House of Wachs

WOULD IT HURT TO WRITE ONCE IN A WHILE?

My daughter emailed me this photo. Subject line of the email: a picture of your lover

She takes great pictures that kid, but I could enjoy them just as well without the sass, thanks, young 'un.

Here's Jeff tipping another one of Webb's sneaky off-speed sinkers. Jeff Francoeur was one of the few Braves that Brandon Webb of the D-Bags handled easily today as the Braves win! 7-3. 

The snap was taken with a little Lumix camera because that's all she needed being so close and all. Front row in those new SunTrust Club at Turner Field Seats I got from an immensely supportive manager at work. I believe this birthday was the one in which I lived more like a pasha than any other in Larry Wachs history. It's certainly an upgrade from the dark days of 2006 where I watched a lady drive into a river in upstate NY as we were headed to a funeral on May 26th of that year. At least it was a cool day outside.

And it shattered my streak of bad birthdays in even numbered years as chronicled here. I've even gotten three of the five things I wished for last year.

Readers, make sure you blow out ALLthe candles on YOUR birthday cake. Give a good blow, and don't miss a single one. If all you've got is a cake on your birthday, well, you still have a shot at a better life. This is Larry, of The Regular Guys Show, here to tell you, wishes do come true,  and please help support the fight against birthday candle apathy. Blow them out, not off.

Pateetong!

The SunTrust Club is built in right behind home plate where the camera well used to be. They've replaced it with a restaurant/bar with high quality fresh ingredients and highback cushioned seats. The new section is only 3-4 rows and goes dugout to dugout.  It's as if a big yacht backed into Turner Field somehow. Anything you want, when you want it, brought to your seat, which costs $300 for the evening, so bring a bag next time!

I would seriously consider taking 3 of these seats for my own in lieu of some pay. Think of the savings and perks.

I wouldn't have to pay for a meal at all for 82 days a year.

I'd be sitting with famous and rich people.

The players see you from the on deck circle every at bat for a few weeks and you become like family to them.

Before you know it, Jeff is in the on deck circle, I'm busy making business deals with Turner and Comcast executives, and he shouts, "Hey, Wachs. Let's get some beers after the game."

Well, that impresses the executives so, that the deals are pretty much a matter of signing on the dotted line at that point. Awesomely sweet!

I'm 47, why do you ask?

SKIN DEEP

Here's Michael Jackson in a Vegas bookstore with what looks to be office supplies all over his fucked up face.

My god. Will his father just apologize to him already for calling him ugly when he was little? I'm trying to keep down a meal over here.

OK, then. Michael. How about trying this website I found? Barnesandnoble.com. Thanks.

Also thanks to legendary conservative Rush Limbaugh for acknowledging my contribution to the culture.

Rush was pondering what this widely disseminated photo of Hillary Clinton would mean for her chances in the elections.

His conclusion: Not good. The American people don't vote for old and ugly. Interesting theory.

Here's a HOW column from 1/23/07:

Here's why Hillary Clinton will not become president.

She's ugly. Good night! She could promise to repeal the income tax tomorrow and still wouldn't cut it. She's just not attractive. There's no way around it.

Margeret Thatcher was ugly too, but people in England thought she was a male or at the very least, Alistair Cooke, which lent a regal credibility to her. Hillary Jefferson Cunton reminds everyone of the unselected leisure-suited witch in their life, be it recovering alcoholic lesbian spinster aunt or poodle haired real estate agent. She is easily the worst representative of the word female one could credibly put in front of the voting public.  Her penis envy shows on her puffy, weary, Soviet face in every single picture.  When she smiles, it can never mask the companionship of the wide eyes of surprise, the tell-tale sign of an enraged person who must over-emote to hide the smoldering within.

Sure, there are other reasons that invalidate this dumpy, water-logged totalitarian's grab for power.

She's a she. The American public does not want a leader who is prone to emotional outbursts and fits of irrationality.

Her voice.  A public already weary of George Bush's fumbledumble way of speaking will not put up with a shrill woman who says "Ya know" more times than your average NBA center.

But ugly is really all you need to score this one.

That's why I'm thinking my vote in '08 is gonna have to go to this man:

Barack Albino! The clear choice.

Happy birthday to Dr. Mike, who is 45 today. If you're in the Colorado area, and you need a new liver, give him a ring.

HURRY UP AND SCREW! SCREW UP AND HURRY!

Here's a story about a 29-year old grandmother in Quad Cities, IA....the person on the right....uhhh, I think.

Look, I'm all in favor of helping cruel stereotyping disappear from our society, but come on, folks. Help out a little, would ya?  What? You have a lake of semen in the backyard?

Russell Eugene is 1 day old.

His mother is 15.

She fidgets with a bottle of milk as she talks.

Then, sitting up straighter in bed, she asks, “When do you think I can play basketball again? I want to go out for the team at school.”

Oy vey!

New vocabulary word: NEVER. It means, "not ever."

Back at home with her mother and brothers, Celia — wearing pajamas and a do-rag that covers her hair — holds the baby. Her tank top shows off two black tattoos on her arms.

One, which winds down her forearm, reads “Tish,” her mom’s nickname. Another, below her shoulder, reads “Manica Magee,” which is the teen’s rap name.

Leticia told the girl she could get inked if she kept her grades up. They went to Chicago to get it done.

“She earned them,” Leticia said, nodding her head.

It's like watching the Munsters where everything horrific is perfectly normal.

"Oh, Herman. Eddie got a D in math, so I let him dig up the graveyard. Isn't that wonderful?"

"HAWHAWHAW...Lilly, that boy is a chip off the old slab...HAWAHAWHAWHAW."

(house shakes, ceiling tiles and dust fall, never to be replaced)

WACHS AT THE WATER COOLER

What's gone ooooon?!

I received a Bar Mitzvah photo from close friends where one of their sons was wearing dreadlocks. Way to put your best foot forward. How do parents have such little guidance over their kids? Is it too scary to say, "You look filthy and you'll never get a job that way.?" What are they going to do? Kill themselves? Good. Then we can all get some sleep. Dreadlocks are for filthy people with no self-respect. There's a reason they call them dreadlocks. It's because they are dreadful.

What if I sent out Hanumas cards and, in the family photo, my daughter has not shaved her pits or legs for a year and is wearing a New England Patriots bikini? How soon would I be the first person to ever get death threats due to his family holiday card? Very.

We've got a tie game, sport fan! OJ 1-The Man 1.

By the time OJ gets the verdict in his upcoming armed robbery trial, it will be my birthday. So, if you wind up becoming an OJ juror, I would love to have a guilty verdict for my big day. Thanks. If Fred Goldman did his job a long time ago, we wouldn't have to depend on another jury to use some common sense and decency. Thank Hashem Vegas is teeming with retired white people.

What did OJ do this time? He's accused of taking memorabilia that he claims belongs to him. He was in Vegas looking for the real pilferers. Is he guilty? It's not important, my pet. OJ's in jail, he got no bail, and that's the way it goes. Raaawhk!

Here's an excerpt from OJ's new book, "If I Didn't Commit Robbery, Here's What I Would Be Doing."

Page 1

Playing golf.

Page 2

Bowling.

Page 3

Looking for killers.

Page 4

Having sex with white women.

Page 5

Having sex with white woman while the kids are home.

Page 6

Using cocaine.

Page 7

Gambling.

Page 8

Buying stuff.

Page 9

Anonymously taunting the Goldmans on Chowhound.com message boards (...hey, anybody know whatever happened to Mezzaluna in LA? it was my fave.).

Page 10

Cashing my NFL pension check and waving the cash at police.

Page 11

Convincing Sydney that it was Mark Fuhrman who smacked her in the teeth during dinner last night.

I am looking forward.

Let's take a quick glance at Week 2 of the new millenium's greatest NFL trade:

Schaub 36-50, 452yards, 3 TDs. Houston 2-0.

Harrington 33-52, 399 yards,  0 TDs. Falcons 0-2.

Vick--going to jail.

Welp, see ya next owner!

OK, I'm tired. There's been a lot of golf going on and one of the guys wished me a Happy Hannukah and another wished me Happy Rashashasha, and I've got some sunburn and then the medications to quell the sting have made my mind all hairy. I have a lot more to say about things, but it'll have to wait until after I plug into bed and recharge.

YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK

Here's a real annoying comment on a previous entry here at the HOW from a couple days ago. This one.

See the picture of the chupacabra with the snaggle tooth? Here's what "Danny"--probably a clever alias--said about that photo.

That tooth on the right has Wachs written on over it.....ROFLMAO

First of all, it doesn't. I'll get to that in a moment.

Second of all, even if your comment was true, "DANNY," it is highly unlikely that it rises to the level of humor where anyone would roll about the floor as if he were consumed with flame, and laughing hard enough for his glutes to fail.

It's more like ROFTBMOA. Rolling On Floor Being My Own Audience, a.k.a .masturbation.

As for the first part, 99% of the Wachs Teeth Project is finished. Here are the results of that trial.

Yeahhhhh, ran out of budget before the nose hairs. Sorry. Next payday perhaps.

No photoshopping here, folks. Just 100% hand blown porcelain from Peru where orphan children blow on tubes as Mayan dwarf artisans shape the tooth. Not too shabby.

My wife tongue-kissed me...voluntarily...for the first time in 27 years! Now I will burn all prints of The Greenskeeper and erase all memory of my old teeth. Oh, happy day! There IS some joy in Yidville. Mighty Wachsy has glammed out.

GUT INSTINCTS

I went to Quizno's and the line, already slowed by the language barrier and the sandwich maker trainee on the job, slowed even further by a request from the conscious consumer in front of me inquiring if the political refugee behind the counter might have any fat free cheese available?

Fat free cheese. On a sub piled high with smoked meats and secret sauces on a honey wheat roll, in a place where chips are a side dish and a juicy, meaty prime rib sandwich with au jus, onions, and cheese is a top seller.

Where do people get the idea that Quizno's is a healthy food place?

Just because something is assembled and toasted before your eyes doesn't mean it's better for you. It's just more recently assembled, that's all. What nutritional value that has is not known by man.

I'll bet if McDonalds started to let people see them fry the burgers to order, many people would come to believe that McDs is a healthier place to eat despite not changing the caloric content one tasty iota.

I know some people who are pissed that McDonalds doesn't allow them to buy rare burgers. Isn't there enough for your antibodies to do as it is? Is it even possible for matheticians to calculate the amount of time a McDonald's burger could be on a griddle and still wind up rare?

Subway is not a health food store, either. Let me explode that myth. Just because that fat-ass Jared says it helped him lose weight, don't be fooled. What Jared doesn't tell you is that he could have eaten just two pieces of Popeye's chicken every meal for a year and lost weight he was so heavy. Subway has some lean items, but it's not medicinal.

Let's review. Quizno's. Not a health food store. Fast food. Not a health food store. It's fast. It's fun. It's comforting. But it's not a healthy lifestyle. Stop asking for fat-free cheese, you. It slows the line down and makes you look foolish. Go home. I'm trying to buy my family a snack.

Then my mother called to complain about my father.

"Your father almost burned down the kitchen today."

I'm sure.

"OK, I give up. Why?"

"He was making chicken wings."

I have to give my mom credit on this one. Their kitchen at the beach is tiny, and why the hell does he have to MAKE chicken wings there instead of going out and buying some from one of the 80,000 junk food merchants that line the beachfront highway covering 3 states, as any sane person would do?

It would be inaccurate to say that niether of them misses a meal. While it's true, it's more accurate to say that none of their waking minutes misses a meal. They're like a test couple for some misbegotten Ronco product that never saw a store shelf. Meal-A-Minute! The amazing new funnel that helps you eat every minute of the day!

Then George Stein called because my wife got a speeding ticket and it turns out that this is a death penalty case--Clayton County. They're cracking' the whip down there and I can't say I blame 'em---so we need his help. But I was on the bowl, so I called him back.

"Who takes a crap at 6pm?"

"I just did."

"I read an article in Prevention Magazine that says the best time to go is in the morning."

"What is that supposed to prevent?"

"I don't know. It said it's just a better time."

Well, my apologies to the poop schedulers at Prevention Magazine for being such a maverick, but I go when my belly tells me, morning, noon, or night. Here's an article idea for you. It prevents me from crapping my pants, and that's all the prevention I need.

MITT'S GAINER

Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney stopped into a NH diner to speak with elderly meat loaf eaters about health care. He was confronted by a waitress there, who despite being obese, rude, and stupid had a lot of interesting things to say.

Hey, I've got an idea.

I will pay for that womans health insurance if I can come over there every Friday at 2 and punch her in the vagina.

America wins. Arf, arf.

Here's the impression I'm under. The president has nothing to do with your health care. He's not a doctor. And that's lucky for you.

Because if he was, I'm sure he'd insist you run laps. He'd tell you to lose 700 pounds, brush your teeth at least 3 times a week, and lose the cuddly fur from your upper lip.

I don't think you'd like him very much.

So...read some books, get a better job, and get better health care. Because no one will work on your body for free.

Now, then. Get me some pie, and make it snappy....and I want it hot.

Romney did a good job of handling that oaf, but I don't like this Romney for President idea. First, that previous sentence marked the 5th time in a row I've typed his name as "Romeny" first before correcting it. I can't get the hang of that typing move and I don't want to. He's too pleather to lead America and he's from Massachusetts where people speak with an irritating accent and are ugly and lazy. They can't even say the word car correctly.

That whole appearance in the restaurant was a complete waste of time. Jesus!

STATE OF THE ART

I hate to state this publicly for fear of incurring the wrath of my hot-tempered and sexy dermatologist who reads this, but sometimes the risk of skin cancer is worth improving one's physical appearance. It happens so rarely for me to get positive feedback on my appearance, but now I've got a really nice glow to my skin after a week.5 at the beach and a couple of hours of being with a senior citizen in a porn shop. My neighbors are buzzing about my savage tan.

Side note to my hot-tempered, sexy dermatologist--the tan is only on my limbs. My torso and other clothing covered parts are still fish belly white as per your instructions.

I plan on pursuing a pro-tanning agenda that includes extending the current color level until at least the time my teethwork is finished about a month from now. Oh, how I wish it was done already. What a combo. I'm so excited.

Next time Aunt Bunny calls my parents offering to fix up a Wachs boy with actress Ellen Barkin as she did last week, it'll be me, and not the swarthy, Tunisian-inspired look of my brother Dr. Mike, who despite a weight gain of about 20 pounds in the last year, still can open doors with just a smile, while I still need the aid of attorneys and doctors.

Much to his credit, Dr. Mike kept his integrity by refusing the temptation of Barkin up her 52-year old Hollywood tree just because she's a movie star.

"I've already got a wife and girlfriend. It's enough," he explained to my mom, the pimp, who, by the way, has come up with a great cure for sciatica...leaning against the dishwasher! It really works.

Only 7 more days until Phase 1-Bleaching commences. By September, I'll be going to Kohl's to purchase my robe, pipe, and slippers at their annual Half Off Back-To-School Sale, and hosting wine tastings at my condo with a jazz combo playing in the corner. Look out ladies! I've been watching "Big Love" on HBO lately and getting some big ideas.

It is certainly an antidote for the frustrating act of trying to find meaningful work in the radio business circa 2007, where the idea that skillfully produced entertainment can compete for listeners and revenue hasn't quite caught fire just yet. Here's an interesting email I got from a very talented former colleague:

Wachs--

You still jobless too? I can't seem to find the right gig. In the meantime, I am getting incredibly muscular and I plan to use the muscles for good. My original plan was to use them for evil. Then I saw the new Harry Potter movie and good beats evil. How much can you bench? This is the part of the day where I usually send a half assed tape and resume to Idaho or some other Godforsaken place. But today, I am going to start an internet rumor about Lindsay Lohan. If you happen to hear on the streets that Lohan has seven nipples, then you know who the source is. I have pictures.

I work in a warehouse now. I'm a captain of industry.

Hope all is well,

**SENDER REDACTED**

My response:

I am not jobless. Recently, I helped my wife complete a slide show for our neighborhood swim team. The pay was minimal. Actually, it was zero. Actually, I have yet to be reimbursed by the homeowner's association for the $35 of materials it cost me. So, yeah. I'm not jobless. I'm paying to work. But it's still work, and that makes me a worker. It puts me, too, on the side of good, and not evil.

I admire greatly your work ethic and I will do my level best to help spread this fresh Lohan rumor. In fact, if you read about it on TMZ, Defamer, or Drudge, then you can smile knowing that the juice I have with my industry contacts is still flowing. Perhaps you saw the fruits of my recent work floating the rumors that Lance Bass is gay, and Paris Hilton went to jail, neither of which are true, but generally accepted as true by most people. And get this...I happen to know who Ellen Barkin is dating!!!

I saw that the program manager of our former hangout,**STATION CALL LETTERS REDACTED**, has posted a job for producer of **SHOW NAME REDACTED***, which is odd, due to the fact that they have no shortage of producers on that show, and even their producers have producers.

You may want to apply, but my experience tells me that this job is designed solely to be a conduit of information back to the PD on how to get rid of **SHOW NAME REDACTED**, and their negative return on investment. A mole, if you will, inside a show that lacks no producers. Once that show has been dismissed, you will be discarded. But it's probably worth a good 7 months of pay, not to mention the perks of being able to wear nipple clamps, eat freshly made host turds, and jack off into a cup and eat it, while the hosts whine to the press and their agent about what misunderstood victims they are....all on the air, in the name of great morning radio in **MARKET REDACTED**, the nation's number **MARKET SIZE REDACTED** market.

In the meantime, keep your pimp muscles strong.

So as you see, I have now become a haven of comfort for the similarly afflicted. It's like being a homeless advocate only with less odor. I will accept this burden, and invite other talented radio people in or out of the business currently to seek counsel. I will soothe you. Come bask in my glow.

WACHS BEACH DIARIES '07--CHAPTER 3

Even though the eyes roll when it's said, it is nonetheless true. Peace and quiet focuses the mind like nothing else. If you don't fear your thoughts, it's the only elixir for regrouping. There is a shortage of that here what with 13 people in our vacation group scattered over 3 buildings. One third of the group is teenage girls, which means our group rolls as smooth as a flat tire, and as noisily. Therefore, I have fallen behind in the Wachs Beach Diaries as the ridiculous conversations and multi-lateral bickerings continue well into 2200 hours.

My hot Jappy sister and Mee-Maw Wachs are having a heated discussion by the kitchen. Let's listen:

"Mom. How come you didn't answer your cell phone before? I called you like three times"

"I couldn't answer the phone. I was in a hardware store."

"Were you trying on welding helmets?

"Nancy! Their policy is no cellphones in the store."

"What? Are they landing planes in there?"

"No!....They just don't want them ringing in there."

"I don't understand. Who is incensed at cellphones ringing in a store that sells noisy things? And why would you even pay attention to such an asinine policy? And what are you doing in a hardware store? You can barely walk!"

"Naaaance...ya know what? I don't want to talk about it."

That means "I lost."

Dr. Mike is not a teenage girl, but just as disconcerting. He's becoming less conservative with age. It concerns me at his age that his ethos is still "Why wouldn't a guy?" and believes "because" is a reason.

However, his golf swing today didn't have the same fly-every-hazard, never-say-layup daring. The course we played was a little ridiculous. War Admiral was the name of it, the fairways formerly roamed and grazed upon by the famous racehorse of the 30s of the same name, who was later upset by the even more famous Seabiscuit.

It's a nice place with a Ruth's Chris in the clubhouse, but the course strikes me as the product of an ailment afflicting every sector of the entertainment industry--creating something more out of a desire to impress fellow professionals than the customer.

This course looked like it was designed by status seeking course architects trying to outdo other designers as the most gimmicky and clever. It had giant swales and pot bunkers in the middle of the fairway. It's corruption of principle pure and simple when you build a golf course for the middlebrow hacker that doesn't reward a fairway tee shot of 280 down the center. Worse, my brother-in-law bisected the fairway once, landed on some gimmicky eyebrow shaped ridge, and it kicked near a hazard. A good shot penalized. Ridiculous. We're not on the tour.

I figured Dr. Mike was intimidated by the course layout.

"Nope. It was my back."

I had forgotten that Dr. Mike's club bravado landed him in the surgical ward, this time on the patient side of the scalpel. Last year, he torqued into a big drive and ruptured a disc. Even Tiger admitted on TV that his putting sucked this week because he couldn't shake the memory of the US Open's greens from three weeks earlier, which were quicker than a teenage boy with his best friend's mom. It's not surprising a ruptured disc on a golf swing would conservatize even the most devil-may-care amateur.

"I had this 23-year old nurse come in after surgery and ask me how my pain level was, scale of 1-10. I said 6. She shot me up with Dilaudid. It's the best drug ever invented. Then she petted my hand and said if it got above a 5 again, she would have to give me more. She comes back a couple of hours later and asks what my pain level is. It was about a 3 at that point, but I said 6. She's 23 and petting my arm and Dilaudid is the best drug ever. Why wouldn't a guy? If I could have, I would have had a drip of it in one arm and a drip of viagra in the other and pressed that call button until I came or went.

"Meanwhile, the room is starting to turn blue and a bright blue disc is closing around me. They had to revive me because I got so relaxed I stopped breathing."

"So, you started dying?"

"Yep," with that detached M.D. cool. "It wasn't scary at all like they say in movies. I really wouldn't have minded going at that point."

"Are you glad you're here now?" Somebody needed to pay the Ruth's Chris check, and if he didn't really care too much for life, why wouldn't a guy pick up the check?

"Of course. I don't want to die. I'm just saying it was very pleasant at the time. More pleasant than anything going on."

"Do you believe in god now?"

"No. That's bullshit. I just saw a blue disc."

"What if that was god's blue disc?"

"That was all in my mind."

"How do you know?"

"Because no one else in the room saw the blue disc."

"Who invented the mechanism that gives you one last moment of extreme pleasure before you die?"

"No one. It just happens that way. That's science."

Yes, brimming with inquiry. At least his golf swing is slowing down a bit. Perhaps the rest is coming. You just don't shake the blue disc.

PALM OF HAND-APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD

Oy! As a top weekend athlete and big fan of pain relief, I was sad to see this news story that one of my favorite products has been unfairly charged in an overdose.

Girl Ben-Gays Self To Death

New York — A 17-year-old track star died in April from a rare toxic dose of sports cream, New York's medical examiner said Friday. Arielle Newman, a cross-country runner at Notre Dame Academy on Staten Island, died after her body absorbed high levels of methyl salicylate, an anti-inflammatory found in sports creams such as Bengay and Icy Hot, the New York City medical examiner said Friday. The medical examiner's spokeswoman, Ellen Borakove, said the teen used "topical medication to excess." She said it was the first time that her office had reported a death from using a sports cream.

Still, hysterics will call for endless legal tribunals to solve this burgeoning epidemic. Hundreds of morning radio shows will now have to cancel their "Sit in a tub of Absorbine Jr. to win an XBOX" contests, and the price of Icy Hot will surely rise as the legal fees and assorted crisis management costs are passed along to the achy consumer forcing millions of senior citizens to turn to the streets where shady figures are more than happy to addict them with Oxycontin.

Her mother, Alice Newman, said she still couldn't believe her daughter's death was caused by a sports cream. "I am scrupulous about my children's health," she told the Advance. "I did not think an over-the-counter product could be unsafe."

Um-hmmmm. Somebody's gonna have some sore muscles after laying the foundation for that lawsuit, and don't expect me to lend you any of my sports cremes that I've horded for the coming inquisition. No way. I keep them in a bunker in my backyard with supplies of duct-tape and Sudafed. You can easily take my sports cremes from my sore, tired hands, so I keep them locked tight.

I'd like to address the mother, and I want to select my words carefully and sensitively because she is experiencing grief and greed, either of which is very stressful alone....THE PRODUCT IS SAFE YOU...YOU...STUPID PERSON!!!! ...Forgive me. I am sorry. Wash my mouth out with hexachlorophene-free soap. What I meant to say is that the product is safe when used as directed...dumbass.

This may seem a minor point--in fact, it is a nit, but I feel compelled to pick it. It's creme, not cream. Creme is cream without any dairy origins. For example, Oreos are "creme-filled" because the filling is not made with any cream. But whipping cream is dairy hence the spelling. Right off the bat, the use of "sports cream" in the first sentence indicates the writer of this story is a sloppy half-wit. If you want to get your medical news from sloppy half-wits, well, go right ahead, but not me. And is something that has never happened before "rare?" The correct word choice would be "unprecedented." Rare implies precedent.

The night before her death, Arielle returned from a party and spoke with her mother for hours before going to bed.

What happened at the party? I saw "Grease" a few times and I know that some girls like to get together and eat snacks and apply anti-acne treatments while gossiping about boys.  It's not out of the question that there could have been some sports creme passed around at the party. My college buddies used to have Robitussin get togethers quite often. Perhaps a DVD of "Jackass" was being shown influencing the kids to eat some balm as a crazy stunt. Kids these days.

No one seems to be curious what exactly happened at the party. Attack of the sloppy half-wits.

Let me also point out that, whatever the toxicity possiblities that lie within topical sports cremes and gels, this kind of incident could never happen to men. Men have a built in safety valve that naturally curtails the excess use of sports cremes. It is alternately referred to as "the sack," "the brain," "the silk purse," "the tea bag," "the jewel pouch," "and the doodaddangler." Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the venerable scrotum!

All sports creme application stops at the point when creme touches the cream factory, and automatically limits the cavalier attitude toward sports cremes that may have gotten this young lady in harm's way.

Sloppy half-wits with penis envy. Is that who we want running America? At least we have this soothing balm to comfort us this weekend.