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My beloved husband, sitting -- oh, I'd say six inches away from me in our downstairs office -- sent me this link as he went about his advertising-y business.

  My favorite quote:  "For marketers, this means real moms are sick of seeing TV moms in clean cars and tight jeans with every hair -- and kid -- in place. If an advertiser really wants to win friends, it should show a wild-eyed mother wallowing in burger wrappers. (But it shouldn't be Britney.)"

And that link yielded two more links that brought me ecstasy:  the delightfully-named shutupaboutyourperfectkid.com, and the transcendent honestbaby.com.

I especially like the Honest Baby "Mommy Police Attack of the Week," headed by the type of snotty comment we all wish we could make:

Mommy: Like your mouth?

Anyone who knows me knows that I don't advocate "boundary-less" anarchy in children.  But when someone's in the grocery store with a screaming child at 8 p.m., for example, I have no way of knowing the full story.  It's not my place to judge that parent, or that child.  I don't know if that child is autistic and overwhelmed by sensation and can't control him-or-herself.  I don't know if that poor parent works all day and comes home to a cancer-stricken co-parent and has no other choice but to grocery shop with an exhausted, cranky two-year-old.  It's hard enough work keeping my own life together, without casting aspersions on someone else's.

That's why people like this letter-writer in today's "Ask Amy" column get under my skin:



Hmmmm... let's see, what would I rather have in the gene pool, noisy people or nasty people, who refer to children as "brats?"  I think I'll pick Noisy.  Sorry, Nasty, but you'll have to go.  Buh Bye.

If only children could be like my neighbor's gerbil.  He never makes a sound.  Do you think it's the wood shavings, or the cage?  The exercise wheel?  Maybe I'll try it.

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Please enjoy this Halloween special, which I presented last year, and shall present every year until nature deprives me of the will and ability to blog:

I had but one coupon section in Sunday's paper; still, it yielded some pleasures. For instance, I was thrilled to discover Philadelphia Ready-to-Eat Cheesecake Filling now comes in chocolate -- why bother to spoon it into a pie crust? Just dip graham crackers in it, and you're all set!

As delicious as chocolate cheesecake, however, was finding Double Post's Christmas present.Does it come in Kirby? You bet it does!

I'm so excited I spoiled the surprise. Oh, well. I'm sure she'll be so thrilled, she'll forgive me for spilling the beans.

She always loves the thoughtful gifts I choose for her and her family.

Will Tits McGee never stop tormenting me with horrible stories?  Today it's this.  I cringe to think what it will be tomorrow.

First of all, Trista is an idiot.  We already knew that from the fact she appeared on "The Bachelor" to begin with, a concept that boggles my mind.  And it's still on the air!  I don't understand why liberals and conservatives alike never joined hands to denounce it.  Women as commodities, slavishly vying for the attention of what usually appears to be the equivalent of a Sears catalog underwear model?  The sanctity of love and marriage cheapened and coarsened into a commercial exchange?  What's not to hate?

Secondly, everything she says about her body is bullshit.  Three months to lose what she claims is "too much fat?"  The "mommy belly?"  She should just go to a plastic surgeon because that mommy pouch is never going away.  It's just not.  Trust me.  No matter how skinny she gets, and it sounds like she doesn't care how skinny she gets, that flap of skin will be there.

Am I advocating people get the "mommy job?"  Oh, Hell No!  But this bitch is crazy, and she's either going to submit to intense therapy to overcome her body issues, or hie herself to the plastic surgeon to feel "right" about herself.  Hmmm, which one is Trista more likely to choose?

Okay, we've established Trista is stupid and crazy.  But she's just one tiny, insignificant (and becoming more tiny and more insignificant) individual; how does that make America dumb?

Because.  We read and buy and buy into this crap.  We are obese yet yearn not to be healthy and active, but emaciated.  The magazine would not choose such a story unless it knew people would lap it up like Slim-Fast with a double cheeseburger chaser.  Do we believe that Trista is the norm?  Should be the norm?  Insane.  Do we believe that no one should eat nutritious food and exercise properly to stay healthy?  Also insane.  We take better care of our pets than ourselves. Can we not fathom the concept of "moderation?"

Instead, we should heed the advice of the Simpson's in their Halloween episode, "Attack of the 50 Foot Eyesores":  Just don't look.



I could only find it in Russian or Polish or Lithuanian or whatever.  But it's good, I swear.

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Monkey Mucker just wrote a piece on the 10 Most Dangerous Organizations as determined by Family Security Matters. To my utter amazement, Code Pink was listed.

To be honest, I have only a passing knowledge of Code Pink. I know they oppose war and violence. I know they wear pink and carry signs and march and protest. I know that they protest against Democrat and Republican alike who either actively support, or do nothing to end, war. I admire their consistency and persistence.

I would like to know precisely why they are dangerous. Because they are engaging in the very means provided by the Constitution of this United States to bring about political change? Because they have an opinion? Because pink is too bright and sometimes hurts the eyes?

I don't see them destroying property or becoming violent or pulling down anyone's pants in front of television cameras. I understand that some may disagree with their stance, but since when is stating an opinion and urging politicians to adopt that opinion dangerous? I thought it was one of the cornerstones of democracy. Is "Family Security" calling democracy dangerous?

I'm not stupid. I know why they're being called dangerous. I just sometimes can't take the ridiculousness without comment sometimes.

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I'm sure they seemed innocent enough at the time, but...

This is creepy still picture from "Creature Features" that haunted me in my youth.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, it's from our local TV station in the 70's that used to show monster movies.



He's still scary to me.

For those of you who can't live without Bad Music on Thursdays, you can always listen to this. It's not Halloween-themed, but it will do for now.

Boy was I wrong.

The "sexy" costumes have already been mentioned earlier this year by my loyal readers, so I decided to click on the "funny" section of just one mega-seller of costumes.

I was expecting the usual yawn-inducing "clever" jokes of years past, and I wasn't disappointed.  But the truly outstandingly bad costumes were there, too.  In varieties my brain never wanted to imagine.

For instance, "Groppin' Granny."  Did they mean "Gropin' Granny?"  It doesn't matter.  What matters is, the photo on the website doesn't fully portray the costume.   Allow me to quote the website:  "Costume includes: old-look, flowered dress with open front. Flesh colored bodysuit with 'female parts' and socks."

You read that correctly.


If mocking the elderly isn't your thing, maybe making fun of obesity is.

This costume consists of a "Long sleeve dress with big ole belly and breasts made right on."  A big "ole" belly?  Is that what they shout at bull fights in Mexico?

But I suppose the sort of people who collapse into uncontrollable fits of laughter upon viewing this costume aren't known for their grammatical skills.  Their brains are too busy soaking up the "funny".

Zooming past the tired sexual innuendos, cultural slurs and still more fat jokes, I came upon this winner, which celebrates our nation's pride at having the highest rates of incarceration in the world:

It's called the "Department of Erection."  It's made up of an "Official look orange correction jumpsuit with one major protruding difference."

Really?  What's the protruding difference?  This joke is much too subtle for me.  It should come with a written explanation.  Maybe I was just confused by the "official look" jumpsuit.

The only thing that would make this remotely amusing to me is if he wore an Ann Coulter mask, or perhaps Condoleeza Rice.

Those are but three that caught my eye.  Feel free to browse the site and come up with your own favorites.  There are enough unfunny jokes here to make me think they hired Dane Cook as a designer because Carrot Top wouldn't stoop low enough for them.

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As usual, talking to Nick brought up an unpleasant subject.  Today it was Sweetest Day, which took place just this past Saturday.  I almost forgot about it.

I'll bet there are husbands out there who would rue the day they forgot Sweetest Day.  Dilf, however, would be beaten and thrown out into the cold October night were he to remember it.  It is a sham, a fallacy, a literal invention of the candy companies.

You'll NEVER BE VALENTINE'S DAY, you bastardized excuse for a holiday!!!  Do you hear me??!!  NEVER!!!

I refuse to be party to a lie, and Sweetest Day is nothing but a lie created to boost third quarter sales and cater to the whims of pouty, infantile women everywhere who demand presents and attention whenever the breeze blows from their dutiful man-servants who pose as their "loved" ones .  (I'm looking at you, Cuntzilla.)

It is the epitome of false sentiment, the kind of false sentiment that caused people to buy Bread albums in the 1970's, others to sit through the worst cinema imaginable, and still others to create and purchase abominations like this.

Die, Sweetest Day!  Die!

And do single people need another day to make them ache with loneliness?  April Winchell has proof of what happens to people suffering from the Sweetest Day Blues.  Listen to that man's torment.  Listen to it!  That is the sound of Sweetest Day the greeting card companies don't want you to hear.

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As I've mentioned, my 20-year high school reunion is coming up.  Some people may remember my ex-husband, who also graduated with us, and may ask what happened to him (he's listed among the missing.)

Before Larry Craig, the explanation might've been long and painful.  But now, I have several succinct and illustrative responses.

"He pulled a 'Larry Craig' on me," for instance.  Or, "He's gay -- not good gay, Larry Craig gay."  Or even, "He was doing the 'Larry Craig Stomp' in the men's room."  The possibilities are endless!

You see, Larry Craig personifies that closeted, self-loathing gay man who engages in dangerous, socially-unacceptable sexual practices, actively bashes homosexuality in a particularly vicious manner, and will do anything to avoid facing reality.  Thanks to him, I don't need to engage in a lengthy discussion about what sort of guy my ex-husband turned out to be; I just need one sentence to get the whole story across.  For that, I can't help but feel grateful.

But I've also been thinking about Mr. Craig's motives in trying to block gay people from feeling part of normal society.  I'm starting to think his motives go beyond self-flagellation, and might actually be cunningly selfish.  See, if gay men don't feel shame, they won't hide out in shadowy, degrading pit stops waiting for Craig to stumble upon them.  There goes all his fun!  He's got to keep gay people in a metaphorical (or perhaps, literal) "dungeon" or they won't put out for a pasty, fleshy windbag with no fashion sense.

Not only would all the delicious "naughtiness" be gone from his sexual encounters, but he'd have to step up his game to attract partners!  No wonder he fights to keep gay people out of mainstream society.  Oooh, they're dirty, aren't they, Larry.  Bad, bad boys who need a firm hand.

Still think he's not gay?  Look how he approaches that microphone. 

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In other high school reunion news, this guy will be there. I never hung out with him, although I'm vaguely aware of who he is. Clearly, a government plot has kept us separated. He is SO my twin brother.

photo courtesy of this guy, who clearly understands.

I would love to have something witting, erudite, or even halfway interesting to say today. Alas, I am forcing myself to own up to the piles of laundry, both clean and dirty, which await my attention.

I am drowning under its weight, suffocating under its relentless bulk. An unending sea of cloth, draining me of all happiness and hope.

Laundry is my own personal Dementor.

I had 72 pages of coupons in this week's Sunday paper; in all those pages, I found only 16 coupons  for actual food I could buy in the actual grocery store.  Another 14 were for cleaning or paper products, and a whopping 30 were for health and beauty products (including a coupon for KY LiquiBeads, which I'm not sure I want to know about.  Okay, yes I do.)

But evil has started to infiltrate the happy world of coupons.  It started small, with some odd knick knacks and collector plates here, pull-on stretch pants and orthopedic shoes there.  Now, we have pages WITHOUT ANY SORT OF COUPON OR DISCOUNT TO BE FOUND ANYWHERE.

Sirs and mesdames of the credit card industry, is it not enough that you befoul our mailboxes with your unsolicited offers -- must you infiltrate our coupon sections as well?

And you, Direct TV -- have you no other avenue open to you for advertising, that you must take up space in my beloved coupon section with your filthy, coupon-less, full-page shill?  Not even a "mention-this-ad-and-get-something?"  For shame!

Is it not bad enough that we are assaulted weekly with items such as this:



or this:



Woe to the future of coupons if this trend continues.

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Also, in Dilf-faux-pas news, he referred to me as a "bad mumbo jumbo" instead of a "bad mamma jamma" when I was flirting with him while he made a tuna salad sandwich today.

That Dilf!

I've not yet posted about this story because I was waiting to see how it panned out; besides, the wild-eyed radicals of DuPage County seemed to have matters firmly in hand:



Don't they look like left-wing crazies so far removed from the mainstream that they couldn't possibly represent a well-reasoned viewpoint? Anyways.

Because Jeff Zurawski is from Downers Grove, this story showed up in my local paper immediately after it happened. The facts reported at the time were this: Mr. Zurawski and his friend Sarah Hartifield hung the "Impeach Bush and Cheney -- Liars" banner from a pedestrian bridge overpass over a highway, along with an upside-down American flag meant to symbolize our country in distress.

An Illinois State Trooper approached them on a bridge, told them he realized that they had a perfect right to free speech, but asked them if they could take down their protest signs despite that fact because it was causing a traffic distraction.

The two protesters complied with this polite request. As they were putting their things away, DuPage County sheriffs angrily descended upon them, and the rest you can read for yourself.

I thought the furor was going to die down when the ridiculous charges made against them by the District Attorney WEEKS AFTER the initial arrest were knocked down, but it's not. Amazingly, at least to anyone outside of DuPage County and unfamiliar with Joe Birkett's work, the county is going forward with their charges.

I saw this movie on MonstersHD, but you might have caught it on MST3K.

Yes, it's that bad. It will have you crying, "Brains... BRAINS. Where were the brains of the people who made 'The Horror of Party Beach?'" Honestly, how can Baby Boomers honestly brag about their impact on our nation's history with movies like this around?

I present to you "The Zombie Stomp":



Don't worry, folks. Just another couple of weeks and Halloween will be over and we'll be back to our regular, non-Halloween-themed programming.

Thoughtful blogger B.A. brought this to my attention today, possibly saving me 90 days in jail and $300.

As Nick will attest, I frequently swear at, gesture rudely at, or otherwise publicly denigrate things and entities that piss me off.

For example, Michael's did not have the vellum bags I need to make popcorn ghosts for ÜberElder's class Halloween party. I gave them the stink eye and flipped them off and shouted obscenities at the store. From the outside. I didn't want to upset any employees, or the guy in the NASCAR jacket shopping in the scrapbooking aisle.

Sidenote: Now I am more angry at Michael's than ever! "Imaginate" is not a word, and it disturbs me greatly! Aaaaargh! And, they are coupon con artists to boot! I declare a housewife jihad upon them! Death to Michaels!

That same day, I went grocery shopping. In my quest to eat healthier, I stopped by the bagged salads, and found them to be $3.29 for a 10 ounce bag. All so that I can run the risk of diarrhea. To that I say, "Fuck you, Dole!" I flipped off the entire produce stand. I then went to my little private grocery store, Amici's, which contains mainly meats, cheeses, produce and 895 varieties of olive oil (it's an Italian grocery store). I bought romaine lettuce for $.69 a POUND. So there!

Back to that poor woman in Scranton with the overflowing toilet: if she gets convicted, I say the Babushka Brigade gets involved.

At I-Mockery.com, a fantabulous new site I discovered (I have so many soulmates floating around cyberspace, it's amazing. Or terrifying), I found this:



It looks even better out of the package:



Halloween is coming soon; they won't last long at that price!

I saw the scariest thing ever last night on my television screen.

It wasn't a horror movie, although the Chucky movies now have a bit more power to scare me than they did before.

It wasn't George Bush or Fox News, although those would be two good guesses.

No, it was the 60 Minutes interview with this guy.

**shiver**

I'm a little late to the party to bash this guy; many Christians from a variety of denominations have taken him to task. And it makes sense that they would, because he is the Antichrist. Oh, did you think the Antichrist would show up in a cloud of sulfurous smoke, wearing that red satin devil outfit that John Lovitz used to wear on Saturday Night Live? Hell, no. He'd never sway Christians that way.

Instead, he plays to their earthly weaknesses. My favorite part of that ABC News story? He autographs Bibles. Like he wrote it or something.

He's not the only one, either. There's a whole hugely popular, exponentially-growing psuedo-Christian cult out there called "Prosperity Theology" or "Prosperity Gospel." They fill the mega churches with their feel-good yet spiritually-empty gimme-gimme message, without bothering with any themes of self-sacrifice or personal responsibility. Who needs "love your enemies" when playing Halo feels so much better?

I will leave you with a picture of the sports arena Osteen converted into a ... church?



Just in case Osteen left any doubt as to what he actually worships, he took away crosses or any other religious imagery and stuck a big planet earth up as a focus instead.

Also, he looks creepy, like someone stretched some flesh-like canvas over a skeletal frame. Maybe he's an automaton?

Cue Doctor Sardonic.

Severely underrated blogger and Downers Grove Reporter opinion page writer Jeff Vrabel alerted me to a potential controversy in the pierogi world.

Mrs. T's is holding a contest to choose the Capitol of the Pierogy Pocket of the United States.

I have issues with this so-called "contest," and only two of them involve grammar. (Pierogi with a "y"? And I think someone needs to read Strunk and White.)

So, "Mrs. T," if that is your real name, kindly explain why all but one of your "capitol city" choices are on the east coast? Are you aware that Chicago has more than one million citizens of Polish ancestry, making it the largest population of Poles outside of Warsaw? And if you want to include Russians in your "pierogy" pocket, which I don't, but you might as well since you've bastardized the pierogi in so many ways already, the west coast has a fair concentration of that ethnicity as well.

But never mind that right now. I must urge you to choose Whiting, Indiana as the clear winner no matter what those provincial New Yorkers might say. Consider Whiting's Pierogi Fest, home of the Nation's Largest Pierogi, the Pierogiettes, and a pierogi-themed parade. Does any other town in the United States celebrate the pierogi in so many wonderful ways?

I don't want to threaten you, but if you fail to give Whiting the recognition it most certainly is due, you might be getting a little visit from the Babushka Brigade.



Yeah. I think I may be a recruit.

Happy Halloween from a man who clearly wasted his parent's money by getting a useless theatre degree in college.

Is that too mean? Probably.

I found the worst Halloween costume, ever. Bar none. It left me speechless. It's so awful, in fact, that EVEN I can't bring myself to post it. You can look at it if you want; it's here.

I did find a bad costume that I felt more comfortable posting. It's not so much disgusting as it is... what's the proper word? Idiotic? Whatever it is, it's confusing and stupid and it's $40 freaking dollars for a kid's costume.




Can someone explain this one to me, please? A pink ... mummy... fairy?

I found other kid costumes distressing this year. The "American Idol Infant", for example:



Or the hip hop toddler:



This guy was pretty creepy, too, although I can't blame it squarely on his costume:

While I undergo torture, please think of ham recipes and send them to me.

Crazy people and bad feelings from two years ago are suddenly popping up again, including a stray new comment from the ever delightful David Soul fans. That last comment is from today. (One more and I'll have 50! C'mon, Soulsters! You can do it!)

With such ominous feeling in the air, only one thing can save us ... well, actually two. But the one I want to talk about today is ... cookies.

I can save us all from the swirling abyss of pain, drama and anxiety with a warm batch of cookies, and I'm ready, willing and able to take on that task. As soon as the promised storm rushes into the area, bringing an end to the deadly and unseasonable heat we've been suffering through, I will make and decorate these cookies for the benefit of all.

I have the cookie cutters. I have the ingredients. I have the food coloring. Let's get baking.

Oh, by the way, the second thing that could save the positive side of the blogging force? Cupcakes, of course. Duh.

Tits McGee has found another source to help fuel my rebellious nature.

It seems that some of my fellow Americans are not grateful for my willing sacrifice to raise good citizens who will one day help lead the nation when they themselves are old and gray. They don't care that I am making sure my children learn to read and get an education so that they may help cure diseases or create great art or discover alternative fuel sources some day. They aren't thankful that I took on the burden of incontinence when I sneeze or cough, or waking up to the sounds of a retching child at 3 a.m. in order to take care of the child and her laundry while most of them lie blissfully asleep in bed.

No, that's not good enough. That's not enough to earn their respect. According to them, I need to have a tight tushie and perky boobs. Because that's what's really important.

In 1970, “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” the seminal guide to women’s health, described the cosmetic changes that can happen during and after pregnancy simply as phenomena. But now narrowing beauty norms are recasting the transformations of motherhood as stigma.

Stigma? For what?

I'm not advocating neglecting one's health. Moms should always make sure to eat right and exercise to keep themselves well, to care for themselves. Certainly. But instead of viewing those unavoidable body changes that accompany motherhood, not to mention aging in general, as normal and natural, they are ... shameful? Have we forgotten what the word "shameful" means?

Being rude, greedy, insulting, petty, cruel, judgmental -- all of these behavior choices are occasions to be ashamed of oneself. If anyone wants to look down on me because I don't artificially alter my body to pretend I'm something or someone I'm not, they can feel free. I'll even make it easier for them by running around naked screaming, "Look at me! They're stretch marks! And REAL FlOPPY BREASTS! Look at my CELLULITE! LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT IT!!!!"

I'll then laugh maniacally and bend over in their direction, so they can get a good, long look at my "deformities."

Meanwhile, I will enjoy this mockery of their value system:



I love that. LOVE IT.

After all, it's never stopped me before.

I've been very baby-centric lately, even though mine are 4 and 7. I can't have any more, but I still want to baby and nurture someone. Maybe it's good that Nick moved up here.

In any event, my empathy meter has been set on high. That's why I had an overly strong reaction to the following scenarios:

Sick toddler left to scream in a crib

If your child is little, and very sick, you may have to hold him or her. You do not leave her screaming and crying in a crib because you have "other things to do." (By the way, you do not keep a child sleeping in a crib when she's really big-girl bed age just because it's more convenient for you to lock her up than to establish a real bedtime. Damn right, it's hard to set a bedtime for some kids. But you gotta. You gotta be a parent, no matter what it takes.)

Dishes can wait. Untidiness can wait. EVERYTHING ELSE can wait. Your two year old child is suffering and needs a loving parent to hold her. If you have to sleep sitting up in a chair while she sleeps in your lap, then that's what you do. Parenthood is the ultimate test of stamina and courage. I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses. Tell it to the people who raised kids in a log cabin with dirt floors and no running water. Tell it to the people sitting at a child's bedside in the cancer ward of the hospital. We've all been overtaxed and exhausted and we all had to cowboy up.

Mother would rather have baby go hungry than "feel a little weird" herself

When you have an infant and decide to breastfeed your child, you cannot be selfish and not feed him just because you're "uncomfortable" nursing in public. For fuck's sake, when everyone is sitting around a table eating, he wants to eat, too. And if he doesn't take the bottle, as many nursing babies don't, you have to put aside your little hang-ups and feed the little guy. Or leave. Don't want to miss the party? Too fucking bad! Your baby comes first!

You should've had the baby using bottles from the get-go if you weren't willing to fully commit to nursing. You could've pumped and used bottles, if you didn't want to use formula. But yes, whipping out a boob is a lot easier; no sterilization or bottles or synthetic nipples necessary. But parenthood isn't about what's easiest for you; it's about doing what's best for your child.

None of us is perfect and we all make parenting mistakes. I'm not trying to sound harshly critical or holier-than-thou; I just get upset when I see little ones, vulnerable and needy, crying out and not getting an answer.

Happy Friday!

Poor, poor Tattoo. All those years on Fantasy Island, and he never got his fantasy fulfilled.

Nobody even cared enough to ask.

Well, I care enough, dammit. Only he's not around to ask anymore. Lucky for us, he left behind a recording to let us know. He didn't wish for wealth and power



He didn't wish for enlargement



No, his only wish was for an end to fighting.

Click here to hear his impassioned plea.
(file courtesy of the divine April Winchell, who is the best thing to happen to my blogging life, ever.)

Hey, wait a minute! He didn't practice what he preached!



Poor Fonzie.

these will do nicely.

But not big ugly smelly stupid head Carl Spackler, who said, (and I quote), "Halloween is overrated."

OVERRATED.

He dared say that to me.

He is so dead to me.

Today is the first day of October, people -- that means a non-stop, full-bore, unabated gush of Halloween goodness will gush forth from my font of bloggy inspiration. Are you as excited as I am? I bet you aren't!

Why am I so in love with Halloween, you may very well ask? None of your god-damned business! No, seriously, I credit Scooby Doo. Ubiquitous as it was when I was growing up, Scooby Doo taught me (over and over and over, ad nauseum) that it was okay to be afraid sometimes, as demonstrated by Shaggy and Scooby, but fears should be faced and conquered, as demonstrated by Fred and Thelma. I'm not sure what Daphne taught me, but it might explain why I was anorexic the first two years of high school. Die, Daphne, you stuck up bitch! So, Halloween, with its confrontation of our deepest fears and making light of dark subject matter is ingrained into my very subconscious.

But onto the coupons.





For all you witches with that not-so-fresh feeling, Air Wick introduces a new broom for your transportation needs. It's called the FreshSweep, and it distributes a lovely fragrance from its bristles. With a coupon from Sunday's paper, you save a dollar on your purchase.







Next, SoftSoap FoamWorks introduces their line of glow in the dark decorative Halloween soap dispensers in yesterday's coupon section, but the cheap bastards didn't include a coupon! I couldn't find an online image of them to show you; the only decorative FoamWorks example I could find was the SpongeBob SquarePants model, which suggests to me that SoftSoap FoamWorks AdExecutives are biased toward TwoWords artificially squashed together to form OneWord.






Next, call me lazy, but I'm excited to try these. You can save 75 cents with the coupon in the paper, or Duncan Hines has some for you on their website.
I don't care what kind of snobby foodie you are (Dr. Sardonic, I'm looking at you), the prospect of getting a craving for gooey, warm, fresh-from-the-oven brownies and needing but to warm the oven and shove a pre-made container within and wait, salivating lustily, counting down every second until those beautiful fudgy babies are finally ready to eat -- well, I think I've made my point.

That's it for this week. Please join me next money for another exciting installment of "This Week in Coupons."