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Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA
I originally wrote this piece for MediaShower.com, for use on the late, great comedy site ZuG.com. Text and images published here with permission.
This Christmas, I wanted to get my wife the perfect present, for once. She patiently suffers the burden of unwrapping discount shoe inserts and slightly-used crock pots and off-brand cosmetic products — but I know she doesn’t really like them. I don’t think she even tried the “CaverGirl” mascara I stuffed in her stocking last year. I thought the Neanderthal look was “in” last winter. Shows what I know.
So I threw myself on the mercy of the missus. Just tell me what you want for Christmas, I said. Anything at all. It’s yours.
She just smiled, and with a tear in her eye said it was the sweetest gesture I’d ever made. And all she wanted for Christmas now was a little “alone time” with me over the holidays.
I told her she’d have to be more specific. She said she wanted to “get hot and heavy” under the mistletoe. I still didn’t get it. Turn up the thermostat and gorge on gingerbread cookies in the doorway?
In my defense, we’ve been married a long time. A very long time.
Finally, she made me a list to support our seasonal snugglebuggling. I picked up everything she asked for — on Amazon.com, naturally — to surprise her with an early Christmas celebration. But apparently, I lost something in the translation. Maybe you can sort it out from my actual Amazon reviews of the products I bought, because I’m totally in the dark over here.
Also, in the cold. She says I’m sleeping on the couch, at least until Easter. And she burned all the mistletoe. And the shoe inserts I gave her for Valentine’s. Humbug!
My Amazon Review:
The missus suggested she’d enjoy a nice, long soothing massage. So I stocked up on this jumbo-sized tub of massage oil. It comes unscented and I didn’t have anything fragrant to mix with it, so I took it into the kitchen and pan-fried a few chicken wings in the oil — to give it that sexy “cooked-in” aroma.
We settled in for her massage in the bedroom. But my hands were already greasy from the wings, and I fumbled the bottle trying to get the cap off. I soaked my wife, the mattress, and both our pillows with a full gallon of chicken-fried massage oil. My wife was none too happy about that. And didn’t seem “in the mood” for a massage afterward, either.
Oh, mama. I’d like to rub my thirteen herbs and spices into THAT.
Now every time I go into the bedroom, I have a sudden craving for KFC. I don’t know if that’s “soothing,” exactly, but it sure feels aroungry to me.
My Amazon Review:
One of my wife’s requests was that we “rekindle our passion” this holiday season. Great! I found this fifty pound box of rekindling sticks — that’d be enough to light up a whole dorm’s worth of passion-starved randy freshmen.
After she opened it, she told me that I had it all wrong, and I never understand, and I was a big insensitive doofus. Then she stormed into the bedroom, threw my pillow out, and slammed the door. So much for “passion,” I guess.
Why, I haven’t had this much wood in my mouth since the Great Ticonderoga Swallow of 1994!
On the bright side, this kindling works wonders in the living room fireplace. It’s great for starting fires of all sizes, and just a few sticks will keep one burning all night long. Which is good — because it gets mighty cold sleeping alone on the couch.
My Amazon Review:
One thing my wife mentioned was that she was really looking forward to being “pleasured.” I didn’t want to disappoint — ’tis the season, as they say — so I figured I’d get a few pointers on the, shall we say, “best practices” for that sort of thing. I never claimed to be proud. I’ll take all the help I can get.
So I picked up this book, looking for some new techniques. That’s not quite what I found, exactly — what with this book being more about the psychology of perception and enjoyment and less about … other things. But I figured at least if I read it aloud when my wife was interested in “pleasure” that we both might learn something.
“Well, they sure ain’t never done it that way in them boobie films over on the Cinemax!
We did. She learned never to send me to Amazon for a reference guide. And I learned that if she wants to kick me violently backward out of bed for reading at inappropriate times, I’m probably not going to see it coming. Highly instructive experience. A++.
My Amazon Review:
Above all, my missus wrote, she really just wanted to “snuggle.” Unfortunately, I can’t read her chicken-scratch handwriting very well, so I bought her this “snuggie” instead. I especially couldn’t figure out why she wanted to snuggie “in private all night long!”, but I tried to respect the letter of her request. So I locked her in the bedroom with the snuggie all night, and gave her all the privacy she needed. I was just trying to help.
She was pretty mad when she came out. But we finally sorted the whole situation out, and had a nice laugh about it. Insofar as a guy hogtied and gagged with a fleece sleeved blanket can “laugh.” Mostly, it was moaning. Little bit of choking.
Next year, remind me to misinterpret her Christmas wish list into something flimsier. These Snuggies are way too hard to wriggle out of — at least when tied in knots by a woman scorned. Aptly named.
She says she already knows what I’m getting her next year. Whatever could it be?
Join in on the prank! Click the links to see each real-life Amazon review, then mark them as “helpful” so they rise to the top of the list on Amazon. Or click here to read and rate the entire library of Zolton reviews!
Permalink | No CommentsI originally wrote this piece for MediaShower.com, for use on the late, great comedy site ZuG.com. Text and images published here with permission.
I’m approaching a milestone: as of today, I’ve been writing parody Amazon reviews for exactly one full year.
I looked back on my dozens of live Amazon reviews, and the feedback they’ve received — nearly 800 “helpful” votes, a reviewer rank in the top 10,000 of all Amazon users, and numerous comments, some of which aren’t along the lines of “Is this some kind of dumb joke?” or “Precisely what flavor of douchebag are you?” And as I reveled in the adulation, one fact became quickly clear.
I needed to celebrate.
All I want is a bottle of beer, a loaf of bread, and thou. Also, get thou’s ass in the kitchen and make me a sammich outa that bread already.
I only know one way to celebrate, and that’s to put down my measuring calipers and reviewing pen and crack open a beer. But this being a special occasion, I wanted to savor the moment — by which I mean, the beer.
So I went to Amazon to find products that would help me appreciate my celebratory sudsy treat. And just in case you’d like to raise a glass with me, I’ve given the Zolton once-over to the following items. Read on for my actual Amazon reviews of some of a beerophile’s best friends. And thanks for reading all these reviews, for an entire calendar year. You get four stars out of five in my book, any time. Salut!
My Amazon Review:
My favorite part of beer is the hops, so I figured this kit would be a dream. I’d be transported — as though some bottle-fermented Calgon had taken me away — to the Bavarian highlands, or sunny California, or whereever else hops are grown and harvested. Tahiti? Poughkeepsie? Outer Mongolia? That’s why I needed the kit.
Sadly, it appears to be the brewing process that renders hops so delicious. The hops included in this kit are earthy, bitter, grassy and have no business accompanying a nice cheese pizza or plate of hot wings. You’d have thought I’d learned my lesson after the disaster tasting Live Cultured Yeasts of the World a few years back, but no. I bought this kit, too.
On the bright side, I do think it’s developed my palate. If ever there’s a danger of lemon-soaked sweatsocks contaminating the world’s escarole supply, I’ll be able to tell what’s been tainted. Just don’t ask me to boil it down and chug the juice over a plate of bratwurst. I’d sooner go back to the yeast.
My Amazon Review:
The first step in appreciating a good beer is opening it the right way. This doodad is what the pros use, so I figured I was in good hands. Until I remembered I’m not a pro myself.
This gizmo has three separate attachments — a corkscrew, a small knife and a poky sort of opening doohickey that seems as though it would coax open a beer bottle.
But no. Evidently, brewskis aren’t served at the type of place where this opener works. I fiddled with the “opener” for ten minutes trying to pry off a cap before giving up. The screw and knife were no more help — and threatened to be a LOT more hurt if my grip slipped with them. So I stopped trying before I impaled something important.
“My kingdom for a twisty-cap!”
In the end, the opener did help me get the beer out of the bottle. But I’m not sure that smashing the neck of the bottle with it really qualifies as cracking open a cold one “in style.” And by that time, it wasn’t even cold any more. The best I can say is that I cracked open a “lukewarm one,” with “extreme prejudice.” At least nobody got impaled this time.
My Amazon Review:
I’ve been told that taste is ninety percent smell. I don’t know from numbers, but I do like delicious beer — and if tastier beer meant smellinger beer, then so be it.
I read up on what real wine and beer tasters do, and there’s an awful lot of sniffing going on before drinking. They say to “open the nose” to bring in the aromas. I don’t know what that means, exactly — to “open the nose.” I’m drinking beer here, not breaking out the Jaws of Life on my schnozz.
I tried taking a big whiff of the beer, but it smelled just like usual. And no matter what I flared or how I puffed, I couldn’t get my nose to open any further. So I bought these hole reinforcements. I figured if I basically taped my honker open with these, I’d have no choice but to smell.
I’m getting notes of horse feet and wood pulp. Am I close?
And I was right. Only now I don’t smell the beer at all. All I can smell is paper and glue, which feel like they’re stuck to an awful lot of nose hairs. When I finally get up the nerve to “deinforce” my sniffer, it’s going to hurt like a mother. I hope I can still taste beer at that point. I’m going to need it.
My Amazon Review:
These are really nice, delicate glasses — each meant to enhance a different and specific type of beer. The set includes vessels for pilsner, wheat and lager beers. I couldn’t wait to unwrap them and try them out.
So I did. With an IPA.
Only, there’s no IPA glass. Just pilsner, wheat and lager beers. India pale ales aren’t listed as an option. And I didn’t want to misuse my new glasses on the very first day, so I tried to figure out which one was closest to an IPA. At first, I thought the lager — it’s mostly the same color as the beer I had on hand. But lagers are fermented in a completely different way than ales. The glass would probably reject my beer, and spit it right back out on the floor.
I haven’t been this confused about where to put it since those lounge singers turned out to have Adam’s apples.
Wheat beers don’t work, either. They’re sweet and citrusy, while IPAs are hoppy and bitter. No dice with that glass. That only left the pilsner glasses, but again — hoppy and amber versus pale golden and light? That could never work. I might as well wear my shoes on my hands and underwear on my head. None of these glasses are right for pale ales, and that’s all I have in the house right now.
The path before me is clear: I have to send these glasses back, and buy new ones that fit what’s in my fridge. It’s a real shame — these look like great glasses, but my hands are tied. A connoisseur’s gotta do what a connoisseur’s gotta do.
Ah, who am I kidding? That beer never stood a chance. Cheers!
Join in on the prank! Click the links to see each real-life Amazon review, then mark them as “helpful” so they rise to the top of the list on Amazon. Or click here to read and rate the entire library of Zolton reviews!
Permalink | No CommentsI originally wrote this piece for MediaShower.com, for use on the late, great comedy site ZuG.com. Text and images published here with permission.
Christmas is over. The presents have been opened, the eggs have been nogged and the living room is a sea of empty boxes, wrapping paper and passed-out family members. The only thing left in the holiday gauntlet is to take stock of how well you did — and that depends on the children.
As always, Christmas is about the kids. If the children in the family are happy, then the family is all smiles, watching with warm satisfaction as the little tykes gleefully play with their toys. And if the children aren’t satisfied with their new Santa swag?
Then nobody is happy. The kids will make sure of that. A child with the wrong kind of Lego or last year’s model doll is a Christmas Grinched. So I worked like a sweatshop elf this year to deliver the hottest toys possible.
As usual, it didn’t go quite as planned, and I wound up with plenty of questions for the toy makers and stores. Read on for my Kris Kringle crash and burns — and my actual posts on the companies’ Facebook walls.
I may have ruined Christmas for the kids — and therefore, all of us — this year. But on the bright side, there are still three hundred and sixty-four shopping days left until next Christmas. Will I do any better? Here’s ho-ho-hoping.
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Last week, Zolton fed the worm to El Jimador, Sauza, Herradura and Hornitos. Want to join in the prank? Click the links to see each real-life Facebook post, and comment or ‘Like’ them to generate more buzz. Or visit Zolton’s own Facebook page!
Permalink | No CommentsI originally wrote this piece for MediaShower.com, for use on the late, great comedy site ZuG.com. Text and images published here with permission.
Easter is one of the most solemn and holy days on the calendar. It’s a day when families come together to dress up in pastel leisure suits, clock in at church for the year, and spend the weekend celebrating that time when the Romans nailed a chocolate bunny to a crucifix, and it came back three days later as a bag of marshmallow peeps.
Or something. I sort of skimmed that part in Sunday School.
Whatever it’s about, Easter is still a fine excuse to celebrate a spring weekend, and bring joy and happiness and high-fructose corn syrup to all the neighborhood children. Also, I think you’re supposed to give them money for loose teeth. Maybe that’s another thing. I forget.
The point is, Easter’s right around the corner. So I hit up Amazon for a big old basketful of festive Easterly supplies. Hop on through for my actual Amazon reviews of all the products listed. Bunny bless us, every one!
My Amazon Review:
If you’re going to hand out candy and unfertilized poultry ova to young children, you have to look the part. The neighbors don’t take kindly to just anyone engaging in that sort of behavior. At the same time, I don’t have a lot of money to blow on a costume I can only wear once a year.
Maybe twice. More if I could find a chick into old Jimmy Stewart flicks. Or other … things.
“Why yes, those ARE Peeps in my pants. AND I’m happy to see you!”
Anyway, this costume is great. Stylish polyester, a full-on jumpsuit and big rabbit head — on sale for under a hundred bucks! That leaves me plenty of money left over to buy candy and stuff … or maybe a personal ad on one of “those” websites? Have bunny suit, will travel. Ladies?
My Amazon Review:
This is a once-in-a-lifetime product. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have found it!
For years and years, I dyed chicken eggs at Easter like a sucker. All that hard-boiling and egg soaking and mess making … but now it’s a thing of the past. Finally, with this product, I can decorate my own wood.
I’ve always wanted to decorate my own wood for the holiday. I painted my own wood in festive pinks and blues and greens, and merrily strolled around my neighborhood, showing off my own wood. Let me tell you — my own wood was the talk of the town around here this Easter!
The best part is, everyone chipped in to help me decorate my own wood. Grandma, Uncle Evan, and all of the kids had a hand in making my own wood look its Easter Sunday best. Would highly recommend!!
Don’t worry, ladies — I still have plenty of “natural” wood. Right. HERE.
My Amazon Review:
Apparently, we’re not supposed to give kids lots of chocolate any more. Maybe it’s an obesity thing; maybe we’re just being cruel. Either way, chocolate was off the menu this Easter. So I had to ask myself: what can I pass out to the neighborhood children that’s not only a replacement for chocolate, but BETTER than chocolate?
Hershey’s kisses or slobbery softcore lesbian porn? What would bunny chocolate Jeebus do?
According to Amazon, this movie right here! So I bought three dozen copies, put on my best Easter bunny suit, and handed them out. Easter is for everyone, ages eight to eighty, so that’s who got a DVD from me this year. Now we can share our “Easter spirit” all year long! YOU’RE WELCOME!
My Amazon Review:
Anyone can hide plastic eggs; I thought the kids in my neighborhood deserved a REAL Easter experience. They should have an ACTUAL bunny rabbit, giving out candy and treats — just like in the Easter cartoons.
So I bought this rabbit, thinking that “fresh” and “whole” were great qualities for an Easter bunny. Sadly, I didn’t think about “alive” or “unskinned,” of which this thing is neither. So my idea of training it to hand out candy sort of went out the window.
No matter. I stuffed the carcass full of Peeps and Reese’s Pieces, and strung it up by the legs in a tree in the yard. The kids took turns whacking at it with barbecue tongs until it all came tumbling out, like some sort of hairless Easter party pinata.
I’ve never seen kids cry so much while they’re picking up candy. Somebody ought to teach these children the TRUE meaning of Easter.
Which is — did I mention? — SLOBBERY SOFTCORE LESBIAN PORN! Thank you, Easter bunny!
Join in on the prank! Click the links to see each real-life Amazon review, then mark them as “helpful” so they rise to the top of the list on Amazon. Or click here to read and rate the entire library of Zolton reviews!
Permalink | No CommentsI originally wrote this piece for MediaShower.com, for use on the late, great comedy site ZuG.com. Text and images published here with permission.
Lost in the wake of the re-election of the blue Rock-em Sock-em Political Robot over the red Rock-em Sock-em Political Robot last week was another, more interesting result: the defeat of Proposition 37 by voters in California.
Proposition 37, if passed, would have forced food companies using genetically-modified organisms (GMOs) in their products to include labels stating that fact — presumably some cross between a nuclear radiation warning label and a Mr. Yuk poison sticker. The supporters of Prop 37 say that GMOs are scary, unnatural, dangerous and unpredictable.
Yeah? Well, so’s the Incredible freaking Hulk, but you don’t see people bitching about eating him out of a can.
Me, I’m all for GMOs — and the more M’ed the G’s in the O’s, the better. Nature’s not perfect; if we want a juicier orange, or spinach that tastes like saltwater taffy, or persimmons that glow in the dark, then we’re damned well going to have to do it ourselves. Who else is going to play god with our food? The chimps? The dolphins? Orangutans? Puh-lease.
In the wake of Prop 37’s defeat, I reached out to some of its top supporters, to see if they’d finally come around on this issue. Nothing major. No forty-foot-tall cornstalks or nougat-infused broccoli or tomacco juice for all the kiddies — YET. I simply suggested that they might consider keeping up with the Franken-Joneses, with each post starting thusly:
Would anyone take my advice? Read on for my suggestions — and my actual Facebook posts on the companies’ walls — to see if I convinced any of these organic granola crunchers to “Go GMO”.
The world of tomorrow is out there, ya filthy fresh food hippies. Now hit the laboratory and engineer it into existence already. I’m hungry for some crimes against nature over here.
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Last week, Zolton raised a pint with Budweiser, Samuel Adams, Coors Light and Victory Beer. Want to join in the prank? Click the links to see each real-life Facebook post, and comment or ‘Like’ them to generate more buzz. Or visit Zolton’s own Facebook page!
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