were.
You know where to find me.
Hi Meg,
I just wanted to take this opportunity to introduce myself…My name is Matt Roberts, I invented the Tinge Razor.
A friend of mine forward me your blog write-up unfavorably reviewing our product.
If you actually reviewed or read up on the Tinge Razor you would know that we thought of all the issues you raise in your write-up.
A couple things I would like to point out…
1: You cannot use the razor and toy feature together, it is one or the other.
2: While in vibrating mode it is virtually impossible to cut yourself as the safety cap cannot come in-voluntarily.
3: If this still makes you uncomfortable you can easily remove the razor blade all together
All of these things are pointed out in our new marketing video to be on our site shortly. http://www.youtube.com/watch?
v=OJqPC3D7KzA Hope this helps…It’s unfortunate that you chose to take your frustrations and difficulties with your own invention out on us.
I for one would be happy to learn more about your idea…Feel free to forward me a business plan.
Regards,
Matt
Regards,
Matt A. Roberts
President/ CEO Illusions International, Inc
Alright smart ass. You're pissed; I get it. But there is absolutely no need to drag my broken Slammock dreams into the fight! That's just below the belt, Matthew. Something tells me that when your first grade class was going around the room saying what you wanted to be when you grow up, little Matty didn't say "inventor of the scariest vibrator known to man!" So, back off.
That being said, I do appreciate this email. When I propose questions on the blog like, "what the fuck was this person thinking when he invented this," I'm not just hypothetically asking the cosmos. I want an answer. For example, if the Snuggie people were to email me and say, "Look, me and my buddy were high as cats playing X-Box and I put my robe on backwards so I could fully grasp the controller but keep my arms warm," I'd probably hate the Snuggie 67% less than I do today. So, I'm not trying to be snide when I say thank you Matt. Thank you for taking the time to explain The Tinge to me.
However, I still can't get behind it. Let's go point-by-point, shall we?
1: You cannot use the razor and toy feature together, it is one or the other.
Well, I should fucking hope not! I thought that was a given. But while I know that I'm not going to be putting a vibrating razor blade on my clit, I'm still horribly, horribly uncomfortable with the razor blade/clitoris proximity. It just shouldn't be. I fully understand what you're trying to achieve here Matt, and it's a good idea—disguise your vibrator as something innocuous so your kids don't find it and get scarred for life. Mozel tov! I just have a problem with what you have chosen to disguise the vibrator as. Better ideas to me are the following:Lipstick
Nail Polish
Or a Sponge
These manage to be common household objects, while still being comfortable enough to stimulate my hoo-hah. Because on the most basic and human level, a razor blade is just not appetizing. I'm sorry. Take discreet smoking devices, for exmple. My sister has a smoking device that's made to look like a cigarette that's helped me out in many a public situation. But you know what probably wouldn't have been as effective? A bong disguised as a shot gun that you smoke by sucking through the barrel and pulling the trigger. While clever and well-disguised, it still looks like I'm about to blow my fucking brains out, Matt. See the difference?
2: While in vibrating mode it is virtually impossible to cut yourself as the safety cap cannot come in-voluntarily.
As my friend Andrew pointed out, I'd feel a whole better had you said "While in vibrating mode, it is fucking impossible to cut yourself."
3: If this still makes you uncomfortable you can easily remove the razor blade all together
Well if I did that I'd just be left with a razor and a vibrator. Which I already have. The whole novelty of your product lies in you combining the two for me. Why would I wear my robe backwards when I can buy a Snuggie, which comes backwards?
The first smart ass email I sent back to Matt was fueled by my anger about the Slammock jab:
Hey Matt,
It's a comedy blog.
Best of luck,
Meg
But then I remembered that my vibrator recently broke and it's a recession. So, I added 2 and 2 and sent this:
Wait, Matt! Before you get even more pissed at me, what if you send me a Tinge and I write about my experience with it? HEAR ME OUT! It's a win/win situation. You win because if your calculations are correct, I'll love it and write about it; and I'll win because my vibrator recently broke and I've been to lazy to get a new one.
Thoughts?
- M
Sadly, I never got a response.
Look Mateo...I don't want to fight with you. Your goal is to bring pleasure into this world, and I respect the hell out of that! I think the real enemy here is Daily Candy for writing a snarky litte review of your product with the shiteous (albeit hilarious) title "Cut a Rug" and releasing it on April Fool's Day so nobody thinks your product is real. And yet, you put their review on the front page of your website and write me a nasty email? Come on, Matt! I'm two seconds away from adding you to the official 2b1b Boycott List.
But that doesn't have to happen. I can be your best friend, or I can be your enemy. The choice is yours and yours alone.
So I challenge you Matt. I challenge you to let me try and review your product. Put your money where your mouth is.
Or rather, put your razor where my clit is, as it were.
You know where to find me.
4.02.2009
My legs were crossed the entire time I wrote this.
So yesterday my friend Justine forwarded me a Daily Candy article about The Tinge razor/vibrator. Take a look:
The Tinge makes me uncomfortable on so, so many levels. First let's talk about the name: The Tinge. Tinge: (noun) A slight added element, property, or influence. I'm guessing the most literal definition of the word "tinge" has nothing to do with anything, and this is more some minge word play (which is heinous in it's own right,) but less obvious is the origin of the T. Where does it come from? Tantalizing? Tough hair? Trusty? Tingle? Is it Tingle? TINGLE MINGE?! I'm going to vomit everywhere.
Now, of all of the shower products to choose from that could possibly be designed to double as a vibrator, what genius settled on the razor? A razor is sharp. It cuts. People use it to take their own lives. I don't associate pleasure with my razor. I associate small cuts that take over an hour to stop bleeding. No matter how careful I am when shaving, my shower always ends up looking like a god damn scene from Sweeney Todd. Ergo, maybe a vibrating bar of soap would have been more appropriate.
On a purely functional level, you just have to be fucking kidding me. "Throw on the cap and voila — party time!" I don't know what kind of female circumcision party you're trying to drag me to, but the thought of a rickety piece of plastic standing between my clit and a razor blade pretty much makes me want to buy a chastity belt and never leave my house again. And I won't be "throwing" anything on, thank you very much. I'll be securely fastening at the very least. And I mean, honestly, what are the chances of that cap flying off mid "party"? I think I would have to see some concrete design plans and take a guided tour of the plastic cap factory in China before that thing comes within six inches of seeing inside my pantaloons.
The Tinge also offends me for one of the same reasons that The Snuggie offends me—someone is making a million dollars off it. Why, oh why, do we insist on rewarding such stupidity?? A shammy cloth sold by a trick-beating Scientologist?! LORD KNOWS I HAVE ONE! A backwards robe marketed as a hands-free blanket?! SOLID GOLD! A vibrating razor blade for the sexual adventurous girl-on-the-go?! HERE, TAKE MY WALLET!!!
I think part of the reason I'm so bitter (besides not wanting my genitals sliced and diced,) is that I once had a great invention idea once, but not a single soul supported. I called it The Slammock. I created The Slammock by combining the two places I find most comfortable to sleep—a sleeping bag and a hammock. My design specifically called for a fleece-lined sleeping bag tied onto (not sewn into, that would be too tight and constricting,) a traditional cord hammock. I genuinely think this is an amazing idea and I still wish everyday that I had one. I actually pitched The Slammock to my parents while we were bed shopping for my first apartment. I argued that The Slammock beats a traditional bed, as it is comfortable, financially sound and space efficient. And yet, I was met with negativity by everyone I proposed the idea to. Suddenly everyone was a bed critic—is there enough back support? What if a prankster flips you over while sleeping? How can you have sex on it? What about motion sickness? Will the cords make an imprint on your face? What happens when it starts to sag?! Yes, I'm the idiot, yet slap a sticker that sex "sex toy" on a vibrating razor blade and we're in business!!!??????!?!?
God I hate life.
i don't know why i thought you would enjoy this/ want itOk. First and foremost Justine, whatever I did to make you think that I would ever want a razor slash vibrator, I'm sorry. Whatever I said, just pretend I said the exact opposite and I think we'll be able to move on with our friendship.
xxoo
j
Have you ever been in the shower, shaving your legs, when you started to get turned on? Didn’t you wish that trusty razor of yours could satisfy more sensual needs?
Now it can with the Tinge, the first (and, we’re pretty sure, only) razor-slash-vibrator! Yes. Really.
The Tinge may look like an ordinary shaver, but just throw on the cap and voila — party time! Finally, you can remove unwanted stubble and get off with a single device.
But wait, there’s more: The Tinge has a whopping 32 different speed/mode combinations for your pleasure, and it’s water resistant, so you can get freaky in the bathtub.
That’s not all. The gadget comes with two blade cartridges and a bottle of pleasure gel — all for the low price of just $99.
The Tinge makes me uncomfortable on so, so many levels. First let's talk about the name: The Tinge. Tinge: (noun) A slight added element, property, or influence. I'm guessing the most literal definition of the word "tinge" has nothing to do with anything, and this is more some minge word play (which is heinous in it's own right,) but less obvious is the origin of the T. Where does it come from? Tantalizing? Tough hair? Trusty? Tingle? Is it Tingle? TINGLE MINGE?! I'm going to vomit everywhere.
Now, of all of the shower products to choose from that could possibly be designed to double as a vibrator, what genius settled on the razor? A razor is sharp. It cuts. People use it to take their own lives. I don't associate pleasure with my razor. I associate small cuts that take over an hour to stop bleeding. No matter how careful I am when shaving, my shower always ends up looking like a god damn scene from Sweeney Todd. Ergo, maybe a vibrating bar of soap would have been more appropriate.
On a purely functional level, you just have to be fucking kidding me. "Throw on the cap and voila — party time!" I don't know what kind of female circumcision party you're trying to drag me to, but the thought of a rickety piece of plastic standing between my clit and a razor blade pretty much makes me want to buy a chastity belt and never leave my house again. And I won't be "throwing" anything on, thank you very much. I'll be securely fastening at the very least. And I mean, honestly, what are the chances of that cap flying off mid "party"? I think I would have to see some concrete design plans and take a guided tour of the plastic cap factory in China before that thing comes within six inches of seeing inside my pantaloons.
The Tinge also offends me for one of the same reasons that The Snuggie offends me—someone is making a million dollars off it. Why, oh why, do we insist on rewarding such stupidity?? A shammy cloth sold by a trick-beating Scientologist?! LORD KNOWS I HAVE ONE! A backwards robe marketed as a hands-free blanket?! SOLID GOLD! A vibrating razor blade for the sexual adventurous girl-on-the-go?! HERE, TAKE MY WALLET!!!
I think part of the reason I'm so bitter (besides not wanting my genitals sliced and diced,) is that I once had a great invention idea once, but not a single soul supported. I called it The Slammock. I created The Slammock by combining the two places I find most comfortable to sleep—a sleeping bag and a hammock. My design specifically called for a fleece-lined sleeping bag tied onto (not sewn into, that would be too tight and constricting,) a traditional cord hammock. I genuinely think this is an amazing idea and I still wish everyday that I had one. I actually pitched The Slammock to my parents while we were bed shopping for my first apartment. I argued that The Slammock beats a traditional bed, as it is comfortable, financially sound and space efficient. And yet, I was met with negativity by everyone I proposed the idea to. Suddenly everyone was a bed critic—is there enough back support? What if a prankster flips you over while sleeping? How can you have sex on it? What about motion sickness? Will the cords make an imprint on your face? What happens when it starts to sag?! Yes, I'm the idiot, yet slap a sticker that sex "sex toy" on a vibrating razor blade and we're in business!!!??????!?!?
God I hate life.
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