Tag Archives: humor

Products no one needs.

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A list of gifts to give your friends. If you don’t ever want them to speak to you again that is….

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Repeat after me, ” I will not buy River a dog’s ass pillow for her birthday or Christmas. Not now. Not ever. ”

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Seriously? Like I don’t have enough guilt reaching for those two extra slices of cheese as it is.

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Why.

Why in the world would anyone want to walk around in a baguette? I’ve been to France and had them fresh from the boulangerie. They are made to sop up sauce, be covered in jam or smothered in cheese… not your nasty foot funk.

That’s a hard no from me.

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Because sometimes bigger really is better.

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Since skunking my husband at Scrabble has become a weekly pastime… I decided to up our game.

Literally.

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Bigger tiles for the where the hell did I leave my reading glasses now? visually challenged due to encroaching decrepitude crowd.

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And a much bigger, fancier, wooden, swiveling board with raised ridges to keep the letters in place.

How much bigger?

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Well, the box said giant and that’s a pretty apt description.

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So far we’re loving it.

But I’m afraid it’s going to have to be a permanent decorative fixture… because if you think the board is big, you should see the friggin’ enormous box it came in.

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Time Traveler Part 2.

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More words from the year of my birth.

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Clearly I was born in a strange year.

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Consigliere?

Leave the gun, take the cannoli’ Best movie quote… ever.

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Cryoprobe.

I don’t know what it’s used for, but my sphincter is tightening just thinking about it.

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Delete key. Now we’re talking! I’ve been correcting my husband’s reports and letters for 37 years… it is my very favorite button.

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Diddly squat. A strange turn of phrase if ever there was one.

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Things I will not be giving my husband for Valentines Day this year.

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Have you ever looked at ads for products and thought, that can’t be real?

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Jerky flower bouquets for the special man in your life?

No way.

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Way.

And they’re not exactly giving them away either.

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The Ball Hammock.

Yes, my Facebook algorithm is back to its old tricks just in time for the holiday. Will I be buying my husband a rocket to put in his pants?

No.

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I will not be asking him to release the Kraken either.

Well, not that one anyway.

And finally the last gift I won’t be buying him…

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Ball therapy.

Just…. no.

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Things I may have to buy.

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I saw a list of things you should buy your significant other to show how much you love them yesterday. And while none of these products fit that bill…. they did make me chuckle at the thought of owning them and putting them in the barn bar.

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Come on, you know that will come in handy someday.

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Bar mascot? It could be.

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Maybe if I get the husband one of these he can practice on pizza for his next remodel project. Eating those mistakes will be a lot more enjoyable than staring at his construction errors for the next 20 years.

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Well, I do love me some ‘shrooms.

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I saw an article the other day that made me look twice.

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I’m extremely environmentally conscious, so color me intrigued.

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Grandma = a nice Marsala sauce?

Stranger things have happened. ( To me anyway, you might lead a normal life. )

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All kidding aside, why not?

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$1,350?

We paid a lot more for my father in law’s coffin… and ain’t nobody going to harvest that for risotto.

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Winter is finally here.

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After an extremely mild December with a greenish brown Christmas and a warm rainy January…

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February is roaring in strong….

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And cold.

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The ice has finally frozen solid enough to hold the fishing shacks on the river, which is big business up here in Maine.

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Do I want to sit in an 8×10 plywood building and stare at a hole in the ice in subzero temperatures waiting for an oily little smelt to swim by?

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I do not.

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No matter how pretty the sunsets are.

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But more power to the rugged souls that do.

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Interior design fails.

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Have you ever walked into a house or apartment and thought, “Who the hell designed this mess?”

If not, then take a look at these…

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I’m guessing clean clothes would always be on hand, but… no.

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I am.

It’s hideous.

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I shouldn’t laugh at this, I’ve seen my husband do something very similar.

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Yikes. That’s going to be a tight fit…

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Finally, a situation where female personal plumbing is preferable.

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