Tajazzle: The stupidest product ever invented.

Have you heard about Tajazzle? No? Probably not, because you're a contentious consumer who doesn't waste money on pieces of shit. But you ladies, wouldn't you like to start having complexes about more parts of your body and buying more crap to slather onto yourself in some attempt to appear attractive to the opposite sex?

Then the Tajazzle is for you. But how much is it going to cost you?

Thank god. I wasn't going to pay $200 for some junk they're selling on an infomercial. I don't even think they charge that much for a Jack LaLanne juicer.

SIXTY BUCKS?!?! Sixty bucks to acquire some talc which they expect you to put on your vagina, a fucking roll-on perfume bottle, and some pieces of plastic with glue on the back? This is no more a beauty "system" than tequila, Taco Bell and cheesecake is a system for giving you the shits.

My co-worker Kate put it best: "It just makes her look ashy."

 

"We are a totally believable couple. Yup."

THIS FUCKING GUY. Doesn't he look like he walked out of a Huge Boss ad in 1991? Nice eyebrows.

If this is an indicator of the kind of woman who owns a Tajazzle system, then obviously it's a time machine in disguise, since I don't think anyone's owned a "Princess" shirt, had spiky gelled bangs or used a cordless phone since 1999.

"Dude, she's so hot because the odor of her vagina is wafting over here. New car smell."

In what universe does this cost thirty dollars? Seth: "It's a tattoo you get out of a vending machine at a Mexican restaurant."

"Hey, are you ready to go to the beach?" "Yeah, I think so, let me see... hat, sunscreen, sarong... wait, I forgot the stupid pieces of crystal stuck to my asscheek!"

"Aw, man, I'm just at this bar, drinking appletinis and being so super masculine and I totally wouldn't go down on a girl unless her pussy smelled like Febreeze."

 I don't want to fucking know where this is going. I really don't. I can get down with some kinky shit, but I don't want anyone licking my feet. Sorry.

I am my most confident when my lady parts are drier than the Sahara! I feel great about the fact that whatever guy I decide to drag home and beg to sleep with me is going to see my stupid bullshit crystal tattoo and think I'm a fucking nut who loves Nicholas Sparks books and owns a hot pink Snuggie and has already picked out the names of the four children we're going to have together (Makayla, Jayden, Addison and Tyler!)

People I hate: updated for 2011!

I'm what one would call a "misanthrope." Or an "asshole." I tend to think they're interchangable. In short? I can't stand 95% of humanity.

Usually I reserve my hatred for women with huge strollers who insist on standing in the doorway of the T at rush hour and Rush Limbaugh. But my cup runneth over with vitriol, and I'm singling some of you dickbags out.

People who quote themselves.

Have you ever known anyone who did this? Have you ever noticed that everyone who does this is always the stupidest fucking person you know? Your friend with the Ph.D. in English who spent three years writing a thesis on Paradise Lost doesn't quote himself. It's always the dipshit who graduated high school with 2.1 GPA and promptly got a job installing car stereos who thinks he's so chock-full-o'-wisdom that he has to share his enlightenment with the world. Do the world a favor and keep your banal observations to yourself.

People who love the Dave Matthew Band.

I might get a lot of shit for this, but I can't think of any band that is more fucking played-out than the Dave Matthews Band. It's boring yuppie bullshit, consistently enjoyed by asshats in Fortune 500 companies that spend their days figuratively pushing money around with rakes and then as soon as the five o'clock world's whistle blows, they don their khaki cargo shorts and Abercrombie polos and bang their heads to Dave Matthews like he's some fucking killer guitar player. It's like Muzak except you don't have to speculate about the singer's sexuality. Grow a pair and listen to metal, you morons. (Not that I like metal, really. I listen to Robyn.)

Hot lesbians.

What the fuck is your problem? Why do you insist on ignoring me? Why do you absolutely refuse to be swayed by my stunning looks and endless charm? Why do all of you like science so much? Why do you make me look like a plebian? Why must you keep my OkCupid inbox and my soul empty? Why do none of you find me attractive, yet any idiot with a dick and bad haircut whom I'd never screw in a million years won't hesitate to tell me they think I'm hot?

Friends who won't tell you the truth.

THIS ONE. I'm sure it's happened to all of us. You have that one friend who says "Aw yeah we're totally going to hang out on Saturday, it's going to be awesome!" Then they meet up with someone who doesn't like you or who almost got in a fistfight with your husband on New Year's Eve (whoops, whatever, I was so drunk I barely remember it) and then suddenly all that shit is down the drain and you're lucky if they even reply to your text message asking what town they're going to be in. I don't fucking care if you don't want to hang out with me, or can't, or something's occurred to offend your delicate fucking sensibilities. Just be honest about it. My heart isn't going to break.

People who fake disabilities to get money / perks / pity.

There's this guy who fake-hobbles on the train every morning. A fat guy who demands to be given the optimal seating because he's so super disabled and can't walk and has to use crutches. But, if you actually watch him and not just buy into the whole "he must be disabled and I can't question a disabled person's motives," he's using them like fucking ski poles. I long held a suspicion that the guy was faking it. Then I saw him at A.C. Moore, waddling around sans crutches like he was the most able-bodied bastard in the world, buying fabric pant and rick-rack so he can decorate his Lee jeans. Fuck that guy. Also, fuck the guy on the train who purports to be blind yet crushes the Jumble and Sudoku every morning. Blind my ass.

I tried to Google "pictures of women with tools," but most of what I got was pictures of dildos. I'm not even kidding. Try it.

In light of the popularity of Women Laughing Alone with Salad, I thought I'd bust up some other stock photography I find hardly representative of actual life. I hate how in advertising, everyone is perfectly scrubbed and every event - even washing your fucking laundry - is TOTALLY AWESOME AND WORTHY OF SMILES. I get the point, every brand wants to imply that their products make you happy, either directly or indirectly, but let's be honest here: people in advertisements are assholes, and so are you if buy into what they're selling.

(No, I didn't buy these images. What do you think I am, a sucker? iStockPhotos can kiss my ass.)

I ALWAYS see pictures like this. They are meant to convey that drinking wine is a lady-friend-fun thing to do. They neglect the reality of wine drinking: you had a shitty day at work and you're terrified of getting fired, so the only way you can relax is by plowing through a bottle of Pinot Grigio and wishing that you won the lottery, or died, or won the lottery and died the next day because it isn't it ironic, don't you think? Please kill me now.

It really irritates me that every time you see an image of a casino, everyone is beautiful and well dressed. Every casino I've ever been to is chock full of fat middle-aged broads chain-smoking and wearing shirts with puff-paint cats on them. Ever been to Vegas? It's not full of attractive yuppies in silk. It's full of assholes in Ohio State sweatshirts who are going to see Celine Dion and play nickel slots.

 

 

YAY WE ARE WATCHING TV TOGETHER DURING THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY AND EATING POPCORN AND HAVING SO MUCH FUN.

No. Just... no. I watch Hoarders by myself at 3 AM while wearing granny panties and no shirt. Watching television is not some bullshit family bonding experience. I watch television because I don't have a life or a thought in my brain.

 

Can we just kill this stupid trope that for women, eating a piece of chocolate is like coming? The title of this picture is "Chocolate craving." I don't crave chocolate like I crave getting my rocks off, okay? I eat about twenty Reese's peanut butter cups when I'm on my period, but it doesn't make up for the fact that I'm bleeding. If I had to pick orgasms or chocolate, I'm going to pick orgasms. IT'S JUST CHOCOLATE.

In ads, old women fucking LOVE the pool. They love it. It's like as soon as you retire, they give you the keys to the local YMCA and you spend the rest of your days doing water aerobics with all your multi-racial best friends. The truth? I don't know a single old person who goes in a pool. I'm pretty sure it's because they're not morons and know that lots of water plus someone who can't move very well equals DROWNING.

Nobody fucking meditates. Nobody has a sense of "inner calm." That's why people invented whiskey and shoegaze music.

Woohoo! Dance party! Except there are only four people there! Standing on a fake bear rug! And none of them are holding alcoholic beverages! And for whatever reason, the host is a terrible decorator! This party fucking sucks.