warning: your reputation is at steak

Coinciding with the drastic advancement of television technology over the last several decades, the TV food technology we enjoy while fixated to the screen has graciously mimicked the same developmental curve. The standard that was was once grainy, 2D, and black and white is now defined as high def, 3D, in addition to coming standard with a magic wand with more buttons than the number of goosebumps on a cold Kardashian ass. What was once enjoyed as a four-course potpourri of your basic food groups, neatly segregated into their own compartments- has since amalgamated into bread-pocket form, capable of preserving unbearable molten hotness for the duration of a half-hour episode. While this may not seem to be a big ordeal when you are in full blown glazey-eyed zombie mode, don't tell the hard-working food scientists at Hot Pocket LLC that. Because it is. And even your grandpa knows it.

Stubbornly refusing to improve over the last 60 years ironically, is the technology of the microwave- the most crucial component in the eating-while-emotionlessly-entertained triad. With the exception of the "Swanson TV Dinner" button being replaced with the "Popcorn" button, microwaves still exist in their primitive form. This has left scientists with a catalystic constant in which generations of studies have been based upon. To microvent for a moment- scientists have identified the human genome, put a man on the moon, and cloned kittens, but heaven forbid you put a fork in the microwave you risk fucking up one of your most trusted household appliances, with nothing but guilty radiation rash to show for it. In addition to a Youtubey, potentially.

Society has grown to expect nothing less than the most up to date food technology when showing up for a TV dinner party. That being said, to offer a Swanson TV dinner to guests would be social suicide- only repentable by sticking your head in the microwave and pressing the "Ass Clown" button. In the day and age of Hot Pockets, Pizza Bites and flavor changing bubble gum, it is more acceptable to provide your guests with a self-contained entre infixed between microwaveable appetizers and dessert, than a faux four-course meal that needs both gasp, a spork and gasp, knife, hence, gasp, an apology.

Swanson may have revolutionized the microwave chef, however they also set the technological table for standards that even grandpa would nowadays demand.

Scratch the TV dinner. Opt for the T.G.I.Friday's Spinach and Artichoke Dip/Hot Pocket/Warm Delight combo instead. Commercial breaks were designed by the FCC for cooking up different courses. Years of scientific sweat and tears have been sacrificed to supply the general public with a fresh fusion of microwaveable flavors. Unless you are watching a movie Marathon on Lifetime, brought to you commercial-free thanks to a sponsorship from Swanson itself, in which an entire meal need be summoned in as few button presses as possible, take advantage of this exciting day and age where the TV dinner has evolved into la TV a la carte. If you are watching a Lifetime marathon, you probably have cats instead of friends. In which case a can of Friskies wet food will do.

If you were a cat friend, cloned or original, you would want the best. That means no dry food. If you were a human friend, the same can be said. That means no Swanson TV dinners.

make your music collection gay(er)

Sit on my lap and let me tell you how these things work

beans, beans, the gentrified fruit

At first my heart went out to the small child depicted in this bean ad for Van Camp's- initial impression being that this sorry little pork chop and his family were victims of gentrification. Perennially disposed of by city authorities, forced to sleep under bridges, subjected to eat cold beans, steal change from fountains, piss in fountains, give birth in fountains; Vagabonds.

At second glance, upon looking in the boy's eyes and making the connection between that deranged glare and his unwaveringly manic smile, it became evident that he ruthlessly murdered his family with a can opener. Killed them in cold blood, then ate cold beans.

At third glance, I read the copy: "Make your shelves gay... by stocking up on Stokely's Finest Honey Pod Peas today."

At fourth glance, I was still thinking about the visual imagery I had just encountered on my third glance, namely, Stokely's Fabulous Honey Pod Peas, sitting on gay little shelves. Perplexing. There's a shiny new 1952 nickel on the line for the first person who can reason with me why on earth you would want to put a can on a shelf that isn't straight?! Even a self-aware shelf who knows that deep down inside it isn't straight, a shelf that has yet to come out and is still "in the pantry" so to say, will still pretend to be straight, to avoid being laser leveled.

At fifth glance I stopped kidding myself. The twinkle in the eyes. The pearly white baby teeth. His old man's fly fishing hat sitting proudly on his head. I wasn't looking at a bloodthirsty homewrecker. I was looking at an innocent child who enjoys his beans. More specifically, a kid who likes his pork and beans. Because beans make you fart. Because farting is funny, when you're cute. It's also deadly however, when you are locked in an air-tight pantry and forced to eat God's magical fruit from your gay little shelves to survive. Beano-erotic asphyxiation kills a handful each year. Don't become a statistic.

While cans of peas and cans of beans may be non-perishable, it is important to remember that humans are perishable. So for your family's sake, make sure your pantry locks from the inside, not outside, and put child-proof locks on all your kitchen appliances. And for karma's sake, donate that extra can of food to the hobo family bathing in the fountain. Let them eat beans.

smoke some irony

In hindsight, it's no surprise that "planking" made the cover of Life magazine back in the fifties. A). It's pleasant. B). It is a rip-roaring, damn good time. And C). it refrains from showing cleavage, suggestive hip movement nor does it further promote any sexual promiscuity by hiding any indication that the "planker" is sexually aroused.

In 1950's foresight however, who would have thought that Chesterfield Cigarettes would have fallen off the map by the turn of the millennium? These cigarettes A). not only contained the world's premium tobaccos, but B). also maintained a freshness standard that would make any 1950's nicotine-slave moist in their unmentionables. And for the record, Chesterfields were C). wrapped in cigarette paper of the highest quality- paper most likely made from organically grown redwood trees, raised in a smoke and pollution-free environment, and tended to for centuries by blonde virgins who refused membership in the now defunct Virgin Blonde Workers Union of America.

"Playing it Safe" and "Planking it Safe" may have applied to cigarettes and planking back then, but those days are over. Why plank on the floor when these days you can plank on a golf cart and become an immortalized YouTube video sensation? Why smoke an actual cigarette when you can smoke an electric cigarette of which the effects on your health are still yet to be known? Why plank on some random plankable object then get up and smoke a cigarette standing up, when you can chief cigarettes whilst planking on an inflatable kiddy pool filled with gasoline all the while being covered in baby oil on a bright sunny day? (Sorry, no YouTubey yet.)

Chesterfield Cigarettes are really just tobacco sticks laced with irony, which makes this particular ad kosher. It is more glaringly ironic to note that once you are dead and nine feet underground, you are essentially in prime planking formation for all of eternity.

..until some necrophiliac digs you up and planks you in your dead corpse that is.

And for the record, rain on your wedding day isn't ironic. Mother Nature's just a bish.

bodacious bottles: marketing module?

An excerpt from the Book of Old Wive's Tales notes that peeling the wrapper off of a bottle is a sign that the peeler is sexually frustrated. A brief poll taken by women who reside in homes accommodating several issues of Playboy showed that they express similar feelings of sexual discontent. Several Old Wive's took a related pole and it was postulated that said sexual frustration experienced may or may not have had something to do with their significant others having "short poles". A long poll issued to people who write polls resulted in an anonymous agreement that they would indeed rather answer short polls. Not wanting to be complete hypocrites, an averaged-sized poll was then conducted amongst men who had "poles of all sizes." The poll was placed on the back of the Ballentine Skotch Whiskey label, and distributed throughout the country.

The results garnered were staggering.

When asked whether or not they would recognize a bottle of Ballentine Skotch Whiskey with its paper clothes off, roughly half of the bemused respondents replied 'no'. When asked if they would like to see the scotch bottles dressed in more seductive paper clothing, an astounding percentage responded 'yes'. Results were inconclusive whether or not this had anything to do with sexual frustration or the blood alcohol content of the pollsters.

In conclusion, save paper and dress the bottles in a more scantily-clad fashion. With less to peel, hence a more appealing bottle presentation, there will be less to take one's sexual frustration out on. This will not only benefit those couples bound together in holy matrimony and attempting to withstand the test of time, but the timber-dwelling creatures of the world will have their homes preserved. Timber-dwelling creatures. Like koala bears.

And maybe tone down the delicious skotch flavor in Ballentine some. You don't have to be literate in Old Wive's tales to know that whiskey dick renders all polls/poles useless.