Read Online Cake or Death by Heather Mallick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather Mallick
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Are you wearing your face mask? And what’s the point if you’re going to have sex?
It always comes back to sex. This whole catalogue is profoundly anti-sex. It doesn’t make loneliness easier tobear, it actually enhances it, makes it more likely. It’s a funny thing to pay for.
But here’s a useful gadget. It was named the best overall key chain flashlight by
The Wall Street Journal
, Brookstone proudly announces. It has an LED bulb that will last 100,000 hours. Now, even the liveliest and most sociable of people will not spend 100,000 hours getting into their car and abode. That’s 8,333 nights. That’s twenty-three years. And why does Brookstone boast that it can be seen up to a mile away? This is a key chain for a mobster charged with body disposal. Who else would be out at night and in need of such a sturdy nonstop light source? On second thought, no, this is a tool for a serial killer.
I love the blood alcohol concentration device. You blow into it when you’re drunk to see if you can drive. Then you drive. I think it just encourages people.
I don’t love the tennis stand. It’s a sort of tripod with a ball on a wire that plays tennis with you for hours and hours and helps you improve your swing. Tennis for people with no friends. So why is the next device a stainless-steel tub cooler that keeps thirty-two cans or five 2-litre bottles icy cold for twelve hours? You play tennis, run, float, sit, lounge, golf and sleep alone (Brookstone sells a special Tempur-Pedic body-shaped pillow that hugs you from head to crotch, just like a human would if it loved you) and now you’re having a blowout party? With whom? I think it’s a fantasy item to soothe the social aspirations of a Brookstoner, whose dreams will never be fulfilled unless you get out of the house and down your driveway, away from the Grill Alert Talking Remote Thermometerthat tells you when your meat is cooked should you move three hundred feet away from the barbecue, the only reason for which would be to go to the bathroom because, God knows, you wouldn’t have anyone there to chat to or you might strain your neck.
I’ll end with the Motorized Grill Brush. You use it to clean your outdoor grill, thus possibly developing arm musculature that will attract the opposite sex, or any sex. But no, it’s motorized. You don’t have to tense a muscle, you saggy, lonely old Epilated hermit living in a Tucson subdivision and looking for love in the Brookstone catalogue.
Oh, you’ll find love there. The creepy kind. Not the kind you dreamed of when you were young and taut, every skin cell awaiting the touch, the kiss, of the glorious friend-filled future you had planned. But you’ve got a chair that shivers. That’s something. Thanks, Brookstone! Hit me again with your black leather hammer. Harder. Harder. Don’t stop.
The Monstrous Regiment of Men
Psst, men are dull. That’s why women are always the target. We’re interesting
.
The only thing to be said for the latest stream of books explaining why women are crap is that they’re written by women. If a man ever wrote a book saying women killed feminism when they got jobs that paid better than other women’s jobs, or women are all sluts starting from age nine, or women aren’t as smart as men it’s a scientific fact, or women are total cunts for thinking they can have it all when they can’t have anything and I’ll make sure of that…. well, that man would be dead now.
I think a British writer named Neil did say it once, possibly in a book or just an ill-considered magazine article, but all I remember is the newspaper article he wrote ten years later saying he never got another freelance writing gig again, he was reduced to writing about stock car racing in Dagenham and his wife left him and took the kids and he had to pay her child support even though he never saw them and women had ruined his life because he said they were crap.
I felt sorry for him, while despising him for being such
It always comes back to sex. This whole catalogue is profoundly anti-sex. It doesn’t make loneliness easier tobear, it actually enhances it, makes it more likely. It’s a funny thing to pay for.
But here’s a useful gadget. It was named the best overall key chain flashlight by
The Wall Street Journal
, Brookstone proudly announces. It has an LED bulb that will last 100,000 hours. Now, even the liveliest and most sociable of people will not spend 100,000 hours getting into their car and abode. That’s 8,333 nights. That’s twenty-three years. And why does Brookstone boast that it can be seen up to a mile away? This is a key chain for a mobster charged with body disposal. Who else would be out at night and in need of such a sturdy nonstop light source? On second thought, no, this is a tool for a serial killer.
I love the blood alcohol concentration device. You blow into it when you’re drunk to see if you can drive. Then you drive. I think it just encourages people.
I don’t love the tennis stand. It’s a sort of tripod with a ball on a wire that plays tennis with you for hours and hours and helps you improve your swing. Tennis for people with no friends. So why is the next device a stainless-steel tub cooler that keeps thirty-two cans or five 2-litre bottles icy cold for twelve hours? You play tennis, run, float, sit, lounge, golf and sleep alone (Brookstone sells a special Tempur-Pedic body-shaped pillow that hugs you from head to crotch, just like a human would if it loved you) and now you’re having a blowout party? With whom? I think it’s a fantasy item to soothe the social aspirations of a Brookstoner, whose dreams will never be fulfilled unless you get out of the house and down your driveway, away from the Grill Alert Talking Remote Thermometerthat tells you when your meat is cooked should you move three hundred feet away from the barbecue, the only reason for which would be to go to the bathroom because, God knows, you wouldn’t have anyone there to chat to or you might strain your neck.
I’ll end with the Motorized Grill Brush. You use it to clean your outdoor grill, thus possibly developing arm musculature that will attract the opposite sex, or any sex. But no, it’s motorized. You don’t have to tense a muscle, you saggy, lonely old Epilated hermit living in a Tucson subdivision and looking for love in the Brookstone catalogue.
Oh, you’ll find love there. The creepy kind. Not the kind you dreamed of when you were young and taut, every skin cell awaiting the touch, the kiss, of the glorious friend-filled future you had planned. But you’ve got a chair that shivers. That’s something. Thanks, Brookstone! Hit me again with your black leather hammer. Harder. Harder. Don’t stop.
The Monstrous Regiment of Men
Psst, men are dull. That’s why women are always the target. We’re interesting
.
The only thing to be said for the latest stream of books explaining why women are crap is that they’re written by women. If a man ever wrote a book saying women killed feminism when they got jobs that paid better than other women’s jobs, or women are all sluts starting from age nine, or women aren’t as smart as men it’s a scientific fact, or women are total cunts for thinking they can have it all when they can’t have anything and I’ll make sure of that…. well, that man would be dead now.
I think a British writer named Neil did say it once, possibly in a book or just an ill-considered magazine article, but all I remember is the newspaper article he wrote ten years later saying he never got another freelance writing gig again, he was reduced to writing about stock car racing in Dagenham and his wife left him and took the kids and he had to pay her child support even though he never saw them and women had ruined his life because he said they were crap.
I felt sorry for him, while despising him for being such
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