About ThisAbout Me
Email Me
Bookmark
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.
Some things in life are straightforward. Toothpaste comes out the top of the tube. You can figure out which end of the garage to drive out of, hopefully. There’s only one bunhole where your hot dog will fit.
Other things… not so much. There are oodles — yes, literally oodles — of products in our lives that confuse and confound us on a daily basis. Especially me. My combobulate is always dis-somethinging itself, breaking apart or flopping out on the floor inappropriately. I decided I needed some assistance. 411. Li’l help over here.
So I reached out to ask about some of the products that have me freaked out and flummoxed. Read on to see my actual Facebook posts on the walls of some of the planet’s most consternating companies.
I just hope they can help me. I haven’t felt this confused since I watched The Crying Game on rewind.
Speaking of people you wished you’d never seen with their clothes off, my first stop was the home of Bear Naked, where I worried about how au naturel is too naturel:
Next I took my beef to Old Spice.
Well, first I put my beef back in my pants. But then, by golly, I wrote a strongly-worded missive to the aftershave conglomerate, complaining about their “one smell fits all” philosophy:
(You think I’m kidding. But who wouldn’t spritz on a little “Pimp Walk” before a hot date? Nobody, is who. That.)
I never thought Turtle Wax would give me any problems. I saw Karate Kid; I know how this stuff is supposed to work. But then the tortoise shiners hit me with a new product curveball:
Finally, there was cat food. It seems simple enough — there are only two holes in a feline where it can go, and trying to shove it into one of them is extremely unpleasant. Particularly if your precious puckered pussy still has claws.
But my cat food is Meow Mix — and the cat is no conversationalist:
In the end, I didn’t get any answers. My granola’s still drafty, my aftershave angsty, I’ve got nothing to wax and the kitty is starving. But at least I still know where my hot dog goes. I’d sure hate to be confused about that.
Last week, Zolton asked the HARD questions of Smucker’s, Purina Beggin’ Strips, Lay’s and Bounty. 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.
A lot of single guys are deathly afraid of getting married. Some of them have girlfriends — or fiancees, or mothers, or pushy tuxedo salesmen — pressuring them to take the plunge, but to no avail. You’d think the “knot” they were tying was on a rope tied around the poor guy’s testicles — just before a bunjee jump over a horde of rabid in-laws. The classic “damned if you do, violently castrated with stretchy nylon rope if you don’t” dilemma.
Me, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I’ve been married for years, and I tell my bachelor buddies all the time: Getting married is the easiest thing in the world. You can do it in your sleep, practically. Or while drunk. Or in some states, while bound and gagged in the back of a pickup truck.
So getting married isn’t difficult at all. It’s the staying married that’s hard.
Let’s face it, “gentlemen” — we’re not exactly easy to share space with. Left to our own devices, we’re content to shovel our food, guzzle our beer, emit various gases and generally befoul our surroundings like the coothless savage half-shaven chimps that we are.
But with a woman, “to have and to hold” in the general proximity? Well, that requires us to be on our best possible behavior, 24/7/365, for somewhere in the neighborhood of the next forty to eighty years. Or until you drop dead of an aneurysm from trying to remember which fork to eat salad with, or which indistinguishable shade of white you’re supposed to paint the bathroom. Think you can handle that?
Think again, Bonzo.
“It’s a trick, right? These are blank white sheets of paper!”
Me, I’m in the marital doghouse so often that I started taking meals in a bowl on the floor. It’s just easier that way. But in the constant struggle to do just enough to not warrant a divorce, I do have some tools to help. Most of them I picked up on Amazon. Have a gander at these products, and my fake Amazon reviews:
My Amazon Review:
This book was just what I was looking for — a clear and detailed explanation of how to behave civilly and graciously in almost any social situation. If I could just apply the lessons from this book to my life, my wife couldn’t help but be proud of me.
Unfortunately, I started reading it during dinner on the couch watching TV, and got pizza sauce all over the first few pages. Some of the middle bits are sort of blurred from when I accidentally spilled beer on it, and a few pages near the end are … well, missing. Let’s just say that there are certain advantages to reading a book in the bathroom when a toilet paper emergency arises.
What’s left is great information, and I’m sure it’ll really be useful.
Also, all things considered, it’s probably lucky I didn’t opt for the Kindle edition this time.
My Amazon Review:
The first step to being on your best behavior is looking your best, so I picked up this 13-piece grooming kit. I’ll be honest — I wasn’t entirely sure that I had thirteen parts that NEED grooming. And I have no idea what some of these gadgets are for, exactly. The “traveling toothbrush” didn’t go anywhere on its own, that I could see. And a “cuticle pusher” sounds like the tough guy on the street corner my mother warned me about.
Still, with a little trial and error, I put the tools to good use. The nail clippers are great for clearing out ear wax, the lint brush is a super alternative to dandruff shampoo, and the nose hair clippers work just about anywhere that resembles a nostril. Even vaguely. Which is more places than you’d think.
“Beauty is only skin deep. But with these, I’ll be pretty two full inches inside!”
Most importantly, I use the shaving mirror to keep a lookout to make sure no one can see the dangerous and unspeakable grooming experiments being performed. I’m not fabulous yet, but with this kit I think I eventually stand a chance. Remember, Rome wasn’t manscaped in a day.
My Amazon Review:
Nothing sours a sweetie’s puss quite like passing wind in her vicinity. But try as we might, there are times when it’s simply unpossible to keep the blast doors shut and the noxious gas contained. That’s when this device really comes in handy.
I took the sound emitter, hid it under the dog’s blanket, and stashed the remote control in my pocket. When the pressure mounted and the gassy hounds demanded release, I simply let them go — silently, if at all possible. And then tapped the remote. Bingo! The sound came from the direction of the dog; ergo, the godforsaken eye-watering noxious stench must have come from the dog, too. My wife blamed the mutt’s butt instead of mine, and the day was saved.
“Bitch, I done tol’ you: It wasn’t me.“
Of course, it was a harder sell when we were in another room. Or the dog was nowhere near her blanket when it “went off.” Or when the dog found the device and carried it through the house making slobbery chewing fart noises everywhere she went. I tried blaming it on beans in her kibble, but the jig was up.
Now I’m paying for the ruse. The wife’s being extra-nice to the dog for all the abuse she gave it, and she won’t let me in the house without three shots of Bean-O and an absorbent sponge down the back of my pants. Peachy.
My Amazon Review:
Nothing says “love” like “Honey, I’m sorry I’m a slack-jawed Neanderthal with the social graces of a lobotomized hyena.”
And nothing says “I’m sorry” better than roses. Lots and lots and lots of roses.
So I figure, screw it. It’s too hard acting civilized, trying to look sharp and walking the straight, narrow and uncomfortable path that leads to Miss Manners’ cottage. The lessons are unlikely to stick, anyway, so I might as well get on with my filthy heathen life and apologize with flowers when I step out of line.
With lots. And lots. And LOTS of flowers.
Yeah, it could get a tad expensive. But if the alternative is “fork classes” and learning the difference between eggshell and ecru, then color me rosy. At least it’ll keep me out of the doghouse… right?
“We pretty much knew it would end this way, didn’t we?”
Want to continue 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!
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.
Sometimes, you have an itch that just needs to be scratched. Me, I recently had a scratch, but couldn’t find an itch. Where by “scratch” I mean “three gallons of sticky pink goo.” And by “itch” I mean … well, I’ll explain.
A few weeks ago, my Aunt Martha sent me a case of extra-strength calamine lotion for my birthday. Why? Who the hell knows? Maybe she finally went senile, or she thinks I’m a severe poison sumac risk. Maybe she had it left over when that godawful rash on her neck finally cleared up. The woman wore a V-neck blouse at the last family reunion; it looked like she was drowning in cranberry sauce quicksand.
At any rate, I had the calamine. And I needed to know if it was the good stuff. I wouldn’t want to be doused in some topical irritant or caught in a crazy mild eczema emergency and have doubts about my relief juice. So I needed a test. A trial. An itch:
The way I figured it, you can buy just about anything on Amazon these days. Why not an itch?
You can get anything in the world from Amazon. Except “dignity,” apparently.
So I hopped online and did some shopping. Here’s what I bought, the reviews I left on Amazon, and where my itch for an itching (finally) got scratched.
My Amazon review:
I’ve always heard rumors that flannel pajamas can be itchy, so I ordered this product post-haste and eagerly awaited the delivery. When the package arrived, I immediately threw off every scrap of my usual attire and snuggled into the pajamas right on the spot. The FedEx driver seemed a bit taken aback, but there was birthday calamine to be tested so I paid him little mind. I wore the pajamas over a long three-day weekend — non-stop, indoors and out, no exceptions — in an attempt to build up a really proper flannel itch. Also, to encourage the neighbors not to speak to me quite so often.
Unfortunately, at the end of the experiment I found the pajamas to be uncomfortable not from itching, but rather from shrinking. They’d gotten soaked during a Friday thunderstorm — and my daily baths, of course — and shrunk nearly two full sizes in the three days I wore them. And it was awfully hard to tell if my legs or back were ‘itchy’ when it was difficult to feel them at all from lack of circulation. I finally cut myself out of them, but the calamine remains untested. At least the neighbors keep their distance lately.
My Amazon review:
I purchased this item on the basis of poison ivy’s long-standing reputation as a reliable itch inducer. Sadly, I failed to realize that the product is not, in fact, clippings and leaves of the famous plant, but rather a popular film of similar title. Rubbing the DVD and the case on various body parts failed to provide the mild itch I was hoping for, so I tried watching the movie instead.
Drew Barrymore and Sara Gilbert were down my pants for ten minutes, and I still don’t itch? UNPOSSIBLE!
Sure enough, within ten minutes my skin started to crawl — but where exactly do I apply the calamine to relieve it? I practically bathed in the stuff, and still the creepiness remains. I’m beginning to think my lotion is past the sell date.
My Amazon review:
And what better way to test “itch relief” than on a bag with comes with an *indicator* of how itchy it is? I bought this tote as soon as I saw it, and couldn’t wait for it to arrive at the house. When it finally did, I tore apart the package, opened the bag, and dumped two bottles of calamine directly inside. I then set it nearby in a cool quiet place to observe how quickly the “itchy” indicator would fade. Disappointingly, though the lotion promised “immediate relief,” an hour came and went with no apparent fading of the logo. Overnight, and no change. Two more bottles went in. Nothing. Filled it to the brim with the soothy pink stuff. Zip.
What’s white and itchy on the outside and pink and gooey in the middle? This tote bag. Also me, come to think of it.
As a last resort, I tried applying calamine directly to the logo. I wiped it all over the outside of the bag. Did it get less “itchy”? No. It just got gooier and pinker. Clearly, the calamine is defective. Still, good bag. 4 stars.
My Amazon review:
I’d heard that sandpaper can be successfully used to cause skin irritation — fraternity hazing rumors back in college, mostly — and based on other positive reviews, decided to give this product a try.
I learned a few things on my first usage of the product, the most important being that “ORBITAL SANDERS” ARE NOT MEANT FOR THE ORBITAL BONES AROUND THE EYES! I would go further to say that this product should probably *not* be used on any part of the face whatsoever. Certainly not the eyes. Or the cheeks. Or what’s left of the earlobes. Those places, for sure. I might suggest to the manufacturer that a “do not use near eyes, cheeks or external ear danglies” warning be placed directly on the packaging, or on the paper itself. I can’t be the first raw oozing citizen to make this simple sanding mistake.
Well, that went peachily. Four products, some nervous neighbors, several Band-Aids, half a movie I can’t unsee and a tote bag full of what looks like Hello Kitty piss. And any itching? Nada. So I took a different tack, and finally found the answer:
My Amazon review:
I received a full case of extra-strength calamine lotion for my birthday recently, and decided to give it a test run. I wouldn’t want to be doused in some topical irritant or caught in a crazy mild eczema emergency and not know how much to apply!
I purchased several packets of this product and applied liberally — nay, cavalierly — to every exposed body surface I could reach. I even exposed a few extra surfaces, to ensure a proper experiment. And found a couple that I never knew existed before. Anatomy was never my strong suit.
Sadly, I found that the pink liquid I thought to be calamine was instead Pepto-Bismol, which turns out to be essentially useless in relieving discomfort on the *outside* of the body. On the bright side, this itching powder is _diabolically_ effective, and the Pepto is at least managing the ulcers I’m developing from four days of constant scratching. Four stars.
This pink stuff works for tummy aches. So it fixes massive cranial bleeding too, probably, right?
So there I was, with enough itching powder on my person to tickle a woolly rhinoceros to tears. So I did what any sane person would do in that situation. I cued up the rest of Poison Ivy and plugged the sander back in.
Creepy and bleeding ain’t great, but at least it distracts me from the itching. I guess I know what to ask Auntie Martha for next year.
Want to continue 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.
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 get lied to all the time. My wife, my boss, my neighbors, my friends — it seems like every time I turn around, somebody new is trying to blow smoke up my ass.
Which means I turn around verrrry carefully these days. There are some places where you really don’t want to “inhale”. Trust me.
But if there’s one set of people I do not want lying to me, it’s advertisers. I mean, if you can’t trust a bunch of slicked-back, oversuited, undersouled, marketing twinks to give you the straight dope, then who can you trust?
So when I run into a product being hawked with less-than-literal verbiage, I take offense. And I get chatty. Read on for my actual comments on the pages of fibbing firms all over freaking Facebook.
Also, there’s bacon. Delicious bacon. And that’s no lie.
I started my truth-seeking with Smucker’s, who make — and then backpedaled on — a pretty outrageous claim:
Way to stick to your sugary guns, Smuckups. “Got to be” means “GOT TO BE“. Get it right, jellyheads.
Next, I barked up Purina’s tree. Their treats are like doggy crack. But are they bacon-good? I let my mutt decide:
To be fair, Lay’s wasn’t lying, exactly. But those bitches still owe me a bag of snacks:
And then there was Bounty. I found them out of necessity, and just hoped their claims weren’t too good to be true. But of course, they were:
Seems like an awful lot of trouble, just to find the truth. I don’t remember Mulder and Scully going through this shit.
Last time, Zolton found his “feminine side” with Sara Lee, Jo-Ann Fabric, PAM and Mary Kay. 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.
My teeth and I have been through a lot together. Sure, there have been some tough times — teething pains, for instance. Two years of braces. The unfortunate Popcorn Kernel Incident of 2004. But my chompers are always there for me — whether I’m digging into a Granny Smith or gnawing my way into one of granny’s childproof medicine bottles.
My teeth don’t ask questions (unlike nosy old grandma); they just bite when say bite, and chew when I say chew. (Also unlike grandma.)
So naturally, I want to take good care of my pearly whites. But is the tired old traditional toothbrush really the best way to do it? These crude dental devices were designed in the 1800s — they still huffed ether and bled people with leeches back then. If you got a cavity, they didn’t give you a root canal; they burned you at the stake.
It’s the 21st century, and I’m tired of having these outdated old toothbrushes crammed — literally — down my throat. The talking toothheads say we should brush three times a day, for five minutes each. Well, I call hog-mouth-wash. With a little ingenuity and a squeeze-from-the-bottom tub of internet shopping savvy, I bet I could clean my teeth better, faster and without a Cavity Creep in sight.
So I scoured Amazon and found a whole slew of toothbrush replacements. Read on for the details — your choppers will thank me later.
My Amazon Review:
While those little “regular” toothbrushes only hit two or three teeth at a time, this big fella can brush ALL my teeth at once. Just a couple of quick swipes around the mouth, and I’m good to go — a real time-saver!
Progress isn’t always pretty. But it usually tastes like spearmint.
On the downside, it does take an awful lot of toothpaste to cover the bristles. And the brush is a pretty tight fit for my mouth — more than once, I’ve accidentally brushed my forehead or nose, trying to get the whole thing in. But frankly, that’s a bonus — the insides of my nostrils have never felt so minty fresh.
Just be sure your spouse doesn’t mix your new toothbrush with your actual toilet brush. When my wife was cleaning the john last weekend and the bowl started to foam, I knew we had a problem. Ew.
My Amazon Review:
Sometimes innovation is simply about looking at a situation differently. Like, why hold my teeth still and move a little brush around them when I can hold a huge brush in one place, and rub my teeth all over it?
I mounted this brush right beside the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. Now, every morning I simply drip some toothpaste onto it, put my face in, smile nice and wide, and jiggle my head around for a dentist-worthy cleaning. It’s good dental health, aerobic exercise and — if I lean forward just so — salon-quality eyebrow grooming, all at once. Time-saving genius, is what that is. I’m buying a second one to take on the road.
My Amazon Review:
I’d heard good things about “sonic” toothbrushes, but those scrawny little devices are too underpowered for my tastes. Instead, I bought a couple of these babies. If the sound is loud enough to scare away moles and squirrels, it ought to frighten the holy creeping bejeezus out of gingivitis, right?
I figured the closer to my teeth the better, so I tried holding one in my mouth like a thermometer or an unlit cigar. The vibrations were pretty unsettling at first — blurred vision and involuntary shakes every fifteen seconds is no way to drive to work, for starters — but I got used to them.
I have no idea whether this thing is spooking away bacteria in my mouth — but all that shaking has certainly sped up my digestion. I can eat a full lunch, and by three pm it’s wiggled all the way down to the proverbial gopher hole. Would highly recommend!
My Amazon Review:
I remember when “waterpiks” were all the rage. I also remember wondering how long it took to clean a whole mouth with a tiny little pea shooter like that. I mean, you can fill an Olympic swimming pool using just a teaspoon — but who would want to?
Enter the Stream Machine, which can flush my mouth with two full feet of cleansing water in a matter of seconds. It’s a bit of a tricky procedure, of course. Good aim is crucial, particularly if I’m “freshening up” at the office and need to keep my clothes (and hair, and back, and the insides of my ears) dry. Also, it’s important not to shoot the water too fast — I got in a hurry one day, and nearly shot my uvula clean off. It didn’t drop again for nearly a week.
There’s no such thing as “tooth-kake.” I don’t even want to hear it.
Meanwhile, my mouth feels clean, fresh and free of any bacteria or debris that wouldn’t stand up to a class 4 typhoon. The only downside is administering the cleanings myself. Maybe you have a friend that you can trust to shoot you, just right, in the mouth with a pump-action water cannon without soaking you head to toe. Maybe I do, too. But I doubt it — and I am NOT finding out the hard way.
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 Comments
![[Subscribe]](/blog/images/subscribe.png)
