Harriet Carter Wednesday: Stinky, Janky, Tacky

Well hello and Happy Harriet Carter Wednesday of the new millennium!  We are in a new millennium, yes?   Sometimes, no?  Anyway, if my New Year hangover has finally wore off I will be of sound mind to know that this is the new Harriet Carter Wednesday of the New Year.  And if the Bible is correct, and I think it is, on the first Wednesday of ye old New Year, baby Jesus Claus said, “Let there be white trash products from ye crapalog called ye old Harriet Carter.”  And then, there was!  Also the “ye old” really makes my Bible statements more relevant.  This year, Harriet barely gets us in shape, provides your husband with sleeping smell protection, and really tops off a tacky wedding.  Let’s go!


Product # 1 – It’s a new year and if you’re like the rest of America and trying to get your fat ass in shape Harriet Carter has quite the home gym for you!  Introducing the “Door Floss Workout Contraption 2010.”  Sure I made that name up, but it seems fitting.  All you need to do is hook the cheap tin over the top of your door and pick place the plastic handles in your hands and just start to pull?  Push?  Pick it up?  Put it down?  I have no idea.  Personally I would wrap one cord around my neck and the other cord around my wallet and then quickly call someone to kick the chair out from underneath me so that I not only hang myself with this waste of money, but also hang my wallet as well.  I’m a big thinker and multitasker like that.  So if you’re looking to pull something (giggity) and drop over 50 pounds (over the course of 15 decades) all you need is this handy dandy contraption.  After approximately 45,791 “pulls” you will have burned over 10 calories.  You’ll be sliding your thunder thighs into your two piece bikini (puke) by summer 2099, just in time for the new millennium!  I kid.  Tajikistan would have blown up the entire United States by then.  You know, I know it, and this workout chick wearing a blue sweater and a face full of makeup knows it.  In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s working for the terrorists anyway.  Actually, this contraption is probably a Terrorist Training Camp that Harriet is trying to help promote.  It’s all making sense to me now.  Harriet. Is.  A. Terrorist.


Product # 2 – Finally sold the cats and landed yourself a man?  Plucked your chin hair and became a fiancée?  Sold your old Garbage Pale Kids, lit the rest of the trailer on fire to collect the 10’s of dollars in insurance money and are planning the wedding of your dreams at the local VFW?  Well if you answered, “you betcha!” to any of the above crap does Harriet have the wedding cake topper for you.  Let’s face it, you’re probably not even buying a wedding cake.  You’re most likely baking 3 batches of  Brownies and just staking them up high on the Bingo table that you’ve “borrowed” from the basement of a church.  Well, all that triple-decker Brownie wedding “cake” needs is a topper that is a bride and groom with….wait for it….wait for it…..call the unemployment office….wait for it…wait for it…..drop your kids off at the adoption agency…wait for it….no backs to their outfits!  That’s right!  The bride and the groom cake topper are showing their bare plastic asses for all the world to see!  Can you even believe it!  I know I can!  When the meth addict that you’ve hired to cut the “cake” shows the crowd (who is more than likely toothless) that this topper is showing their asses they are certainly going to let out a loud chuckle, slap their knee, and then go back to chewing on some straw hay and sleeping with their sibling.  Because you know that at the end of the day, your wedding “cake” needs to be funny.  Thanks, Harriet, for mooning at the wedding.  You are quite the white-trash dish.  In fact, you’re the main course!


Product # 3 – Do your nether regions stink to high heaven?  Do your knees pass out by the scent of your “gentlemen greeter?”  Is your husband trying to find a passive aggressive way to tell you that you “stink in the baby maker?”  Well if hubby is going to bed with an oxygen mask on  and enough rubber hoses surround his face that could be used to put out an oil rig fire in the Gulf of Mexico then maybe, just maybe you have a small problem.  Oh sure he’ll pretend that he has a sleeping disorder in which he needs a constant flow of oxygen to his face, but you and I both know that the sludge that is forming “downstairs” is enough for him to sleep like he’s the guest of honor in Michael Jackson’s oxygen sleep chamber.  I’m kidding.  Michael Jackson is dead.  He was a molester who died due to drugs.  Sorry, off topic.  Anycrap, if you’re not looking to clean up your personal swamp land and want to teach that dramatic husband of yours a lesson then perhaps think of new and innovative ways to mess with his hose.  Maybe you’ll place one end of the hose over his face and the other end attached to your cars exhaust pipe?  Maybe you can attach the hose to your washing machine and he can choke on his own skid-marked underwear.  Maybe you’ll attach the other end of the hose to your bum bum whilst you sleep and turn your husband into a human Dutch oven in the middle of the night.  Theses are just some brainstorming ideas that I have, but you can think of some ideas on your own in your downtime.  Thanks Harriet for making sleeping dangerous.  Oh, and it’s nice to see Al Borland getting some work again.

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