Just. Fucking. Shoot. Me.

I can't think of a more grating way to start the morning than to have a mini-infomercial assault one's eyes and ears while I am trying to get the morning forecast on the Weather Channel.

And if you thought that Billy Mays was grating, the jerkwads who are marketing some gizmo called a "shoedini" have hired Gilbert Gottfried as their pitchman. (I predicted as much.)



If you can take more than five seconds of that grating voice, you're a better person than I am. I hit the mute button on my remote as fast as I could and if that didn't work, I was going to get my shotgun.

If there is anyone (other than maybe al-Rushbo and the Blubbering Fascist) who should seriously consider gargling with battery acid, it is Gilbert Gottfried. They should have used him as a CIA questioner, they could have avoided having to torture anyone. Just having to hear that voice would have been enough to get anyone to talk--- "Please, please, effendi, I'll tell you what you want to know, just make that guy shut up."

Shoehorns on sticks are not a new idea. Anyone foolish enough to buy a shoedini should have to listen to Gilbert Gottfried at least ten hours a day.

If There Is Anyone Who Deserves to Burn In Hell...

... it would be the clown who invented "clamshell" packaging.


Maybe when they finally get around to inventing a phaser rifle, we'll be able to open these goddamn things without the risk of injury. Until then, about the only way to open one of these buggers is to put on a pair of heavy leather (or kevlar) gloves and then attacking the clamshell with a pair of large scissors.

The people who invented it should be condemned to an eternity in Hell, having to open clamshell packages with only a small pair of dull scissors.