Toilet Humor: I like It (So Blame My Brothers)
I admit I'm a sucker for toilet humor. Sure, I'm a professional, mature working mother who goes to church and pays her taxes. All very Harriet Nelson-esque. But tell me a fart joke, and I laugh so hard I cry. Maybe it's because I grew up with three brothers who used to hold various disgusting contests. I won't go into details. Use your imagination.
If you're like me...read on. If not, skip to Fake Jane. Two intriguing business models have caught my adolescent attention.
FIRST, FOR THE JERK WHO HAS EVERYTHING
Hate someone? Send him (or her) a gift depicting what he means to you. Go to www.sendahole.com,where for $7.95, you can purchase a pink rubber life-like...sphincter. Someone has actually gone to trouble to design and manufacture rubber sphincters. The product "is anatomically correct and is made from a master bronze mold by a leading New England sculptor," (with NEA money, no doubt). And while the sphincters are constructed of "the finest quality rubber," they are made in China. I can hardly wait for news of a sphincter recall.
But now, to BOOST SOME BUZZ, Sendahole is holding a "Hole Poll" online to determine which Presidential candidate is best represented by its product. John Edwards and Rudy Giuliani are currently in the lead.
By the way, ever wonder what the Chinese workers are thinking while cranking out pink rubber sphincters for sale in America? Email me your thoughts on that one...
AND THE ULTIMATE "GAG" GIFT
An Ohio man hopes to rival the, er, success of Sendahole with his own product, called Liquid A**. According to Wireless Flash News, the stuff comes in a spray bottle and smells just awful. Creator Allen Whittman repeatedly tested the product on his wife (he has a wife??) before perfecting the final "back-from-the-gym swamp a** smell." Whittman claims, "You can spray it on someone under a desk during a meeting, and no one would ever know it was you."
FAKE JANE RESPONDS
Have some class, Real Jane. Can't we talk about something else? Like why can't someone come up with a cure for my raging hangover earned while wining and dining Hollywood types in an attempt to sell a screenplay on my life story? It's called "Botox Broad (caster)," and I'm pitching it as a cross between "The China Syndrome" and "Looking for Mr. Goodbar," except funny!
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