Category Archives: WTF Friday

WTF Friday: Top Dollar Paid for Dirty Souls

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We’re a little behind the curve apparently, but Ken and I just started watching Mad Men. It has its moments, but I have growing concerns that Ken will insist that I wear more skirts that show my ankles and calves, and take to slapping me on the ass while telling me to grab him another beer. More than he already does.

According to Ken, "Only if they want it."

As we delve deeper into season one, I’ve been paying more attention to the advertising that takes place around us. Most of it is barely noteworthy, but every so often there’s an ad that you can’t help but notice. If only that were a positive thing…

 

Whole Foods Bumper Stickers

I don’t really know what this campaign is about. I try not to go to Whole Foods unless there’s a specialty ingredient I can’t find elsewhere. Like maple sugar. Which resulted in the most expensive apple pie I could have made short of dressing it in edible goldleaf. But I digress. For a store that’s all about local and sustainable food as a part of a healthy lifestyle, their bumper stickers may not be getting that point across in quite the way they’d hoped. Behold:

Wait for it...

Nothing out of the ordinary here, right? Are you sure? Because at the end of that letter ‘m’ is a dot that looks suspiciously like this sentence became a whole different sentiment entirely. It’s time to revamp your artwork, Whole Foods ad execs, because every time I’m passed by one of these blasted stickers on a car or plastered on the side of a bus, this is what I’m actually seeing:

And suddenly the meat department becomes quite suspect.

 

Unfortunate business names:

My fellow entrepreneurs, when you have a great business idea and a solid business model, you’re still setting yourself up for failure if you don’t put some thought into your name. Let me just say that there is a reason my massage practice is called Reverie Massage and Wellness instead of Helping Hands, Kneadful Things, or Content Under Pressure.

Unless you are, in fact, running a camp teaching girls how to climb Mt. Orgasm, a double entendre is best used for office flirtations, rather than brand recognition.

 

Yanking the heartstrings (right out of your chest)

Forget about how my amoral ass should be having an existential crisis over my steady diet of defenseless children. The brainchild who birthed this atrocity should be forced to subsist on a diet of excrement equal to the amount of bullshit he’s pedaling.

 

Open Mouth, Insert Footlong Penis

 

Oh, it'll blow all right...

Good Jesus FUCK, she looks like a RealDoll. Christ, boys, we get it – sex sells. But if your ad is going to show a woman stuffing 7 inches of meaty goodness in her face, please try to omit the creamy, white ooze from the photos. Your latent homosexuality is showing.

Still a better sex guide than Cosmo.

 

Self Medicating – One Glass of Kool Aid at a Time

NOW we’re talking! I love me some margarita love. Sugared rim, rocks. Size? Big. (That’s what she said.) But let’s get something straight – just because tequila doubles as liquid panty remover does not mean I’m going to join your swinging sex cult and pump out some chosen ones. These ain’t birthin’ hips.

 

Airing Dirty Laundry

I was reading one of my fitness magazines the other day and ran across this little beauty:

Only a man could have come up with this idiocy. My D-cup runneth over, if you catch my drift, and of all the things that have ever hit me in face, my boobs have never made that list.

And then a few pages later was this:

I don’t know what’s going on here that has anything to do with fitness or lingerie, for that matter.  All I know is that those boys could use a sammich.

 

Now we’re getting to the point…

Hannibal Dexter? Party of two?

Finally! Advertising that caters to my specialized needs! I must say, though -while this is relevant to my interests, I’m just not sure I can relate. I tend to use a filet knife when I’m preparing brain.

In closing, my dear MadMen:

Please, think of the fucking bunnies. Assholes.

WTF Friday: Adventures in Landlording

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As I’ve pointed out before, my job is a walking, talking mental disorder. Of any job I’ve ever had, property management has provided more WTF fodder than I could ever have prepared for. At the insistence of more people than I can count at this point, I’ve decided to start posting regular snippets of my daily interactions with tenants, parents, vendors, and the like. And at the rate these people are getting dumber, I can pretty much guarantee at least 3 follow up posts.

 

All signs point to you being an idiot.
I went out to install a new leasing sign. Two of my residents walked out of the building as I was finishing up.
Resident, gesturing to the sign and speaking to his roommate in a hushed voice: That would fit perfect in my bedroom window to block out light when I’m sleeping.
Me: Or, hear me out here, you could go buy blackout curtains like a proper grown up and stop pretending that I can’t hear you and don’t know exactly which apartment you live in. 

Actual Student Housing Decor

 At the same building 6 weeks later:
Tenant: I rented a parking space from you yesterday and I’m calling to cancel it now. I’ve been blocked into my spot for 2 hours and I cannot deal with this constantly.
Me: Well, your parking agreement is a legal and binding contract. If you won’t be needing the space anymore, you’ll have to sublease. Besides, why didn’t you call the office so we could have the vehicle removed?
Tenant: I don’t know the office number.
Me: You’re talking to the office number.
Tenant: I’ll be canceling my check. *click*
Fucktard.
 
 
I don’t know what kind of drugs they do out in East Madison, but I’d like to try them.
Last spring, a woman of rather small stature had complained about the neighbor smoking in his apartment and aggravating her asthma. Unfortunately for her, we hadn’t yet converted to non-smoking buildings and he didn’t smoke. She adamantly refused to believe that and pounded on his door at all hours to tell him to stop smoking. At one point, he got tired of it and slammed the door in her face which caused her to fly into a blind rage. Somehow, all 4’8″ of her kicked his door in and physically bent the bolt part of his deadbolt. But it doesn’t end there. Somehow, her psychotic rage was our fault.
 
Me: Okay, so you verbally harassed your neighbor. When he slammed his door in your face you damaged the premises by kicking down his door to continue the verbal assault. He renewed his lease, so you won’t renew yours, but you’re going to sue us because I’m trying to lease the apartment you don’t want?
Psycho: Yes.
Me: Alrighty! See you in court!
 
A stunning display of Mid-Winter Belligerence
Following a particularly brutal snow storm, I had to endure a 15 minute phone call with some sorostitute’s lawyer daddy regarding a $35 citation from the City of Madison for not shoveling their sidewalk and steps in accordance with city ordinance. He tried everything he could think of down to brute intimidation to get me to take the charge off their ledger and pay it for them, and finally I got tired of listening to various permutations of “This is an illegal, money grubbing shakedown; how do you sleep at night?” so I cut him off mid-sentence.
Me: Did you ever imagine that after enduring law school and the bar exam, you’d be engaged in an argument over a $35 bill with no leg to stand on?”
Him: *click*
 
 
I hereby issue a formal edict (and a bic razor)
Over the course of this leasing year, it has become necessary for me to knock on any closed door and ask the tenant if they’re decent, or as I like to say “Are you wearing pants?” Because while I give these people 24 hours notice of any appointments, they still wander out of the bathroom/bedroom/coat closet bare-ass naked when I have the visitors in the apartment. Not cool, people. Don’t make me or prospective tenants look at your microween or power muff.
 

And yes, they're usually this casual about it.

 
I’ve heard a lot of excuses, but this was a new one.
Apparently, “some random person” let themself into a tenant’s apartment, vomited on the floor just inside her front door, and left. Of course, this is all based on her powers of deductive reasoning alone. She saw and heard nothing because she in her bedroom with the door closed, “listening to my iPod.” She can’t get the vomit out of the carpet and could I possibly come clean it for her? Do I look like a Molly Maid. Get a carpet cleaner and start locking your door, kid.
 

This is about how I pictured her description of events in my head.

 

 

It’s Electric! (Boogie-woogie-woogie!)
A parent called with a complaint shortly before the end of winter break.

Parent: We pay for may daughter to park in one of your lots and we just had to pay two thousand dollars because rodents ate the electrical in her car. If you could send someone out to take care of the rodents, I don’t want to have to pay this again.

Me: We do have a pest control company that makes routine service calls to the properties on the first Monday of every month, but it’s for the dwelling only. I have no control over the lots since they’re out in the open.

Parent: Well this just isn’t acceptable to me. I mean, she hardly ever drives the car, but when she does, it should work. Can’t you spread some kind of repellent to keep them away from the parking lot?

Me: I can investigate those options, but the current weather is not going to make them very effective. I’d recommend that you have your daughter start her car once a day or so, since they don’t tend to view occupied vehicles as a hospitable nest.

Parent: Well that’s just silly. What a waste of gas! I’m not condoning that you exterminate them since they’re only doing what comes naturally, but can’t you trap them and release them somewhere else?

Me: That’s something that the Department of Natural Resources would have to approve, but that would be a very good topic to bring up with them.

Parent: Well, yes I think it is. You should do that. *click*

Me, to myself: Yeah, I’m dialing right now. *yelling across the office to coworker* YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS ONE!

Oh yes. Only doing what’s natural. Sure, catch and release is a great plan. Because, you know, squirrels and mice can’t walk over from the next block or anything.

 

I'm not saying it didn't happen, but I'm not getting involved with a squirrel that devours cars from the inside out.

It’s important to be prepared!
Back when I was stationed at the front desk for a University apartment building, I watched a resident walking through the lobby with a dozen frozen pizzas and a box of Franzia as she was saying to someone on the phone, “Yeah, I’m just stocking up in preparation for this storm!”

 

With preparations like this, I think I'd rather starve in a snow bank.

 

 
 Hunka-hunka Burning Man
On one particularly miserable snowy day, a man walked into my office in a coffee stained pair of overalls, splotchy red face, and burn mark in the crotch of his pants. He looked positively downtrodden.

I've been there, dude.

Me: Hi there!
Him: Uh, hi. I’m your snow removal guy. This is going to be a really dumb question, but I skid on some ice on the way over here, dumped my coffee all over myself and dropped my cigarette in my lap. I also, uhm, slipped on some ice and split my pants. I don’t suppose you have a needle and thread or some safety pins?

I invited him to refill his coffee while I went and retrieved my portable sewing kit and sent him on his way with my best wishes.  Then I laughed until my side hurt.

 

And people wonder why I always have a perpetual headache and a need to drink, yet I still claim that I’m not an alcoholic.

Be honest, people – Do I possess some kind of karmic magnet that just attracts all the crazy shit, or is it really just a side effect of my job/this city?

WTF Friday: Gimme my Depends and Ensure.

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There comes a time in our lives when we must accept the inevitable defeat of age, compile our bucket lists, and then don our circulation enhancing compression socks, kick back, and wait for the sweet embrace of dementia to squeeze the crap into our Depends. And here, at the ripe old age of almost 31 years of age, it is my time to join this illustrious geriatric society.

Okay, so not really, but it’s easy to see how I could be mistaken based on the contents of my mailbox. Yesterday, I got a membership invitation to AARP, an invitation to the spring Symphony Gala, and a catalog called “Make Life Easier.” Only one of those things was relevant to my interests, if not age appropriate.

Anyone familiar with the origins of WTF Friday knows that I get a ton of catalogs in the mail, so what’s one more, right? Let me stop you right there and reintroduce that relevant to my interests concept. Not only did this catalog contain a bevy of shit I could not care less about, but I almost nodded off 3 times in their 127 pages of crap. And not just any crap. Oh, no! This is crap geared specifically to OLD PEOPLE.

I have nothing against old people, per se. In fact, I someday hope to be one and then kick off before I start shitting my pants. You see, I always saw myself as aging gracefully and being that kick ass grandma who buys her grandkids condoms and porno mags (or apps. Shit, when I’m old, they may very well have interactive porno holograms and I will buy them for my grandkids, as long as they promise to wear a condom.). At the very least, I pictured myself as a small, sage old lady like Master Yoda, only without the ear hair.

Sit by the fire with a cup of tea, I will not! Ride your ass down the black diamond slopes, I will Bitch!

 

But rather than getting catalogs geared toward old people with active lives who perhaps need some ski goggles with bifocals or ergonomic sex swings, I get this shit.

Double-grip sock garters

 

Wait, they still make these? What is it about 60 year old calves that a sock won’t hug them anymore? I thought grandparent type people were cuddly? So instead of the sexy kind of garters that hold up my thigh highs, I get to look forward to calf garters to hold up my compression socks. Stylin’.

 

Telescoping handle litterbox scoop

Yay! Now when I go all crazy cat lady, I won’t have to get down on my hands and knees to scoop Fifi’s crap! Wait, once you get the crap scooped up in that thing, how are you supposed to get it in the garbage bag without spilling it everywhere? Bitch, please. When I’m old, cats will have evolved to use the toilet.

 

Incontinence throw blanket

Nothing about this is okay. An incontinence pad that looks like a throw blanket? Jesus christ! What happens if you’re a little senile and you forgot that you peed on it and then turn around 5 minutes later and cover up in it? Blech. I need a shower now.

 

Jumbo adult bib

Fashion meets function for the fashion and function impaired. I mean, even the classiest rib joints in the country just cut holes in a plastic hefty bag and drape it over you. This? This is just sad.

 

Spray-on headstone cleaner

When the indignity of using all this other stuff finally catches up to me, I’ll probably kill myself. But when that happens, I’ll at least go into death with the same anal retentive cleanliness that I had in life. Ken, get your Sham-Wows ready, baby. I need me a clean tombstone.

 

And now, having fulfilled my post quota for the week, I shall go assemble my new recliner, kick back, and watch me some Matlock reruns.

WTF Friday – Sexytime Scares

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With a title like that, you may be wondering if this will be safe for work. To that end, I can only say…depends on how kinky your boss is. If there’s even a small chance that your boss or corporate net nannies own a few of these, then this probably isn’t safe for work. Most normal people won’t know what the hell these are.

Disclaimer: I may or may not own a few of these. I’m kind of a freak.

So let’s get down to business.

WTF Friday: Your guide to sex toys that have no business in sex.

 

1. Vegan Condoms

Because Trojans aren’t eco-friendly enough, now all the hipster twats can get down to boning with a product free of the milk proteins used in other condoms. That is, if they can stop tossing their hair and not caring about boners long enough to get one. Now, I always thought that vegans didn’t swallow, but they’re also flavored, so you can be super eco-friendly and eat them when you’re done! Or is that not how that works…?

 

2. Artificial Hymen

 

Forget vaginaplasty. That’s for rich people. This is the budget friendly revirginization. Really, you have to read their website. The copy is so fucking ridiculous that it practically makes fun of itself. Then again, it was developed in Japan: home of Hentai. From their main page:

“Artificial hymens are for women who were born without a hymen, broke their hymen during vigorous exercise, engaged in premarital sex and now fears how their future husband will react if he find out she is not a virgin, and those born with a defective hymen. We provide a cost effective and convenient product for getting your hymen back and you revirginized.”

 

WTF? Is your husband also going to go back to your father, slap him for letting you be a whore, and demand extra goats for his shame?

“Once the artificial hymen is inserted carefully into the vagina, it will expand a little and make the vagina feel tighter. When you begin sexual intercourse and your lover penetrates you, the artificial hymen will begin to ooze out a red liquid that looks like blood, not too much, but just the right amount. This will simulate the defloration of a virgin and stain the bed sheets with a few drops of simulated blood. By adding in a a few moans and groans, you will undetectably recreate the fantasy of making love to a virgin.”

Dude. Only pedophiles have fantasies about making love to virgins. Furthermore, nothing would ruin sexytime for me more than staining my 800tc Egyptian Cotton sheets with cellulose and water soluble dye. I’m the same person who lost her shit when Ken knocked the folded laundry on the floor in an attempt to make a grand, sexy gesture.

In closing, $27.95 is a lot of money with no real bang for your buck. (See what I did there?) Especially when you could use that money toward this bad boy:

 

3. Clone a Willy

Dildos are expensive. Yes, I know this for a fact. The more realistic cyberskin models can run upwards of $60, and more if you don’t want the teeny weeny. But for $50, you can buy this handy kit and make your own, modeled on your partner’s package! (Partner not included.)

I have a hunch that this was also made for the Japanese market because 90% of the reviews on Amazon said that there wasn’t enough product to complete the mold. Also, it didn’t mold well once the boys started going floppy, and a lot of people ended up with the kind of sad, misshapen dongs that you find in discount porn shops and West Virginia whorehouses.

Of course, if you’re Forever Alone and you’ve long given up hope of having a partner, there’s hope for you as well!

 

4. Hand Solo

It’s like a stranger, without the tingling sensation or the hassle of having to put your own hand to sleep! I wanted to post all sorts of troll reviews when I found this toy, but other people apparently beat me to it.

“It’s like brass knuckles for your knuckle children!”

“This thing is a serious lube hog.”

“It’s like a handjob with a cowbell!”

“I have a mild case of penis envy.”

“This baby really couldn’t do the kessel run in 3 parsecs.”

 

Apparently, it’s designed as a one size fits all kind of deal, and it’s just not snug enough. Maybe those Clone-a-Willy reviews were fabricated after all.

 

5. I Rub My Duckie: Special Edition Bondage Duck

I can proudly say that I own this bad boy. But it has never been used in the context it was intended. No, this is a conversation piece. I keep it in my guest bathroom medicine cabinet so that I can tell when people have been snooping by the look on their faces when they emerge.

Being strategically positioned next to the Vaseline lotion really is just a happy accident.

I originally got this as a gag gift from a friend in a gift bucket of other sexy stuff. I couldn’t tell you what happened to the other stuff, but this guy is still around. He’s adorable in his little red ball gag and studded leather body suit, plus he vibrates AND like any good rubber ducky should be, he’s waterproof!

The problem is that you can’t use it. The vibration is like a jack hammer that makes my hand numb 2 seconds after you squeeze the ass to turn it on. There’s no way it’s coming anywhere near my hoo-hah. And if you set it to vibrate in the bathtub, it starts creating mini-tsunamis that splash over the side of the tub.

“A” for aesthetics and comedic value. “F” for functionality.

 

6. The Sinulator

I don’t believe they actually make this anymore, but apparently a few of its offspring were featured at CES this year. It’s basically a USB Plug ‘n Play rabbit that can be remotely controlled via computer by anyone that has your IP address. Not a bad deal for long distance relationships and cam whores.

Unfortunately, I can’t access their website anymore, so they may have moved on to bigger and badder things. In its day, it also had a price tag of about $130, so that may have been a contributing factor as well.

If you’re in the safety of your own home, sans kids, and feel like exploring a little, check out Eden Fantasys, Adam & Eve, and Divine Interventions. If you’d be offended by a Baby Jesus Buttplug or Shiva dildo, you may want to skip that last one, but it is disturbingly hilarious.

In the end, I have to applaud the innovators devoted to spicing up the sex lives of the already adventurous, but I’d still rather have one of these:

Happy Friday, everyone!

 

 

 

 

WTF Friday: Our bacon obsession is officially out of control.

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Before you start posting irrational hate mail, hear me out. I love me some pork product. When cooked properly, bacon could bring about world peace. No joke.

But then I found this. And I’m confronting the demons of my greatest culinary love.

Yes, that is a real, taxidermied piggy turned piggy-bank. For the reasonable insane price of $4000 (not including packaging or shipping), you can have a “died of natural causes” piglet hollowed out, preserved, and fitted with a coin storage pouch and cork plug. Oddly enough, it is not mentioned where said plug is installed. And I’m not sure I want to know. Half the money is due up front and the other half is due 12 months later when Pork Knox is finally complete. You know, so you can spend an entire year drinking away the nightmares of that sweet little porcine face looking deep into your eyes and consuming your soul like so much salty bacon.

Pork may be off my menu for a while.

And if that’s not enough fuckery for you this week, here are a few more love letters of doom from the walking, talking mental disorder that is my day job.

 

So you have “cash flow problems.”

Your rent was due 2 weeks ago, and despite numerous phone calls, you haven’t felt the need to pay up. So it should come as no surprise to you that I won’t be letting you make payment arrangements on the day that we filed your eviction paperwork. Given all the drugs/paraphernalia in your apartment on a daily basis, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where rent is and I’m more than reasonably certain that the judge won’t buy your sob story either. Court is really just a formality at this point. You should probably just pack your bags and call mommy to get your room ready for you.

Hopefully, she can make enough room for your tiny penis and enormous ego.

Adulthood is a bitch, ain’t it?

I know you’re all butt hurt that I just sent you an invoice for a few grand worth of damages you did to the building, but suck it. This ain’t my first rodeo, wank blanket. Having your lawyer parents call to drop hints about their legal careers and making vague lawsuit threats clearly isn’t very effective. Also, I took the liberty of emailing them police reports and photos naming you as vandals and drunken public nuisances. So now that you’re grounded at the age of 22 because you’re still attached to your parental units at the purse strings, your next best option is not to call me with fabricated work orders. I know that your dishwasher isn’t broken because I know that you don’t have a dishwasher in that apartment. And that rotten ass smell you keep complaining about? Given that nobody in the building likes you, I’m pretty sure that another resident in the building has been spraying it under your door intentionally. See, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that there’s a big contest to see who can make you the most miserable. Hell, I’d play the ultimate endgame card and set your dumb asses on fire, but seeing as how you’re Jewish, I’m pretty sure they’d try it as a hate crime.

If you’re micromanaging, you clearly don’t have enough of your own work to do.

Easily 85% of my job is to rent property, and to that end, I’ve already done a damn fine job this year. That said, it would go faster and much more smoothly if property owners would stop arguing with me when I say that the property is overpriced compared to the comps, and stop ignoring that beautiful fucking spreadsheet that I gave you outlining the proof. If I keep pushing your numbers, you will have many, many vacancies for which you will blame me, and try to deny me a well deserved raise. I will respond by setting my resignation to an interpretive dance that ends with me shitting on your desk. Then I will cite this very conversation when I’m giving you the finger on my way out. I know you have trust issues with anyone in possession of a vagina, but I also have some brass balls and I know what I’m doing. Now let me do my damn job.

Like a For the Boss.

Frustrated? Tearing your hair out? Rolled your eyes so much you’ve had an aneurysm? Lost your innocence? Let your hate flow into the comments.