I get a lot of forwarded emails. I mean A LOT. Most of them are utter crap and I delete them without even opening. Some come from friends or family, so I'll read it thinking it's a pleasantry before realizing it's a forwarded fable attempting to sell me on their politician/religion/insurance....THEN I delete (if I've had my morning coffee) or send a "knock it the fuck off" reply (if I haven't). And many forwarded emails have me heading straight to Snopes.com so I can provide to the other 68 people who received the "personal" message that:
- Tampax doesn't put asbestos in their tampons so you'll bleed more.
- deodorant doesn't cause breast cancer.
- asparagus won't cure the deodorant-caused cancer.
- people aren't hiding under your car at the mall to slice your achilles tendon.
- Jamie Lee Curtis isn't a hermaphrodite (that one's still a little shaky).
- Ashley Flores is NOT missing.
- Mikey did not die of a tragic Pepsi/PopRocks combo.
- Applebees/Microsoft/IBM/Target will not pay you if you forward this email.
- Marilyn Manson is not: Paul Pfeiffer from Wonder Years; slaughtering puppies on stage; able to self-fellate thanks to having a rib removed.
So Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to some 1920s-1940s advertisements for Lysol. NOT for what it could do for your horrifically offensive garbage can or diaper pail. For your vagina. Yeah, you heard me. THAT's why husbands were acting like such an assholes from 1927-1948. Your nether-regions didn't have that same "AH! Now THAT's clean!" aroma that your disinfected trash bins did. Read 'em and weep/laugh, ladies. And smack yourselves upside the head in atonement for your grandfathers, men. I hate to paraphrase an old cigarette ad, but vagina's have come a long way baby. Now if you'll pardon me, I've got a bottle of Massengill's "Mango Mist" somewhere in the hall closet that's about to expire. Flowers and tropical fruit...now THAT's the way God intended it to smell down there.