Now that my computer is back, I can return to all manner of er, um research. Today I stumbled across this on CNN.com and honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It might be one of THE most bizarre things I've ever read or seen (as is evidenced in the video). And if it wasn't on CNN, I would have assumed it was just some CG created film. But I really don't think so.
This is a story from Indonesia about a smoking toddler. You read that right. This is a story about a toddler who smokes around 40 cigarettes per day.
No, I'm not kidding. See for yourself.
I couldn't embed the CNN video, but be sure to watch the video on that link too. The exasperated mother, through a translator, says she just doesn't know how she's going to help him quit.
I'm no child rearing expert but I've got a little suggestion. Considering the average 2-year-old is about 34 inches tall, putting his cigs on the top shelf should solve the problem. While it might piss him off, I'm just guessing he'll be down to the few he finds on the floor in no time.
On my last few trips, I've noticed that the signage posted for the general public suggests we need more than a little guidance in dealing with our personal affairs. That or we've become much more stupid than I ever imagined.
My money's on stupid.
So it was no real surprise to find this sign over every sink at Disney World:
And I, for one, am thankful they posted this helpful placard. Because I always find executing the handwashing sequence is as complex as, oh, I don't know, launching the space shuttle.
Maybe next time they'll hang a sign over the toliet that says Wipe Last.
This column appeared in the Bozeman Daily Chronicle.
When I think of spas, I think of aromatherapy candles. I think of soft lighting. A little new age music, peace and tranquility. I think of an hour long massage and blissful relaxation. I think - how do I hide this in the checkbook? But when I think of spa treatments, not once have I ever thought of carnivorous reptiles or aquatic vertebrates.
In my limited view, spa treatments consisted of getting your toenails painted fire engine red and a Swedish massage. Looks like I didn’t know Shiatsu. It seems that some spa goers have grown bored with the traditional massage/mani/pedi combo. That or too much Yanni music made the purveyors of these services a little crazy. So spas have developed some rather unconventional treatments in an effort to introduce a little novelty into the experience.
Now I could live with the Japanese Saki Bath (just a thought, how about a margarita soak with a salt scrub?) The Arctic Ice Room treatment with mint infused air and snowflakes sounds just dandy. I would fully embrace an afternoon of Black Pearl Body Buffing, assuming Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow is in the mix. But throw a writhing wad of snakes on my back and call it a massage and somebody’s going to get hurt.
For 80 bucks, Ada Barack will drop a tangle of non-venomous king and corn snakes on your back for a supposed hour of tranquility at her Snake Spa. Venom is the least of my worries, girlfriend. Ada, when this so-called massage is over, you can go ahead and pull the sheet up over my head and slap a toe tag on me. Because I’ve gone to the great spa in the sky where hopefully I can get a real massage.
According to Ada, her clients find interacting with the snakes relaxing. If you’re going to toss a writhing wad of reptiles on my back, or anywhere in my vicinity for that matter, the price better include being hooked up to a hearty drip of Propofol, otherwise known as milk of amnesia. Because I won’t want to remember one second of the experience. Just looking at the images of a woman having a slithery spa treatment nearly made me apoplectic.
And then after your visit to the Reptile Ranch, you might want to stop for the latest trend in pedicures. Just sit back, relax and dip your tootsies into the warm water where a school of doctor fish will gnaw on the dead and flaky epidermis previously known as your feet. The swarm of toothless carp will work tirelessly to beautify your feet for 30 minutes after which they will presumably go look for a better job.
Now I don’t know about you but at certain times of the year, my feet start to look like I’m wearing Doc Martens even when I’m barefoot. So when it’s pedicure time, I need more than toe separators and foot scrub – I need a belt sander. So I would not be the least bit surprised if I went in for a fish pedicure and they unleashed the piranhas.
I can promise you there’s no way I’ll be stopping off at any roadside snake stand for Bubba to fling a couple snakes on my back in the name of novel relaxation. And at my pedicure, I don’t care if the gal uses that belt sander on my heels. In fact, she can use a chain saw on my calluses for all I care. Just as long as she doesn’t have gills.
I have received an unusual amount of reader comments letting me know they thought it was really funny but totally made up. Au contraire. Below, I introduce Exhibits A & B to show that this piece was in no way the product of my ever-so-warped imagination. In fact, it is the perfect example of the truth being stranger than fiction proving that you just can't make shit like this up.
IN SUPPORT OF MY DEFENSE I OFFER EXHIBIT A:
WARNING: IF YOU ARE IN ANY WAY AVERSE TO REPTILES OF THE SLITHERING TYPE, YOU MIGHT WANT TO GIVE THIS ONE A PASS. IN THE EVENT YOU FEEL COMPELLED TO WATCH IT, YOU MAY NEED A COUPLE XANAX BEFORE YOU DO SO. IT TOTALLY FREAKED ME OUT. STILL DOES.
EXHIBIT B - THIS REQUIRES NO WARNING. IT IS LIKE PURGING YOURSELF WITH AN EPISODE OF SPONGE BOB AFTER WATCHING THE GODFATHER. A LITTLE FUNKY, YES, BUT THE FREAK FLAG DOESN'T FLY QUITE AS HIGH.
I wasn't planning a post today, but this was so incredibly freaky that, well, I just had to write about it.
Inventors over at True Companion have announced the launch of a new robotic sex doll named RoXXXy. According to her inventor, who claims to be happily married and never tested the merchandise, this gal is ready for anything. She's 5'7", weighs 120 pounds and has a rather strange looking bottom lip. RoXXXy has five programmable personalities (one of which is not likely "not tonight I have a headache") and she can talk to you. And RoXXXy even, get this, snores. (this feature has an off switch and I'm guessing, since only a man would have invented this thing, that you can shut off her talk feature too) From the picture I couldn't tell but I'm betting there's a cup holder somewhere under that skanky lace thing she is wearing. And all this for only $7000.
The inventor claims that men who have trouble meeting women will be most interested in Foxy RoXXXy. Ya think?
And ladies, never fear. True Companion is working on RoXXXy's male counterpart, Rocky. I'm betting his snore feature will not having an off switch.
Monday, May 31, 2010 at 04:15PM 