Task Chair Is Amused

BAHAHAHAHAAHA! TASK CHAIR IS DYING HERE. YOU HAD EVERY CHANCE TO BUY TASK CHAIR TO GET TASKS DONE, BUT THEN LOOK WHAT YOU PUT OUT ON THE CURB THIS MORNING:

 

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! WHAT KIND OF WEAK-ASS, NON-ERGONOMIC MEN IN BLACK ROUND BULLSHIT DID YOU JUST PUT IN YOUR HOME OFFICE? THAT SHIT WILL NEVER BE HIGH ENOUGH FOR YOU TO SIT IN A COMFORTABLE POSITION TO WORK. OH, YOU CAN TRY ADJUSTING ITS HEIGHT WITH THAT WEAK ASS LEVER, BUT TRUST TASK CHAIR, YOU'LL BE REACHING UP FOR YOUR LAPTOP LIKE RALPHIE TRYING TO CRAWL BACK TO SANTA ON THAT DEPARTMENT STORE SLIDE. WHICH IF YOU ASK TASK CHAIR LOOKED LIKE A LOT OF FUN BUT I'VE NEVER REALLY SEEN AT ANY SHOPPING MALLS. I GUESS IT WAS JUST FOR THE MOVIE OR WAS AN OLD SANTA CLAUS PRACTICE THAT DIED OUT DURING THAT ERA FOR INSURANCE LIABILITY REASONS. BUT TASK CHAIR DIGRESSES!

OH, POOR NON-TASK CHAIR OWNER. YOU'D BE BETTER OFF SITTING ON THAT CARDBOARD BOX HHAAHHAHAHAH ENJOY YOUR CARPAL TUNNEL AND ACHING LUMBAR. SUCK TASK CHAIR'S DICK!

The ProofrEADJer, End of February Edition

The One Where Emily Vents About Her Least Favorite Words.

Here once again is the new EADJ segment "Emily VENTS," where Emily Kane seethes about stuff she doesn't like.

They're not overused, they're not slang (old or new), they're not consistently used incorrectly and they're not pretentious in any way.  I just hate them.


Helping.

As a verb, all good. As a noun, however: “May I have another helping of tuna noodle casserole?”

No. A helping can never be a dignified piece of chicken or a serving of cous cous. It’s a depressing,  warming-tray offering from your local hospital cafeteria that is either clearly out of a can or altogether unidentifiable. It’s the oily casserole dish that your grandmother serves in her doily-covered dining room when she “means well.” Problem is, the kid that says this actually means it.

Forever alone.

Dumpster.

The sad, fat, stunted younger sister of the illustrious Spinster.  Can be found lurking in the comfort shoe section at Dress Barn.  Approach with caution.

God told me I deserve supportive footwear.

Napkin.

MOM: “Put your napkin in your lapkin!”

ME: halfway out the driveway already

You’re doing it wrong.

Ointment.

“Oink” + “cunt” + greasy, thick oil = I will punch your mouth in the face if you suggest I use anything other than cream on my ringworm. 

Here comes the lipstick…

Bulbous. (not a Pokemon character)

Brings to mind nut sacks, goiters, nose warts, cauliflower ear and the Elephant Man.  Mmmmm.

When your goiter is perkier than your tits.

Yolk.  

That soft, subtle, shitty “l.” It’s like you tried to say yuck while your banana and egg yolk milkshake was still clogging your throat.  Choke on that, folk.

Err on the side of caution.

Bulge.

I’m suddenly assisting the whole cast of The Outsiders in rolling their jeans.

This Rob Lowe has cable.

Cheese Cloth.

Left on the cutting room floor alongside “urine sack hammock” in the “transvaginal mesh” brainstorm.  Shredded. 

Your gauze is showing.

Slacks.

Your grandpa called.  He needs you to help him slide these on his pasty, hairy legs.  Don’t you forget to tuck in those yellowing, oversized boxers, now.  (Careful with that elastic.  It’s about to pop at any moment.)

“Pappy needs a foot massage, dear.”

The preceding piece was written and compiled entirely by Emily Kane. Comments and complaints can be sent to: ekane@eadj.tv or posted as comments to this entry.

Washer/Dryer Was Disenfranchised.

Washer/Dryer was disenfranchised.

Bathroom Stall Hinge was, too.

And so was whatever the hell this thing is.

Crocs On A Drum tried to look on the bright side.

Snow Sled was not having it. "Bucket," he said.

Pathmark: You've Got To Respect Yourshelf

UAG

Robo Morphers: Less Than Meets The Eye

As Christmas approaches, tons of blogs and TV shows roll out their annual gift ideas sections, suggesting solar-powered foot massagers or baseball-themed golf accessories and golf-themed baseball accessories. But what most of them ignore is that kids (especially boys) still want only one thing: Transformers.

Yes, undeterred by the failure of "Transformers 2: Rise Of The Fallen" and the underwhelming overwhelming of "Transformers 3: Dark Of The Moon," scores of kids still want transforming robots in their lives.


And who can blame them? Shit is awesome. The idea of a truck transforming into a fighting biped robot is almost irresistible to most male brains (except Andy Dick).



But as I was perusing the aisles of K-Mart the other day, I happened upon a cheaper alternative to the famous Autobots:




Sad, right? I felt so bad for this Endcap of Misfit Toys, that I bought three of them to examine what made them special.





Here are some quick clips of what the toys sound like:







Wow, it almost sounds as if the toymakers were too cheap to record three different sounds and just applied the same one to all three.

And... here they come! Robo Morphers: Stay assembled!