It has come to my attention, through many amorous hours of watching television, that almost every advertisement I saw did not sell their intended product. I mean, of course, that they were selling their product, but through another vector. Everything advertised was being sold through sex. From shaving cream to the coolest mint flavored gum, promises of sexual invite beat my brain into a mush. It was as if the television set had declared war on my teenage hormones.

One of these ardent commercials was your latest ad for your soft drink. It featured Britney Spears in bare midriff dancing around like there was no tomorrow. Quite frankly, I dont think Ms. Spears can dance worth a can of beans, nor do I think she can sing either, but I will admit she is quite attractive. Being a female myself, I want to reassure you that I have no qualms about my own personal appearance. This is not jealousy letter writing. This is constructive criticism.

I know all of you at the company in charge of advertisement are just trying to make a living. And sex sells, I admit that. Sex sells wonderfully. So fine. Great. Britney Spears is on television, singing your theme song, working her all-American blond-haired, blue-eyed ass to sell as many cans of Pepsi to as many horny males as possible. So here’s my point:

If you can target male audiences, why not target women?

I know I wouldnt mind seeing someone like Ricky Martin shake it. Truthfully, it wouldnt convince me to buy your product because I dont consume carbonated beverages, but I know many females who would be swayed by the lure of a scrumptious male singing and dancing to the tune of Pepsi. It gets annoyingand a little insultingwhen youre watching television and theres so much for men to gawk at and nothing for women. I like to gawk. I like to drool. I have hormones, too.

So basically, my point is that if you are going to be exploiting sex to sell your product, at the very least dont discriminate. Give us all a little bit of that eye-candy, have a little faith in the female gender as target audiences, and remember what I said about Ricky Martin. (Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink.)

Sincerely Yours,
Elizabeth Shaheen

Now, if you were ever a kid, or have ever been in the presence of these small beings, you know the importance of the word pizza. A delicacy of it’s own unique nature; pizza is the gourmet food of young human offspring everywhere. The melting hot and gooey cheese combined with the flavorful and tantalizing aroma of sweet and ripe tomato sauce that walks hand in hand with the sharp sting of sizzling, fat-dripping pepperoni, all of which sleeps on a bed of fluffy dough, makes their taste buds croon and exult in the pure ecstasy of the most fabulous food known to man. The pizza. So you can imagine the excitement when mommy dearest approved the request. The young girl leaped with delight. Pizza, pizza, pizza! Oh happiest of happy days! Oh most wonderful of wondrous things! The joy! The rapture! Can we get extra cheese? Can I order a sprite instead of milk? When are we leaving? Can we go right now?

At this point, even mommy is wound up about the notion of pizza. BUT. They can’t leave quite yet. You see, daddy only just got home ten minutes ago. Daddy had a hard day at work. Daddy is taking a shower to calm his nerves. Daddy wants nothing more than to pour himself a generous glass of vodka and sit down to watch Baywatch whilst scratching his crotch and farting every ten minutes or so as he plans the untimely, yet tragic and violent death of his asshole boss.

However, pizza beckons.

So with rosy-cheeked delight, the young girl goes careening into the bathroom to inform daddy of the amazing news. Daddy is just getting out and toweling off, so as she charges through the doorway she is stopped dead in her tracks at the strangest sight she’s ever seen. “What is that thing growing on you daddy?” she asks in wide-eyed amazement. Now, most children discover the difference between girls and boys at a somewhat later age. This particular specimen has the privilege of knowing earlier. We’ve got to hand it to daddio. Despite his horrendous day, he keeps his cool. He towels off. He answers: “Well sweetheart, boys have this to pee with.

Perplexed, the young girl-now completely scarred for life-goes back to her mommy. Secretively, and with an air of importance and poignancy, the child leans over towards mom and whispers, “Mommy…daddy’s got a tail!” And so, another kid learns the important and pressing matter that all boys have tails.

Once upon a time in a third world country a rooster woke me up at the butt crack of dawn, so I got out of bed and in the steaming searing heat of the Mediterranean, and walked down an unbelievably grotesque shitload of stairs at which point when I reached the bottom I saw this big stupid chicken, who I swear was Satan himself because I could see it in his beady little eyes, and the way he cocked (hee, hee…cocked…) his disgustingly small head and when I tried to get past this detestable demon (why the hell is there a chicken at the bottom of a stairway?) it proceeded to squawk and peck at my poor bare feet with its repugnant and abominable beak of nasty-Satan beaks, and at this point I was so frightened, I almost shit in my favorite green satin underwear (THAT would have sucked) but instead of releasing any bodily function, I called for my kick-ass, big-mustached, smelling of cigars, Arab uncle to come help me get the evil pile of walking talking vomit out of my way, and so he did by chopping it’s dirty head off and cooking it for dinner that very night. Gotta love the Arabic style.

THE END

Sincerely,
A sick and twisted writer

P.S. Revenge never tasted sweeter. Literally.

Right about now you’re probably thinking “What a hypocritical little bitch! I’ll bet she can’t tinkle alone anymore than the rest of us.” Well hold on to your pubic hairs and your downy soft toilet paper because I’ve got a damn spanking good reason for this insipid and intolerable behavior of which I shamefully take part in. The toilet monster. I am absolutely terrified of the toilet monster. I never got over the childhood fear that I’ll be sitting on the john, relieving myself, when all of a sudden Mr. Toilet Monster will pop out from down under and bit my ass off! And I LIKE my ass. Granted, it’s not the best bum to ever grace the porcelain throne, but, as you can see, I’m rather attached to it. Plus, I really find it quite disturbing that some monstrous being from the frightening depths of modern plumbing would digest my butt. Who knows what’s down there. Maybe that’s what the god-awful group business is all about. Every female is scared to bits that she’s gonna get her butt bitten of by some psycho-shit-demon from hell! Like, he’ll be made out of human excrement and flushed dead goldfish and he’ll have giant ASS-BITING teeth! How horrendous. My behind aches at the thought. Ouch. Anyway, enough of this insane babble. All this talk of bodily function has done me no good except now I really have to piss. So… ummm… anybody wanna come with me?

WHEN THE FEMALES OF THE SPECIES COMMUNICATE…
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"How was it?"
"How was what?"
"You know…"
"No…I don’t"
"Oh come on!"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Stop stalling. You know exactly what I’m talking about."
"Yeah, and that’s why I’m standing here understanding everything you say."
"How was last night, dammit!"
"Oh…yeah…last night."
"Well?!"
"Well what?"
"How was it?!"
"It was ok."
"How was he?"
"How was who?"
"HIM!"
"Oh yeah…he was great."
"Cool"
"Yeah, that’s what I said."
"What did ya talk about?"
"Anything and everything. It’s like he totally sees thing in my point of view. I think maybe…"
"What?"
"Never mind"
"Tell me!"
"…I think we might be in love."
"Wow. You are so lucky!"
"I know."
"He’s so hot!"
"I know."
"Are you two gonna do it?"
"Do what?"
"You know…IT."
"You know, I’ve been thinking…"
"Yeah…"
"…And I think he might be the one I lose it to!"
"OH MY GOD!"
"I KNOW!"

Thus ensues a ten-minute period of shrill screaming and jumping up and down.
Not to mention the absolutely necessary overnight slumber party to plan the rest of her life with her "meant to be" boyfriend and the details of how they will "do it" for the first time.
Meanwhile, across the city, two young men are having a conversation almost exactly the same but completely different…
WHEN THE MALES OF THE SPECIES COMMUNICATE…
"So how was last night, bro?"
"Pretty cool."
"What’d she wear?"
"A dress."
"Yeah?"
"Yup."
"Low cut?"
"You bet."
"Kickass…"
"Yeah…"
"You going out with her again?"
"Nah man. We got nothing in common."
"You’re not even gonna wait to do her first?"
"Hell no. Her ass is too big."
"Whatever. Let’s go score some pizza."
"Cool."

Thus ensues the scoring of pizza.

This piece of work is dedicated to my dear friend Julie Vinogradsky. The only rational thinking female, besides myself, who can overcome the inherent disadvantages and downfalls of estrogen.

This piece of work is also dedicated and would not have been made possible without the grungy hallways of Lowell high school that lay haven to the bigoted, dim, dull, dense, and brainless minds that roam and moan above and beyond the call of duty. Thanks guys. Could never have mad this paper possible without your obtuse blither and blather.
After all…it’s you I observed.

Oh I know! Check it out. Maybe some chick in Idaho, state of potatoes you know, was trying to booby pin her shirt together. Obviously not very smart. She would have probably been blond or something. Anywho, so here is this idiotic bleach-blond piece of All American white ass trying to pin her stupid bargain bin, placid white, too small to even keep her triple D yaboos from popping out, and you know the bitch wasn’t wearing a bra, shirt together. Dumb hoe stabs herself in the tits. Word gets out and the term boob is born. Wait a minute. Is it BOOBY pins or BOBBY pins? Oh, well. HEY! Sorry, bear with me a moment. I’ve got another scenario. Say this stupid, pig headed guy in Wyoming…whoops. Too general. I forgot all guys are stupid and pig headed. I could be talking about ANYONE. Okay, say this stupid, pig headed, brown haired, blue-eyed boy in Wyoming-that should narrow it down a bit-is taking his daily nap on his girlfriends breasts and starts dreaming that he’s eating this big, juicy T-bone steak and suddenly his mouth opens and clamps down like all hell on her…speaking of boy, what the hell is up with guys and seeing boob? I guess it’s like seeing Jesus or something.