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Facebook is always trying to sell me something. And since it depends on algorithms to choose the items … I have to wonder why it thinks I need organic underwear.
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A free range bra? That’s an oxymoron if ever I’ve heard one.
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High impact? Exactly how much impact do they think my girls experience…
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My car seats do not need a body guard. If I’m man enough to spill a drink while driving? They should just man up and take it.
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Okay, they’ve got me here.
Those are adorable.
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Facebook… in its infinite wisdom… has posted yet another list of ridiculous products it thinks I must buy, and this time? They’ve outdone themselves.
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Do I need to remotely drive a pile of poo?
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I most assuredly do not.
Am I ancient enough to require a ladder’s assistance to sit up in bed?
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Not quite yet.
And while a recipe book of quick cook meals does have a certain appeal…
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I doubt I need a potty mouthed granny to deliver them.
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Because we all need a little more silly in our lives.
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I’ve had my share of asshole plants. Matter of fact, I’m looking at one right now.
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See it up there taunting me? Scraggly, half dead. Yellow and brown tipped leaves so I don’t know if it has too much water or not enough. What a jerk. And talk about a misnomer. It’s called a Philippine money tree but hasn’t dropped a single 20 dollar bill on me in the 5 years he’s lived here… the rat bastard.
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Umm… far be it for me to argue with granny, but that doesn’t look like a lady to me. Check your ad copy nana. He doesn’t need a bra as much as a girdle.
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Unexpected? How hard is it to chop celery for heavens sake.
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When they’re right, they’re right.
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The search for items to sell at a flea market continues and things are being belched up from the basement at an alarming rate. I don’t know if he’ll ever actually go through with this plan, but he certainly is enjoying the trips down memory lane.
Today’s treasure?
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The 1967 version of an adult party game. And judging from the look on that woman’s face, insufficient martinis were consumed before play began.
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The game is simple. 24 cards are placed on top of the feely box, you draw one… then reach inside to pull out the corresponding item.
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Yes, those are teenie tiny dentures. 1967 sounds like a blast.
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I saw something interesting advertised on Facebook the other day.
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It’s some kind of fruit filled bubble that bursts when dropped in cocktails and I thought hey… that might be fun for the man cave bar. Until I saw they were $25 per plus tax… and $24.95 shipping. Undeterred, I sought them on Amazon.
While I was a bit disappointed they didn’t have the same brand, I was tickled by the imposter bubbles’ name.
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I might have to order them.
I mean really, who could resist?
🤣
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I should have known there would be a price to pay for excerpting passages from a book about sex.
I should have, but the flood of … how shall I say, related products… now polluting my screen is prodigious.
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Mothers Day gift anyone?
😳
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Technically that’s not a sex toy, but the algorithm’s mind went there anyway.
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I really need to be more careful with my book reviewing.
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I received an email the other day telling me my gift subscription to Cosmopolitan would be ending soon and I can’t tell you how pleased I was to hear it. Never has a present been less well received. And while I thanked my friend for the thought, I also made it abundantly clear another year of this trashy rag would not be welcome.
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Be honest men… did you even notice she was wearing a hat?
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Decades of legitimate research? If you say so…
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Even after a solid year of this crap, I’m still surprised this is what passes for a women’s magazine these days.
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Is this even possible?
On second thought, don’t answer. I don’t want to know.
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This entire publication lost me at hello. And in case you’re wondering, no… I don’t read the articles. I just flip through and photograph them for blog fodder. I didn’t meet Kristie and have no intention of ever doing so.
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After the visiting the first Duluth Trading Post to open in the state of Maine a while back, I admit I wasn’t impressed. Turns out I am even less impressed with their product descriptions online.
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Even if true, that’s lazy marketing.
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Tactical soap? It must be going to war with your armpits…
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One roll of toilet paper in a box does not a kit make.
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That’s a bridge too far. Bitchin’ is about the only thing I do well these days.
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Most of the time my Facebook ads get it wrong.
I don’t need ball wash soap or help with a bigger orgasm. I also don’t need ball hammock underwear, yet the hits just keep on coming. The latest is Halloween themed… and so very, very wrong.
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Do I need to see Frankenstein gettin’ his freak on? I most certainly do not.
But every once in a while, the algorithm hits a bit closer to the mark.
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And horrible grammatical translation aside, at least this one includes alcohol….with undertones of barn bar which we all know is near and dear to my heart.
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I’m sorry, but this ad made me laugh.
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The kissy face emojis are a little over the top, but whatever.
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So much to unpack here.
Exclusive female happiness? Sorry fellas, I think you’re redundant.
An orgasm that can provide 3-5 days to the world? Now that’s an impressive O.
Long standby. Does that means it hovers in the corner waiting until it’s needed again? A bit creepy, but okay.
And finally, We rest 50% today… that baby must provide one heck of a workout.
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River's world..... 