Review: No Crack Hand Cream

I recently came across an Ebay listing for "No Crack Hand Cream." In the title it says "Try it once[;] you won't be disappointed." I must, however, take issue with this. For years, I have been using a variety of hand¹ cream that did  in fact contain crack. As you probably have guessed, I can type 300 words per minute as a consequence. Granted, most of what I type is pure drivel. As for the piano, I play a mean² piano. I can wear down a piano in about a week--right down to the ground.

That said, when I found the listing, I couldn't imagine not being disappointed with a crack-free variety of hand cream. And yet, disappointed I wasn't. Perhaps this was because I never bothered to buy the filthy stuff. Or, perhaps it was because, at the time, I was far to erotically engaged to be of any use to anyone, let alone a dealer of hand creams. But this is the subject of another post.

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1 not just for my hands? You really are sick bastard.^↩

2 by "mean," I of course mean average. I mean, I average average. Or rather, I average, I average average.<sup>3↩

3 Drivel, obviously.4↩

4 A footnote of a footnote? really?5↩

5 Meta-commentary? Really?5↩</sup>

Review: Chess

According to www.chess.com, chess is 99% tactics. It appears that www.chess.com is run by a couple of chess masters. But then the question is: how did they become  chess masters? Most likely, it revolves around a clever long-term strategy: a strategy of convincing everybody else that chess is all about tactics rather than strategy.

Comparative Review: A Crumpled Napkin Vs. An Empty Jar of Mayonnaise

It is unwise to be impaired in one's reasoning by the limitations of logic, insofar as a measurement of unreasonable meaning ends the measured means to the end of reason that is intended by logic or whatever other means that might be reasoned to be meant to the end of achieving this end. Hence, my approach to the crumpled napkin / empty jar of mayonnaise conundrum. But I shall leave the measurement of unreasonable meaning to others, for whom time has no end.

An empty yet unclean jar bespeaks a nameless indulgence, shamed here and forevermore by this filthy vessel. This jar has whored itself out one last time. "Recycling" is such an unused euphemism. I will go back to some store. But how can I go, when this obscenity in glass can offer me no better way to wipe my now bleeding eyes?

A crumpled napkin then: disgusting. I'll never wipe my eyes with this!

An empty jar of mayonnaise? I suppose I could fill it up with blood.

At last, dear reader, I hope this review has been both helpful and informative.

Review: A Slight Deafening of the Ear

In 1766, it was a well-known fact that a slight deafening of the ear had its detractors, no less than its supporters, no less than those for whom the question in question was little more than a dull, throbbing silence--inflamed, perhaps, by the vehement whisperings of some nameless provocation, whose purposed gesticulations betrayed their own irrelevance with theretofore unknown deliberateness. Why, then, should 1767 then have borne a lovechild whose elbows (metaphorically speaking) should be little more than knees of the arms? There is no sound answer to this admittedly baffling question. Perhaps, then, we may be relieved in our present mode of consideration that no such event took place. No, for 1767 was nought but the barren and childless prelude to 1768, which is perhaps where this review could better have begun.

In 1768, then, it became common for a slight deafening of the ear to bring itself about autonomously. This was, not unlike its present forms, a sort of defense mechanism to preserve the mind in the face of an environment densely riddled with nonsense. But it was not the only such defense mechanism. Indeed, dear reader, you yourself may even presently find yourself experiencing a slight blinding of the eye.

But a history is of little significance for those who can bear no memories. I assume that you are such an individual, dear reader. What were you doing at 12:37 in the afternoon, three days ago? What was the second sentence of this review? I assume that your silence speaks for itself.

When no opposing voice is heard, assertions assume a glorified, if reckless existence, unquestioned to presuppose their own justification. A slight deafening of the ear, then, is a path to this kind of truth.

But, as any avid reader of my reviews shall know, I have long condemned truth for its arrogance. So, too, must I condemn the slight deafening of which I write, for no good can come of it. The true is hardly good, and the goods.... well, I've got the goods, but they'll not remain true.

Review: Geox "Shoes"

Breathing takes time and time costs money. Money costs more money and more money takes credit. Credit demands low-risk behavior and low-risk behavior can be accomplished if and only if one is on bare feet.

But I'm a risk-taker. I take the kinds of risks that no bare-footed person would ever dare. So, I needed some shoes. But, since my shoes were likely to incite me to take bigger risks, I was not likely to have the credit necessary to finance the money to pay for the time that it takes me to breathe.

Fortunately, however, my new Geox shoes do all of the breathing for me. Hence, I don't have to worry about any of these things anymore. I can just be my risky old self, flirting with foot injuries and taunting hippies with sharp surfaces underfoot.

UPDATE:

After approximately six months, my Geox "Shoes" have mostly disintegrated, rendering them laughable as footwear. At this point, they consist mostly of holes rather than shoe. They have, however, become considerably more breathable. I often think about them when I walk down the street in my new Clarks, my feet gasping breathlessly for air.

Review: Addiction

I look around me and there are empty cartons of cigarettes and gallon-jugs of wine: perhaps the gravest testament to my addiction. But it is not the nicotine or the alcohol, as you might have presumed; it's the savings.

It's the savings that led me to drink. Indeed, it's the savings that drove me to beat my wife. One day, I asked the question that should be obvious to any man in my position: "why am I paying someone else to do this?" Perhaps it was vanity or the pressures of fashion. Or perhaps it was the tennis elbow I sustained from the many smackings I'd delivered over the years, with such grace, to the riff-raff.

Ah, how the savings beckon me as I belly-crawl my way out from under the toppled bookcases that are used to make my presence known to the prying staff (not my employees, mind you!). As the weight of a set of encyclopedias threatens to crush into oblivion the last of my many fingers, the savings to be had by purchasing these hefty tomes, which once filled me with a flirtatious giddiness, now reveal their true, duplicitous nature. Ah the treachery of knowing what I might have spent!

I would escape, once and for all, this foul reality, but the savings, unfortunately, are everywhere I intend to be. So, I must go to the uninteded places: high-end perfumeries (are the only ones that come to mind). There are no savings to be had here.

For most addiction, there is a kind of cure in that the sufferers try to find God in a some sense. But here, too, I am bombarded with the savings. "Jesus saves," they say. So, there is no consolation in the divine. It is as frail and vulnerable to the addiction as we. Perhaps this is the allure of the savings. Perhaps we believe that we can approach the divine by appealing to its faults. But fault, even with humans, is precisely what one doesn't want to admit. You may appeal to my faults, but insofar as I deny them, you haven't approached me. In fact, you've put me off. I believe the divine shares my attitude. But this is just an example of what I mean.

Review: This Cup of Coffee

Out of the hellish vortex that is New York and into the purgatorial morass that is New Jersey, I find that life is but an empty cup to me now. I need a refill.

Moments later....

The coffee is pretty strong. Of course, it's not as strong as a bear. I usually just have a bear keep me awake, but under the circumstances, I suppose this coffee will have to do. Although, as a veteran of "Advanced Latte Training," I'll just say that this cup of coffee is clearly the work of an amateur.