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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.
Summer is finally rearing its sweaty head around here, and that can only mean one thing: It’s grillin’ time!
Yes, the season is nigh for charring delicious bits of weak slaughtered animals who should have had the foresight to evolve. Now they’re next to the creamy potato salad on my dinner plate. Grow some thumbs already, ya stupid beasts. Arnold Schwarzenegger did it, and you don’t see us cooking him. Yet.
But what to do if this grilling season snuck up on you? You need supplies. You need a grill. You need help.
Not to worry. I’ll take you under my wing — my delicious soy-marinated teriyaki wing — to get you grilling like a barbecue champ this summer. With a little help from Amazon, naturally. Check out the products below — along with my actual Amazon.com reviews — for all the grilling 411. It’s the second-most fun you can have with dead animals, Pam cooking spray and a tank of propane gas. So get grillin’!
My Amazon Review:
First, I needed a grill. I picked this one because it fits my deck, and because it has superhero powers. Infrared cooking? That’s like having X-ray vision or ultraviolet hearing or radioactive glow-in-the-dark pee. I never dreamed I’d be cooking with infrared, unless I got bitten by a mutant rabid laser pointer or something.
After I set it up, I explained to my wife that this was different than a regular grill. Because of the mighty power of invisible infrared waves, food cooks without the surface getting hot. To prove my point, I cranked the burners up full blast and placed my hand right on the grate.
“As you can see, dear, the grill is completely AHHHH! YAAHH!! YEEOOWW!!* cool to the touch. Just like I said.”
As she bandaged me up, she explained that she’d actually read the MANUAL, and that the grill is indeed hot. And I wouldn’t recommend putting your bare hand — or any other sensitive body part — directly on the burning surface.
On the bright side, I was impressed with the char marks it made on my palm. If it can do the same for a ribeye steak, I’ve got myself a winner.
My Amazon Review:
One of the trickiest parts of grilling is getting a good coating — of barbecue sauce, cheese, or other deliciousness — to evenly cover the food.
Enter the E-Z Jet Water Cannon. Also known around these parts as the “Sauce-O-Sprayer 3000.”
Simply prepare your favorite tasty remoulade, glaze, rub or sauce in a large sealable spigot bucket. Hook up an everyday cooking hose, attach the water cannon, and let ‘er fly at whatever animal parts, sliced veggies or tofurkey patties might be within a thirty-foot perimeter. Whatever you sauce with this apparatus will STAY sauced — whether it’s quick-charred, slow-cooked, or dumped into a rock tumbler. That’s the level of performance this sauce cannon provides.
Sure, cleanup is a little more involved, when you’re scrubbing stray Buffalo sauce from the grill knobs, and your neighbor’s azaleas, and small children. But that’s a small price to pay for perfectly seasoned grilled ribs, burgers, wings or steaks — every time, top to bottom, at 300 psi. Spray your heart out, Bobby Flay.
My Amazon Review:
If there’s one thing that slows down my grilling, it’s the flipping. Constantly turning the food — now this side, now that side, back and forth, over and again. It’s like watching a tennis match. Or talking to a Congressman.
I finally got fed up with the flip-flopping, and bought this racket for the grill. I simply place the food on the racquet, the racket on the grill, and when I need to turn a steak or rotate a kebab, it’s as easy as a quick twist of the handle. Burgers burning? BAM — pop them over with a forehand. Done on that side? BANG — backhand them back over.
Game. Set. DELICIOUS.
Of course, using it on the grill pretty much ruins the racket for actual squash games. But that’s okay. I was never any good at squash, anyway. At least now while I’m losing, my racquet smells like bratwurst and grilled pork chops. Talk about your “comfort food.”
My Amazon Review:
Skewers are great for grilling small morsels, but I’m always losing the things or bending them or accidentally poking myself in the eye. So I bought this enormous five-tine fork for all my grill skewering needs.
As other reviewers have said, it’s got great heft and nice balance. Even if I’ve gone a little mushroom-heavy on one side, or overloaded it with cocktail weenies, it never tips or rolls on me. And I’ve never bent it or lost it in the silverware drawer.
Vienna sausages? More like “Vi-AWESOME sausages”.
If there’s any downside, the skewer food can taste a bit “barky” during the mulching season. And I tend to avoid using the fork for composting after the Great “That’s-Not-Zucchini!” Debacle of last weekend. But otherwise — great grill accessory!
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.
Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and many people will tell you that this is a time for gratitude, a day to bond with friends and family, and to reflect on all of the things in life to be thankful for.
Horse puckey.
Thanksgiving is all about eating. This is the one day when American adults can skip work, shove fourteen pounds of food down our gullet and pass out on the couch in a tryptophan-induced haze, dreaming of the turkey-and-mashed-potato sandwiches to come.
(Or as Kevin James calls it: “Thursday”.)
In fact, there are only three rules for a successful Thanksgiving:
1. Pace yourself. You don’t want to blow a colon on Thursday night, with three days of leftovers still to eat.
2. Cook your stuffing separately. If you wouldn’t cram it up your own cavity, don’t shove it up your bird’s.
3. Everything is better with gravy. Don’t argue. Just pour.
In the true spirit of Thanksgiving, I reached out to a few of the biggest holiday food icons for advice on how to make my Turkey Day nosh a beast of a feast. Read on for the details — and my actual posts on the companies’ Facebook walls — to spruce up your own gobbler extravaganza.
And that’s something we can all be thankful for. Turkey on, citizens.
The post:
Wait… what did he just call me?!
The post:
The post:
The post:
Last week, Zolton ‘propositioned’ the likes of Nature’s Path, Clif Bar, Organic Valley, Brad’s Raw Chips and more. 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.
These are troubling times for those of us concerned about personal privacy. Every single day, I see, touch, say, buy, eat, listen to, wear, think and ride things that I don’t want anyone to find out about.
In this age of identity theft, government surveillance, and airport screeners intent on blurring the line between “frisking” and “fisting,” how can we possibly keep our shameful secrets secret? What are we to do, when there’s nowhere to run, but so very much to hide?
I’ve been boning up on all the latest personal privacy gadgets — and found that they’re really expensive. If I bought all those fancy gizmos, I’d have nothing left worth protecting. But fear not, fellow deviant citizens, for I found several perfectly good — and affordable — alternatives on Amazon. Lucky for you, there are a few secrets I’m willing to share:
My Amazon Review:
The last thing I want is some stranger rummaging through my personal correspondence. So I hooked this baby up, drilled a couple of holes by the front door, and electrified the mailbox.
This way, if anyone comes snooping around to sneak a peek at my mail, they’ll get a letter, all right. The letter “EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” And maybe a new frizzy hairdo.
Of course, I didn’t want to jolt my friendly local mail carrier. So I set the power supply on a timer — it’s off between 8:00 and 10:00 am. But when the clock strikes ten — *bzzzzzzzztttt*!
Unfortunately, I forgot to tell the mailman right away, and he had a few … “accidents” before we touched base. I had to hose off the porch a couple of times, and touch up some singe marks near the mailbox. But on the bright side — nowadays the mail is ALWAYS on time. He delivers by 9:30, never a minute later. And you know, the afro look really suits him.
NOTE: Not my actual letter carrier. My mailman is slimmer. And MUCH more flammable.
My Amazon Review:
I’ve always got a ton of papers lying around that prying eyes shouldn’t see. Bank statements, bills, old receipts, court documents, love letters — and some of those are even mine! I looked into heavy-duty shredders, but they’re so expensive, and all they do is cut up documents. I wanted something more versatile.
Enter this Oster 16-speed blender; it handles just about anything I can stuff inside it. The “whip” setting works great for single-pagers, while “frappe” reduces an entire phone bill to confetti in seconds. I can throw a banana and a scoop of ice cream in with some credit card statements or old tax returns, and “liquefy” myself a refreshing wood pulp smoothie. It’s great for a mid-morning pick-me-up — and the “Sunday funnies margaritas” are to die for!
Old court orders and Vicky’s Secret catalogs never tasted so DELICIOUS!
My Amazon Review:
I’ve read about this wiretapping business. Well, I for one don’t need my government or my employer or my dog’s therapist listening in on my private conversations. Of all the bug detection or removal devices I found, this one was the cheapest, so I gave it a try.
At first, I thought it was odd that Harley-Davidson was in the anti-espionage business. But then I remembered some of the biker shows I’ve seen — those guys had a LOT of stuff to hide, too. It just makes sense that Harley would help their riders out.
That pine-fresh scent tells me… nobody’s listening.
As for the product, it works like a dream. Like the description says, it “cleans, shines and protects while removing bugs” — I just spray it all over every surface of a room I’m walking into, wipe it in, and I know it’s washed away any sort of recording or eavesdropping doohickey that was planted there. Even better, it “leaves behind a protective microscopic finish,” so I don’t have to spray the same room down again. Awesome! Harley-Davidson: your Hog-riding partner for personal privacy.
My Amazon Review:
Keeping nebby nudkiks’ noses out of my stuff is one thing — but what if they find a way into my HEAD? Better safe than sorry, so I picked up this guide to fashioning my own foil deflector beanie to keep the mind control rays at bay.
After a week in my very own tinfoil toupee, I felt so free, so un-controlled, that I resolved to protect the rest of my family. I made more hats — one each for my dog, my laptop computer, and my cell phone.
I don’t know why I bothered. The mutt hasn’t had a thought in eleven years that didn’t involve Snausages.
I made one for my wife, too, but she refused to wear it. She said I was talking crazy — “they” must have already gotten to her, I figured. Still, I couldn’t give up hope. So I sewed foil into the lining of her jacket, and her warm winter gloves. And all of her underwear. So she’s at least got SOME protection. But if she ever goes commando on a warm summer day, I fear I’ll lose her for good.
You can help with this prank! Click the links above to see each real-life Amazon review, then mark them as “helpful” so they rise to the top of the list on Amazon!
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.
It’s September — the time of year when the thoughts of all beer-blooded American men turn to one thing: FOOTBALL.
Most of us don’t actually play football, of course. Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to gallivant around a gridiron. Vince Lombardi said that, I think. Either him or my Pee-Wee League coach. Somebody.
That leaves the last bastion of hope for talentless pigskin junkies like myself — fantasy football. It’s a pastime that exists solely to drum up interest in otherwise unwatchable games: “Hey, let’s sit through three hours of the Seahawks and Rams drooling on each other to see if my backup long snapper recovers a fumble!” It’s also a two billion dollar a year sports industry — and based on how terrible I am at fantasy football, most of that money was probably mine.
But not this year.
This season, I’m determined to bring home fantasy gold. I finally found a league I figured I could win — the local Junior Girl Scouts chapter had an opening — and prepared for my high-stepping coast to victory.
This is what I’m up against. They wouldn’t know a zone blitz from a Dairy Queen Blizzard. How hard could it be?
As usual, I got some Hail Mary help from my trusty tight end Amazon. Let’s go to the replay:
My Amazon Review:
I’m not above a little intimidation. Sure, I had this league wrapped up the moment I joined — when you say “Montana,” these girls think you mean “Hannah,” not “Joe” — but one should never underestimate the competition. I wanted to show up at the league draft with a show of confidence — and what oozes fantasy football swagger more than a shirt that reads: “I PLAY FANTASY FOOTBALL! WHO’S YOUR DADDY?” Perfect.
When the package arrived, I noticed two teensy details I’d overlooked. First, the shirt was meant for a toddler. Which meant that I could wear it as a nifty bandana, maybe, but modeling it as a T-shirt would be ill-advised for both myself and the garment. And anyone nearby with a weak stomach or fashion police affiliations.
Secondly, it seems that the shirt does not, in fact, ask the cocksure, swaggery question “WHO’S YOUR DADDY?,” but instead announces that I play fantasy football “WITH MY DADDY.” Which is not the same thing at all — and certainly not true. I haven’t played fantasy football with my father since he suggested I draft Ryan Leaf in a “keeper” league a few years back. Or spoken to him, for that matter. Blood may be thicker than water, but sucky QB advice trumps everything.
Other than that, I guess — nice shirt.
My Amazon Review:
A good draft guide is crucial for fantasy success, and I needed a doozy. While the Brownies were oohing and aahing over their Ken and Barbie dolls, I’d be drafting the next Ken (Stabler) and (Tiki) Barber. Yeah, that’s right, girls. Buuuurn.
I’d read good things about this guide — and had stopped paying attention to football by Week Two last year, when my starting quarterback left football to join a monastery — so I needed a little refresher. I picked this book up and squeezed it for every stat, ranking and strategy it had. By the time the league met up for the draft — in Susie Thompson’s treehouse over “tea,” as it happened — I had a plan ready to draft the bejeesus out of those pigtailed pigskinners.
Unfortunately, I failed to notice that this guide was for the 1998 NFL season. Which made it older than anyone else in the league. And entirely useless as a draft tool. While I couldn’t believe my luck that Terrell Davis, Randall Cunningham, Steve Young and Barry Sanders were all there to pick, the rest of the room couldn’t believe that they actually existed. Probably because all those players retired before these little squirts were even BORN.
“The ‘Houston Texans’? That’s not in my book! Is that a real thing?”
Suffice it to say the draft didn’t exactly go as planned. And at a dollar a pop per transaction, it took a pretty penny to swap all those old farts out for real players the next day. Little league commissioner Susie can probably afford to serve champagne and caviar at her next treehouse shindig.
My Amazon Review:
I bought sixteen of these pennants, one to give each of my “victims” after my pretend team of stars beats their starry-eyed team of pretenders into the virtual AstroTurf. I say, if you’re going to be a winner, why not be a SORE winner? These little girls need to be taught a lesson — and that lesson is: taunting might get a penalty in the NFL, but your Dad’s not a referee, there, shortcake. So nyah!
Of course, that was before I based my team draft on a fantasy guide written approximately when Joe Namath was still playing the game.
And it was certainly before Week One, when sweet little Prissy Walker took time away from earning her “My Pretty Pony Tail Braiding” merit badge to beat the unholy snot out of my team, 138-19. We just got obliterated. By a girl named “Prissy.” That’s like losing a fistfight to Cindy-Lou Who, where you get first punch. I certainly hope my pretend team of scrubs is as virtually embarrassed as I am.
Hey, you can’t taunt me, kid. I DO THE TAUNTING AROUND HERE!
As for these pennants, I don’t know what to do with them now. That kid I just played came in dead last the season before, so I don’t foresee having many “victims” to hand them out to. Maybe Prissy can braid them together into a noose for my playoff hopes.
My Amazon Review:
One week in, and my team is in shambles. The draft is butchered, my money’s down the tubes, and we just got destroyed by a ten-year-old girl named “Prissy.” With fifteen more weeks of humiliation on tap, I remembered the one sparkling bit of wisdom I once heard about fantasy football:
“FANTASY FOOTBALL SUCKS.”
So I give up. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. I disbanded my team, bought this handbook and I’m well on my way to merit badges for “Bracelet Weaving,” “Barbie Dressing” and “Cupcake Frosting.” I don’t know how many you need to start earning those little boxes of cookies, but I’m looking forward to scarfing Thin Mints all winter long. While I’m NOT WATCHING FOOTBALL.
Also, I’ll be staying away from Chapter Seven of the Handbook: “Dominating Chumps in Fantasy Sports for Fun and Profit.” Those sneaky little minxes.
Yeah, that’s a friendship bracelet, Prissy. But ‘BFF’ doesn’t mean what you think it means, sister.
You can help with this prank! Click the links above to see each real-life Amazon review, then mark them as “helpful” so they rise to the top of the list on Amazon!
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 don’t know if I’m the most patriotic person in my neighborhood. But if drinking beer and grilling dead animals for fourteen hours on a Wednesday in July counts as “luvin’ ‘Murrica“, then think of me as Uncle-by-god-Sam, because that’s what I’m planning on doing this Fourth of July.
Of course, just like no good country can stand on its own — we need places like Russia and Canadia and wherever the hell Rupert Murdoch’s from to make us look better — neither is a proper holiday barbeque a one-man affair. Or so I was once told, when Aunt Ginny found me alone in a darkened bathroom with a four-pound pork shoulder.
(Hey, applewood smoke and a zesty dry rub can do strange things to an impressionable young boy. I don’t know what to tell you. I only know old Ginny can’t hear the words “pulled pork” without shuddering involuntarily.)
The point is, I’m throwing an all-day holiday shindig, and I want to make sure my Fourth goes off without a hitch. So I got my facts straight by going straight to the source of people who really know how to party: Facebook.
Read on for my actual Facebook posts regarding the most important summer party products around — grills, meats, sunscreen and booze. Lots and lots of booze. And isn’t that what Independence Day is all about?
Whether you’re grillin’, golfin’ or gettin’ busy, you can’t party properly without the right equipment. So I moseyed over to CharBroil to ask whether they couldn’t set me up with a little more… oomph:
Of course, you’ve got to have something to put on the grill. And we’re all out of stray cats and nosy neighbors, so I picked up some chicken from Perdue. Which is good stuff, but I worried whether I was the right man for this poultry production.
Never fear, said Nancy from Perdue:
Of course, she didn’t really answer my question. So I’ve decided to beat those birds like they owe me money.
Or like they’re a sexy smoked pork shoulder. *ahem*
With all that time in the sun, I worried about protecting my guests. Coppertone was a natural choice — but if we spend all day greasing each other up and down, it’s likely to turn into a different sort of party, ifyouknowwhatimean.
Also, the neighbors tend to retch when my friends and I take our shirts off. A lot. So I inquired about alternative application methods:
Finally, I got to the good stuff. Every celebration needs champagne, and who better than Taittinger to provide it?
(Lots of people, probably. But I couldn’t afford to prank Dom Perignon’s page. That shit is expensive.)
This being a patriotic party pageant, I wondered if I couldn’t get plastered on bubbly a little less monochromatic:
I don’t know if I got any real help from any of these Facebook yahoos, but at least I made a minimal, last-minute half-assed effort. Because that’s the American way.
Besides, we’ll all be too sunburned and full of chicken parts and champagne to give a damn how the party turns out. If we’re not passed out by the time the fireworks go off, we’re doin’ it wrong. I’m certain old Aunt Ginny would approve.
Last week, Zolton had trouble deciphering Bear Naked granola, Old Spice, Turtle Wax and Meow Mix. 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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