Vile Ice Cream

Ben and Jerry's has a new ice cream flavor out called "Schweddy Balls."

Adults may find it amusing if they watch SNL on late night tv, but really?  This should not be on ice cream sitting on shelves in grocery stores or on the ice cream which kids will eat.  

There's simply no reason to name an ice cream with such an in-poor-taste name, even by a cutting-edge company.  Let's face it -- there are many other more creative name possibilities.  Even if a company wants to use a marketing strategy that involves identifying with pop culture or a famous person, other choices abound.

I, personally, am not going to buy such a product no matter how good others argue it may taste (if it does) because I'm not going to support uncouth, only-out-to-make-a buck-at-any-cost business people.  Yes, I know businesses, by their very nature, have a right to make money, but where's the line?  Senseless vulgarity shouldn't have a place in main-stream marketing.

 No wonder the French hate American tourists -- inappropriateness and rudeness seem to be prevalent and acceptable everywhere, even in our ice cream names.  C'mon, America -- stop being such crass, disgusting, mannerless, "I can do anything I want and you can't stop me" Jackasses.

Road Rage

Heading down the highway, I often notice the road sign "Drive Slow."  Granted, there's not always a lot of room on road signs so they are often abbreviated, but when The Department of Transportation can make longer road signs that say "Do Not Enter" and "Columbus (I 70 symbol) West," as well as many other beauties, such as "Road Work Next 5 Miles" or "Grand Canyon National Park 4 Miles," then why would anyone make a grammatically incorrect sign, and worse, the "higher ups" or management not send the signs back to be redone correctly?

Obviously, the sign should read "Drive Slowly."  "Slow" is an adjective and modifies nouns and pronouns; "slowly" is an adverb and modifies verbs ("drive" is an action verb), adjectives, and other adverbs, and tells how (Drive how?  Slowly), where, when, why, or to what extent.  Yes, the current signs reflect idiot usage that most people think is correct because they've seen it that way so often on the roadways, courtesy of the uneducated, uncaring, simple-minded dolts at The Department of Transportation.


We have become a nation of complacent imbeciles and lazy slugs who care nothing about details, doing things well, and least of all, using good grammar.  We tolerate stupidity.  We have become a Nation of Nincompoops.


Granted, this may seem like an inconsequential detail to some, but if we let this slide, what else that's incorrect do we begin to ignore?  Where does it stop?  Would we want our surgeons to be incorrect?  Would we want our airplane pilots or journalists to be incorrect in their jobs?  Certainly, there should be people who find this blasphemy a blight.  Have others spoken out about this mutilation of our language?  If so, why has their call for action to change poor grammar on our highways been ignored?  I am puzzled.  It has been said many times over that the future of our country is our children, so do we want our children to see these signs that show such a lack of learning and respect for education?  If we don't care, then why should our children care?  Is this what we want?

The Department of Transportation is part of the government and therefore, a business.  Is this good business to present a company in an unfavorable light by displaying an attitude of slovenly behavior?    This isn't a catchy marketing slogan that's grammatically incorrect; it's a flagrant disrespect for good language skills.  What about how others perceive us?  Do we want businesses and people in other countries to see our business flaws and look down upon us? 


I, for one, cannot condone this incompetency, and am calling and e-mailing The Ohio Department of Transportation's Director and assistant directors.  Here is the Contact Page for ODOT:  http://www.dot.state.oh.us/Contacts/Pages/default.aspx.  I urge people to make a stand and demand our government use correct grammar in this situation.  Rise up, not quick, but quickly, and don't let government bring us down to Big Brother's dumbed-down level of inadequacy.  Please fight for correct language, and ask that road signs be changed from "Drive Slow" to "Drive Slowly."

Cold-Blooded Killer

I admit it -- it's true.  I've killed another vacuum cleaner.  Unfortunately, this vacuum cleaner, who met such an untimely demise, belonged to someone else.  I'm not even sure what kind of vacuum he was.  But he's dead.


Please believe me when I say I certainly didn't intend to harm Mr. Vacuum, not any of his parts, not even his screws, his clutch or his belts.  Matt (my son) and Moe (my friend), however, left me alone one fateful, late summer day in the capital city at my son's off-campus apartment to clean the long-forgotten, rotting potatoes left behind weeks before. Indirectly then, the death of the vacuum should be attributed to them for leaving me by myself.  Yes, it's Matt's and Moe's fault...this time.

The turn-your-stomach stench permeated the apartment to such an extent when we first opened the door that the two of them quickly volunteered to go forth to seek cleaning supplies at the local French store, known as Tar-zhay.  I stayed behind to tackle the problem.  

As a super mom, I began efficiently cleaning the fermenting taters and their sticky, stinking slime, which had encompassed everything in the oozing goo's path.  I eventually contained the offending odor-ridden spuds and the sopping paper towels in a garbage bag I stashed outside the open apartment door since the smell could knock your socks off, and I needed to air out the humble abode.  


The two allergic-to-foul-odor sissies had still not returned, so as I glanced around, I decided to help out and bring more clean to the college kid's living quarters.  


I scooped up two dozen gum wrappers littering the desk and surrounding floor.  I tried to organize the oddities on the desk, and then dusted most of the living room.  Next I decided to vacuum the zillions of black specks sprinkled on the cream-colored carpet from the eroding faux leather of the desk chair.  


Surprisingly, the vacuum cleaner didn't even blink at me as I gingerly opened the closet door.  Surveying his apparatus and appendages, I felt confident I could suck up the black dots easily.  


As I began, I hummed "Hang on Sloopy" and daydreamed.  I remember thinking what a great mom I am.  My thoughts continued along the same vein.  My son is so lucky to have me as his mom.  Heck!  He would probably fall to his knees and kiss my feet when he saw how wonderful I made his apartment look.  Moe would be impressed with my domestic skills.


Then it happened.  I reached under the corner of the futon to retrieve something protruding from under one corner and did not notice the impending doom lurking nearby.  It was already too late.  By the time I smelled burning rubber, I turned my distracted gaze back to the beastly vacuum, only to discover he had sucked up part of the futon cover.  He began making gurgling, suffocating sounds.


I couldn't save him.  Even though I quickly pulled the coverlet out,  the mechanical monster only emitted a deep sigh before collapsing in my arms.  Horrified, I tried to restart him, but he could no longer suck.  He made pitiful noises to warn me it was the end.


I can't get that day out of my mind.  I feel so guilty.   I didn't even know him. He belonged to my son.  I thought I had put my past behind me, but mental pictures of Hoover, Kerby, Sharp, Bernina, and other unnamed victims, floated before me.  If only a stiff drink could obliterate these haunting ghosts from the past.


I'm a Killer.  I've killed before, and I'll probably do it again.  Please help me.  I don't want to harm another vacuum cleaner.  Can anyone recommend a competent counselor?