The 12 Hams Of Christmas

It's Christmas time, and UPS is here. Again.

I open the door, and  drag in an obscenely large, cold, cardboard box.

On it reads: 

To: Dawn, Justin and Derek

From: Dad

Derek: "Ooooooooooooooooh mommy what is it???!!!!"

Me: "It's a ham".

Derek: "How do you know?"

Me: "It's a ham."

Derek: "Yeah but you didn't even open …"

Me: "It's a ham. A very large, ham Derek. I get it every year. This year I'm strapping it into a baby seat and driving it to the needy. I hear they're in desperate need of warm blankets and ham."

Derek: "Cant we just open it and see if…"

Me: "Ham, Derek … Ham."

Every Christmas, without fail, my dad sends me a ham. And I'm not really sure I should say "without fail", because between me and you, no one eats it. Generally, we graffiti it with expletives and submit it to the Museum of Modern Art.

Two months after the invasion of the Thanksgiving turkey, as we're still picking out turkey from between our teeth … here comes our new roommate, the Here -Til '-August, Christmas ham. 

It's a ham so colossal, that upon its arrival, warrants me to begrudgingly rearrange the contents of my already packed refrigerator, like a failed attempt at a Rubix cube, just for it to eventually not fit in.

Where the hell is The Hamburgler when you need him.

Funny thing is, I really want to appreciate this ham. I really do. And I think I did…the first 11-14 years I received it. But for starters, I don't eat ham. Oddly enough, for some reason, receiving this poor innocent ham every year like clockwork, has touched a nerve so deep that I actually considered throwing it out. 

But after looking at it again and thinking..."Where's the wheels?"…I realized I'd probably end up throwing my back out instead.

Plan B: Maybe I can just shot-put it into the woods. After all, raccoons need Christmas gifts, too. Rabies alone isn't festive enough. 

Ham Hostility. That's even a new one for me. So where is it coming from. 

Well, hard to believe something like a Priority Mail Nueske's Ham can prompt some type of poignant discovery in myself, but so it had. 

I realized I wasn't mad at the actual ham at all. 

That would be psychotic. And just because I yell at and flip off hams doesn't make me psychotic.

Turns out that it's not that I don't appreciate the gesture of cute little dead farm animals being sent to my front door, it's not that at all.

It's more because … (organ sound) … I'm mad that my dad doesn't call me enough to know that I don't eat ham. At least not the amount of ham that by code requires me to start working on blueprints for a guest room addition. 

Instead of a call, I get a giant, impersonal ham. His way of letting me know that he, unlike the ham, is not dead.

Upon that discovery, unlike the Grinch on Christmas Eve whose heart grew 3x too big, 

like a pair of all cotton underwear in the dryer for too long, my heart shrank 10x too small. 

Mad at the ham because I never see my dad?
No. The ham represents the dad I never see.
Genius.

A strangely epiphanic moment, all whilst the backdrop of air hung heavily with the scent of pork.

I'd so much rather see my dad than this stupid, hulking ham which he's obviously under the impression that I need in my life more than a dad. 

Could it be that he sends it because it's metaphoric of baby Jesus being born, and will be with me eternally? Maybe that's why it's swaddled with sections of cotton gauze. Although that could be cheesecloth for basting. I'm not really sure. But whatever the case, like Christ, it's certainly omnipotent.

I could even possibly forgive the ham if it were delicious, and not so dry from flying around from state to state, accumulating frequent flyer miles in the cargo section of an airplane. But as it stands, it's so dry that instead of kindling, I use it to start a nice ambient fire on Christmas day. When my dad asks me if I roasted the ham, I just say "yes". So it works out nicely.

And God Forbid I should be so blunt as to say:

…"Dad. Really. You need to stop with the ham."

I don't hear from him now, can't imagine if I insulted his annual ham. That'd be grounds for 1 phone call a year, versus the current symmetrical 2.

So it ends up looking more like this:

Me: "Oh hi dad, thanks so much for the ham! I told you last year, and the year before, and the year before that, that you really, really, did NOT need to be so generous and send us a 46 lb. ham again. But thank you. So nice of you. And since you did, I'll make sure to make some ham and cheese quiches, and split pea with ham soup, ham sandwiches for the kids, and green eggs and ham. Thank you!"***

*** Lies. I cut it into cubes and divvied it up to my dogs for the past 3 years. But I was thinking of you the whole time.

Last year, since the ham was caked in 30 lbs. of ice, after the painful workout I endured from dragging it in, I needed to rest my feet on something so I used the ham for 4 months as a biodegradable ottoman.

I always wanted an ottoman for Christmas.

This year, I call my dad…

Me: " Hi dad it's Dawn. Omg when was the last time you called me, whoops! Meant, 'Merry Christmas', and thanks for sending the ham. I'm waiting for some friends to come over so they can help me lift it onto the counter."

Dad: "Oh good…it got there already? " 

Me: " Yeah Dad, asteroids travel pretty fast … Dad that ham is so big, it'd be the first thing I'd throw off a sinking ship. Yep, got here yesterday! I'd put it on the phone to say hi, but it's in the middle of holding up my house at the moment."

Me:  "Dad, seriously. I love you, but next year, save yourself some money…that's a LOT of ham. Unless I cut it up and give it to all my dogs, which I'd never do, there's no way we can all eat this before it goes bad."

Dad:  "That's OK. The kids I'm sure will eat it."

Me: "Dad, it's almost impossible for them to eat it while I'm resting my feet on it."

Okay fine.

I know he means well. I'm over it. I got it off my chest. I'm not mad at him nor his ham, nor Mr. Nueske's entire family anymore.

I'll just continue coming up with new inventions for it every year, as well as continue to jam it into the fridge, muscle the refrigerator door closed, and walk away reprehending it under my breath like I would a kid sent to his room for peeing into a wall socket.

Moral of the Story:

Ham is not a replacement for real love or genuine communication during the holidays.

Chocolate dipped cookies and Frosted Cakes are.

Get with it dad.

Merry Christmas

& 

Bah Hambug.

:)

~dawn

How To Properly Prepare A Human for Thanksgiving Dinner.

1.  Start out by making a list of a bunch of humans you'd never want all in the same room at the same time, and then proceed to invite each and every one of them to your Thanksgiving dinner.

2.  Resign yourself to gorging from Thanksgiving until New Years Eve, when at that point, you will stoically join a gym, go for 2 weeks, and never return, ever again. 

3.  Thanksgiving morning: Wake up. Grunt something about "...fucking traffic".

4. Remove 9 years worth of clothing off of home treadmill in an attempt to find it for rumored post Thanksgiving workout.

5. Once shower water reaches 82º, wash human thoroughly under soapy running water.

6.  Remove any stray facial, ear, chin, nose, tongue hair that might cause human to human revulsion during Thanksgiving dinner.

7.  Carefully drape the body in clothes or circus tent that can successfully hide your soon to be, deteriorating physical state. 

8.  Transfer expensive, store-bought, world renowned bakery desserts into shitty household tupperware as to create the illusion of your baking skills and abundant Thanksgiving efforts.

9.  Simmer in traffic for 3-17 hours or until brain is tender enough to shoot anyone even looking in your direction. If you haven't done this, you haven't sat in traffic long enough, and must go back and repeat this process or Thanksgiving just isn't the same.

10.  Female humans: Spend roughly 1-4 hours rehashing and carefully dissecting every potential jab made at you at last years Thanksgiving dinner, and the year before, for no reason other than, it feels good.

11. Spend additional 3 hour car ride to dinner, berating your husband or spouse for claiming he didn't pick up on any of it.

12. To better prepare a human for inevitable snarky comments at table, 

carefully go over your "what if she says this…what if he says that" lists in the car ride over there. 

13. Always arrive on time, with homemade food, wine, flowers and a smile on your face. And half trashed if you can.

14. Upon arrival, pickle brain promptly with approximately 1/2 gallon of alcoholic beverage of your choice, to help diminish Thanksgiving awareness.

15. Look for something resembling a cornucopia, raise to lips. Pretend you're the dude from the Ricola commercial playing the Flugalhorn. Clean up fruit from floor.

16. Set timer for about 35 minutes; Time how long it will take for that one predictable asstard that's destined to try and impress us with his/her factual knowledge about the sleep inducing affects of the Tryptophan in turkey.

17. For proper digestion and retention of ones utensils, do not talk about Obama anything.

18. Lie about the hosts ability to retain the moistness and juiciness of turkey despite your Ginsu steak knife, your saliva, and 32 gnashing teeth not being able to break it down. 

19. Take unbearable friend or family members ass measurements to see if they'll comfortably fit in your oven for next years Thanksgiving dinner.

20. Be gracious and express gratitude toward people who contributed all the delicious food on the table. To all others whose food wasn't swallowable, point rudely at them and giggle.

21.  To guarantee the prompt elimination of oneself and/or visiting additional human families at the end of the night, in replace of egg nog, drink 12 raw eggs to spur on Salmonella poisoning. 

22. Take note of how annoying and misbehaved all kids are when they're not your own annoying, misbehaved kids.

23. Prepare human for dessert by discreetly unbuttoning pants while no one is looking. Refluff  shirt.

24. Using a hot oil thermometer, test gravy temperature to see if dumping it on someones lap is even worth it.

25. Observe droves of women toiling in the kitchen and the man clusters half asleep all over the couches. Observe.

26. To prevent calories and fat from adhering to stomach and thighs, eliminate plates and forks, eat cake and pastries directly from box. This is female-verified scientific data.

27. Go to the bathroom. 

28. Lift up shirt. Assess damage.

30. Stuff towels under door crack to muffle screams.

31. Be truly thankful for all your wonderful family members and friends. 

32. Walk quietly and classily toward your car. Close car door.  Start verbally throwing some people under a bus.

32.  Forgo cell phone game apps and instead spend the ride home playing connect the dots with your new cellulite dimples to pass the time.

33. Stare at brake lights. Curse turkeys.

34. Get home, go to your bedroom and pass out*****. 

*****Actually, did I ever tell you why you'll be extra sleepy and pass out ? Well, it's not because you're just full. It's mostly because turkey meat has these really high levels of this sleep inducing chemical in it that is naturally produced in our own bodies to help induce sleep. I'm not sure if you've ever heard of it. It's called tryptophan. 

:)~

~dawn 

Raising Your Own Backyard Pig

   

9 dirty socks, 8 empty, crushed bottles of Poland Spring, 7 multi colored sticky guitar picks, 6 wrinkled, stained t-shirts, 5 blankets, on the floor of course, keeping a 5 week old dried doody log company, 4 drinking glasses fused to the nightstand, 3 crusty forks, 2 empty family size bags of Doritos, an empty, archival container of chicken... or pudding, hard to tell, and probably 1 dead partridge somewhere, which I assume used to live in some sickly, withering pear tree.

This is my sons room. Well, not the picture above, but that's what it feels like. Walmart's Day After Christmas Sale.
(The anal retentive in me had to make sure you knew that.)

However, I think it's safer to assume that canoeing through the Amazon river, sans malarial shots, is less deadly than it is to embark upon a seedy journey into my son's room to change a lightbulb. Whatever the deal, I'm sure I should've called the CDC before I volunteered for helping out with something this categorically cootified.

In nature, there's a fascinating bird called the Bowerbird. The male Bowerbirds collect and artfully arrange color and object specific collections to attract a mate. And the males with the most spectacular displays in their lairs, win the female. The collections are varied things ranging from piles of nuts, heaps of specific flowers, piles of dead beetles, heaps of deer shit, and even color coordinated garbage. It's a trait fascinating for a bird from Papua New Guinea. And a borderline repulsive / heave worthy trait if you're a human. If my sons lair were the basis for any long standing relationship, it would only attract the head custodian of a hazardous waste removal company, a senior archeologist, or a herd of protozoologists. You shouldnt need tongs to clean a bedroom.

I'll try and give you a better visual: If his room were the first thing you saw when you opened the door to your house, you'd immediately smack the security alarm button, and call the cops because you'd think your house was ransacked by an irate band of bat wielding meth addicts that had a particular hankering for 2 week old ham and cheese sandwiches during their heist. And then you'd find the nearest shovel, pick it up and swing it around every blind corner you turned, hoping to bring whoever did this to their knees.

I'm a little nicer than that. I don't use a shovel. But I'd be lying if I said yelling with flailing arms, and a cattle prodder weren't involved.

A total pig sty. I have to say 'pig sty' because thats what my mom always called it, so for nostalgic reasons, filthy room must under all circumstances, equal "pig sty". I've never really hung out in an authentic pig sty, but I can promise you this; there's no loose leaf binders stuck to the walls there. And about the dried dog poop on the floor that I found-- pigs will at least eat shit. My son just leaves it there waiting for the fine art of disintegration to show us how it's done.

So on second thought, it's not like a pig sty at all, It's more like the 'after' scene of a Fall Out shelter, where someone forgot to install the door.

Bottom line is, unless you enjoy the sensation of deli meat caressing your scalp, laying on the remnants a 3 day old turkey sandwich is not an acceptable substitute for a pillow.

I guess the ability to live amongst viruses and newly unearthed species of cream colored fungi are one of those teenage milestones I just have to get used to. But how could it not bother him. You'd think that rolling over to go to sleep, and crushing nachos with your ear, or pulling up a blanket, but not being able to, because the gum and soda you spit out 6 weeks ago has welded the sheets to floorboards, would force upon him some type of personal intervention. I'm sure this is how the first Glue Trap was invented. Walking barefoot onto a teenage boys bedroom floor. Then I think, eh, stop complaining. At least it's still just gum. Innocent, little fruit scented gum. I seriously dread the day that used condoms become part of the harvest.

Thankfully, he does shower every day and spends more time coifing his coif than Justin Beiber ever did.
But showering is clearly his ploy to make his friends think that his cleanliness factor somehow infuses the rest of his life as well. And that he doesnt fall asleep on Village Bagels # 6 sandwich. Well ladies, let it be known that this cleanliness ends as soon as the last bubble encapsulating his filth goes down the shower drain. The waterlogged towels are thrown to the ground, where his wet, stanky clothes will lay for days, mulching into crop fertilizer.

So once more for clarity purposes: The showers are merely to fool the women. Not THIS woman, of course. The other ones. The ones who dont have to blow torch his underwear off the floor.

Now I don't expect a 12 or a 9 year old boy to have the same level of fastidiousness as their slightly anal retentive, moderately OCD, stain removing, rug cleaning, toilet scrubbing, sink bleaching, laundry doing, stink removing house maid of a mom does, who showers three times a day, periodically gives the vacuum cleaner attachments herbal baths, and rearranges the magazines so they stack in the proper descending color spectrum.

But I do expect him to know that when the sheets crack, it's time to wash them.

I finally decide I can't do it anymore. I walk into his room to make my last plea for cleanliness, but wearing socks now for protection. We make a truce. Sign peace treaties. Chest bump. And I walk out. I feel a cool breeze on my feet. I look down and see my socks are missing. I turn back and see that I walked out of my socks, because they're stuck to his bedroom floor. Stuck to the floor like 2 dead war flags waving in the toxic wind. Symbolic of my futile efforts.

So before I fall victim to some rare airborne e coli saprophyte, I'd like to extend an early apology: In the event of there being a sudden resurgence of the Bubonic Plague, or some other virus where your skin and appendages melt off and my kids indirectly wipe out your entire family, I'm truly sorry. I tried. I really, really did.

Toy Story: The X Rated One

***The following story you're about to read is not intended for those under 18, (they are blocked), those who practice political correctness, nuns, priests, born again christians, people who shop at Mormon-Underwear.com, chastity belt manufacturers, mahjong players, polo players, bible thumpers, mothers of Westport, vagiphobes, peniphobes, or anyone else who thinks that sex is purely a tool for reproductive purposes. What you are about to read may be deemed as crude and crass and wreaks of classlessness and pina colada flavored Astroglide. So if you're the type who, like in I Love Lucy, sleep in 2 separate beds out of fear of naked body parts colliding, and thinks 'cum loud' is an honorary graduation accolade, you might wanna take some precautions before your eyes move in a southerly direction. And maybe even opt to read Pixars Toy Story reviews instead of the soon to be perused, adult toy story review, where bad taste is the main character, and lewdness is the co-star. That is unless your objective is to confirm why my writing can at times be childish, disgusting, vulgar, salacious, depraved, inappropriate, unfiltered and shameful. Quickly followed up with why I should live in a pink, rusted out trailer, eating canned Deviled Ham for breakfast and The Price is Right for dinner. Then welcome. You're amongst friends. Let me get started.

Now let's not poo poo what I'm about to say. But what's so wrong about going into an adult toy store. In my opinion, strolling into an adult toy store for whether it's lingerie, or toys, or latex cow buttocks, is so much more subtle and incognito than going to one of those adult toy parties that your friends decide to throw in their living room, where everyone even knows each others husbands, boyfriends, and gynecologists. Those I refuse to go to. I'm sorry, but I don't want my friends knowing what exact sexual preferences or perversions I may or may not gravitate towards. I don't need to get defensive about why I'm buying sperm flavored cupcake batter. (Okay, I'm just doing a little volunteer baking for some upcoming Westport PTA meetings, if you must know. )

Nor do I need to know why my friend's buying pomegranate flavored stilettos and a dildo called The Shaquille O'Feel. Or why my girlfriend's buying her boyfriend a live chicken that 'coincidentally' comes with a bag of corn feed-covered hot dog rolls for his penis. I really don't. Do your thang. Leave me out of it.

So for my money, adult toy shops win over parties. And even if you're uncomfortable with complete strangers seeing you there, you can just snatch one of their S&M masks off the shelf, and casually walk around making your selections that way, and maybe even grab a whip, to ensure a better place in line.

There are however, 2 things about adult toy stores that can be awkward. One, is that they actually have a guy, carding you at the door. Nice. So now they know my car, license plate number, my complete name, and my exact street address. Which tends to be a little unsettling when you're usually walking out with an electric penis. And two, they usually test the batteries AND the toy, simultaneously, up at the cashier desk, when there's a full horny line of people behind you watching. Seriously? Don't bother. I'll buy it broken. No surprise that I steal my stuff when I go there, and I'd encourage you to do the same.

Which brings me to the best part: adult toy store merchandise.

Anyone whose ever been in an adult toy store knows its pretty much like walking into a party gag shop with a seriously bad sexual twist. Like you know those infamous gag toy 'peanut cans' that rattle when you shake them, like you think there's peanuts in there?? But you open it and a coiled up fabric snake pops out? A porn shop would sell that exact same ridiculousness and somehow make it a sex toy. So instead of a fake snake surprising you and launching out of the can, a big black dildo would. Probably with a snakes face painted on it. And 2 nuts. And they'd call it, " Rocket Dick"....or something subtle like that.

It seems that if you want to become rich fast, come up with an idea for a new sex toy. Everything seems to pass inspection in porn shops. And while in the creative process, you can easily leave your embarrassment by the weigh side knowing this is an industry that approves products like Suck My Nuts candy covered peanuts they sell up at the front desk and Whoopie Cushions that fart out Astroglide. It's an entrepreneurs wet dream. I think that may even be one of the names of their toys. Entrepreneur's Wet Dream.

Here's just a sampling of a few real product names / actual sex toys that are selling off the shelves and making money in adult toy stores:

1----> Captain Pecker, blow up, man doll

( Great likelihood that I dated him.)

2----> Bareback Mount Him, blow up blue latex male doll ( you've seen the movie now... hump the pool liner?)

3----> Fatty Patty, inflatable obese woman (Reviews were sketchy. No one knew when they were actually supposed to be done blowing her up.)

4----> Area 51 Love Doll--a 3 boobed alien blow up doll, with ass shaped ears.

(yeah)

5----> The Accomodator, chin strap-on dildo

(As useful as the Post-It note??)

6----> The Luvin lamb, inflatable...*ahem*...fuckable...baby...animal.

( Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'animal lover'.)

7----> iGasm, a snap on musical enhancement vibrator attachment for your iPod

( I think iphones have an app for this already.)

8----> The Oral Sex Snorkel

(Discovery channels Deadliest Catch Crew to perform fellatio on the sperm whales?? I'm stumped...see pic below.)

9----> The Vagina Foot, foot fetish toy

(100% screwable plastic, severed foot. Classy shit.)

10----> The Middle Finger Vibe, a vibrator in a middle finger

(A popular choice in The Bronx, I suppose.)

11----> Baby Jesus Butt Plug

(wow. Talk about being agnostic)

12----> The Auto Suck, an automatic dick sucker that plugs into your cars cigarette lighter.

(actual quote on the box : "Do Not Use While Driving.")

                      ----------------------------------------------

Yes sireee, those were all actual, manufactured, money making products.

So seeing that I had about 13 years in advertising myself, I couldn't help but create a few new products of my very, very own.

I hope you'll enjoy the next few minutes strolling down Dawns Toy Store aisle:

Dawn's Actor/Actress inspired Blow up Dolls:

1. Angelinas Holie

2. Demi Moore Moore Moore

3. Hermans Pee Wee

4. Banana-Rammer (*Only available in the brunette chick)

5. Johnny Deep

6. Courtney Cocks

7. Sandra Buttock

8. Sigourneys Beaver

Dawns Toy Inventions:

1. The Pud-ometer : Thanks to the technology brought to you by the creators of the foot pedometer, now comes the Pud-ometer. Count your way 'by the pound" to her next orgasm. Using the brilliant L.E.D. pump display, now you can easily count even in the dark! Simply tape it to your butt cheeks and start counting. The man with the lowest number wins! Perfect xmas gift for the highly competitive male.

2. "My Friend Richard" : Cleverly tagged and disguised as ''Richard",... ''Dick" the dildo will be virtually incognito anywhere you take him. So need need to worry about your boyfriend finding you two in bed together... that is since he's ..... ''just a friend."

3. The Eliminator : Ahhhhhh, shit fetish, you say??? Now with our handy pooper scooper bag of recycled dog and cat shit, your fecal fetish is only a cats purr away. Just break open the pooper scooper bag, fling, smear, and go to town. No more needless worries as to whether or not you'll 'be able to perform' on the spot. Trust us, there's no shit like this out there. Approximately 12 movements per bag. (comes in a zip lock resealable bag for guaranteed freshness.)

4. Weeeeeeee This is Fun!!!!!! : Hey, When ya gotta go, you gotta go !! With "Weeeee This Is Fun", wee-weeing on someone has never been so precise! Our colorful new face and body targets make peeing on someone more challenging , skillful and confidence building than ever before. Just stick them anywhere you want and let the fun begin! Made out of compressed toilet paper for easy clean up. This is the Weeee System everyones talking about. And for normal people who find this revolting, look for our "Weeeee This Is Gross!!!" Blindfolds. (Sold separately.)

5. Willys Wonkas : Satisfy more than just your sweet tooth with these edible dildos! Available in a variety of confections,.... forever suck on the 'Never Ending Gobstopper' flavored dildo, or try our XXX large dildo in Hersheys Choke'a'lot. It's like winning the golden ticket! (Side effects reported are frequent transformations into a fat oompa loompa. )

6. The MuddaFucka : Listen up Ladies, dis is da real deal. There's nuttin' quite as lifelike as this fuckin douchebag. This Mafia approved, real live penis, comes freshly packed in a cooler on ice, right outta da back of someones trunk, and delivered right to ya front daw!!! Hey, someone screwed you??? Now it's your chance ta screw dem. You give us da names, we'll send you da goods. Allow 24 hours for specific orders. Sizes will vary dramatically.

7. The Reddi Whip : Next time you want to lash out at a loved one, do it in style with our fashionable 100% genuine Italian leather whip. But this is a whip for those with a little taste. Unlike other whips, with every thrash, you'll experience a cool refreshing spray of moms homemade whipped cream... just to "cool things off a bit." Guaranteed to have her screaming..... "gimme more Massar! " Available in regular or fat- free. (This product is perishable. Please refrigerate whip immediately upon delivery. )

8. The Wind Tunnel : Nows your chance to turn your very own embarrassing trapped sex air into productive, earth friendly energy! With our ergonomically designed vaginal fan, you simply position your sex-air filled self on top of it, and away the fan goes! With The Wind Tunnels award winning design, and 3 speed selections, it allows you to effortlessly dry your laundry, your toenail polish, or just save BIG on a/c bills. So ladies, theres no need to ever apologize to your man anymore. With smaller electricity bills, he'll be thanking you. (no batteries required.)

9. Crotchety Old Crotch : We've taken cougar lovers to a whole new height. M.I.L.F. you say? Try G.I.L.F. Figure it out. Portable, lifelike post 8 children, 6 grandchildren vagina. For a more mature crowd. Available in XL only. Please specify color: Grey, Bald or Thinning.

10. The Cock-Adoodledoo : Women have been doing this for years!! Now men can join in on the fun too! Guaranteed to get your tired ass outta bed, once this alarm goes off, this revolutionary penis shaped alarm clock sprays a mysterious hot fluid all over your lazy self and you'll jump right outta bed. So guys, you never have to worry about missing that meeting again. No snooze button necessary. Make your own damn refills.

11. The Ball and Chain: You've all heard of the ole ball and chain. Now OWN the ball and chain. You'll enjoy hours and hours of wild abandon with our new 1200 lb. steel ball and chain. It's as easy as click and go. Simply clip the cuff at the end of the chain to your spouses ankle, take their cell phone away from them and go, go, go!!! Go out all night, EVERY night with whoever you want, without ever having the useless worries of being called or followed. Your freedom is just a click away. (Ball and chain available in natural steel, or pink glitter.)

12. The Ejacu-LATER : Harder and harder for you to hold out.?? Designed for a definite delay in orgasm, this simple inner ear recording device allows easy playback all of your wifes nagging comments and requests. "Did ya take out the garbage,?" "..You said you were coming home earlier,"..." Did you fix the faucet yet?"..." Are you getting a raise soon ?", " How come you cant remember anything.", "Who's that bitch on your Facebook page?" And magically, the urge is gone. So when you feel like you cant hold out anymore, click the handheld start button ...and just listen. *Poof* Your sexual excitement will wane in no time.

13. Pretty Petunias Pornstar Petri Pole Purifier: Capture all your favorite porn stars chiggers with this new breakthrough, easy to install invention. As she slides up and down this pole, the newly patented clear Lucite strippers pole with multiple high velocity suction holes, captures all the cooties off your favorite hootchees cootchee. The clear Lucite also allows for hours upon hours of entomologists like study afterwards for the whole family !! This product cannot be returned. (porn star disinfectant kit sold separately. )

Thank you for visiting Dawns Exotic Toy Store Aisle.

Please come again.

And please allow 3 1/2 years for all orders. I'll need time to start making these things.