I know, I know. Long time, no blog (relatively), but since being back for my short sojourn in the States, I just haven’t had time. See, I’ve been too busy chowing down on walleye, playing 5-cent slots and soaking up all the other ridiculous ways U.S. Americans like to throw away their money and time. OK, the walleye is more awesome than ridiculous and the slots, well, who doesn’t like to sink five, ten or $100 into a beeping machine covered in dancing frogs? That sounds like a sound investment to me. But you know what doesn’t sound like a sound investment?

Everything sold in SkyMall.

Anyone who’s ever been on a U.S.-brand flying machine knows what I’m talking about.

I mean, what the hell is this? And moreover, what is going so wrong on my flight that goads me in to purchasing one of these contraptions mid-air?

Ah, yes.  The ol’ “Hide-AWay Personal Infrared Sauna.” Who wouldn’t want one? I mean add a big sweaty man who smells of his own poo and who hogs the communal armrest and you’ll be able to bring that claustrophobic feeling from the plane to your home. It’s the $500 squeeze shoot! Manure not included.

Or how about this? It looks nothing but totally safe.

Yep, nothing screams “I’m an important executive” more than you actually screaming as you and your fancy car careen into a tree at 60 mph. I mean, seriously, the woman doesn’t even have a hand on the wheel!

And speaking of hands — well, fist pumps, to be exact — I am so glad I made it back to the USA just in time to catch an entire Jersey Shore marathon on the television. Now, as I believe a dollop of you are located outside of North America, I will do a quick explanation of the awesome-osity that is Jersey Shore. MTV decided to take eight greasy, self-proclaimed “guidos” and “guidettes,” who all happen to be dirty whores (natch), give them a summer share at the Jersey Shore and film it. The results are amazing.

“Uh, so that sh*t is tight and all, Vibe Time (that’s my Jersey Shore nickname, duh), but what does this have to do with useless chotchkies U.S. Americans love to buy?” you ask. (Sidebar: Spell check wanted to change the word “chotchkies” to “hotcakes.” Fair enough.

Introducing the “Gym. Tan. Laundry. Mug.” You can put your Ron Ron Juice in there.

And while SkyMall and Jersey Shore have given me endless hoots over the past week, the biggest waste of money sound investment and possibly most entertaining object I’ve come across since tele-meeting The Situation is Terry the Turtle. Make sure your sound is all the way up and your boss is standing within earshot.

Now, that is effing brilliant. And unlike the squeeze shoot and inevitable office death, Terry, although as priceless as a punch to Snooki’s face, ain’t gonna cost you hundreds of dollars (although it may cost you hundreds of pesos). Instead, it’s only going to cost you $19.95 and hours of your time that you’ll spend laughing at the phrase “Suck my balls!” said by a plastic turtle with a high-pitched Brooklyn accent.

Fist pump USA chant!

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