CAINT HAZ CHEESEBURGERZ!

by numbsain

Goldmind's Unwind Merchandise
We're proud to announce a new line of products now available wherever products are sold!



Goldmind's Unwind Edition Ford Explorer!
Move over Eddie Bauer. We've taken this classic SUV and added our own finishing touches to its already elegant design. Our personalization of the Explorer consists of a single masterstroke; a large splotch of beige bird shit dropped directly onto the hood and oozing down the fender of the vehicle tells everyone you're a daring individualist who knows what he wants and is willing to pay a lot more for it than it's worth.



Goldmind's Unwind Urinating Lawn Jockeys
Every time an unwanted solicitor or Jehovah's Witness traverses your front lawn, the Goldmind's Unwind Urinating Lawn Jockey senses their presence and their intention and greets them with an accurately aimed stream of real urine right in the eye. They'll stink when they wink and next time, they'll think!

Goldmind's Unwind Disposable Family Heirlooms
When was the last time you cherished and kept a cherished keepsake? Why drag around a bunch of useless old crap that smells like grandma? With disposable family heirlooms you just show 'em, then throw 'em.

Goldmind's Unwind Reusable Snacks
Everyone knows snack foods have no nutritional value. So why keep buying them? What are you stupid? These revolutionary new chips won’t break when you scoop your favorite dip and tomorrow, you toss them in the dishwasher and they’re as good as they were the first time you used them. Non-toxic and lightly salted...wait a minute, you didn’t think I meant you swallow them and then reuse them did you?! Oh my god, that’s disgusting!

Goldmind's Unwind “Choking Hazard” Educational Toys
You teach them the do’s, why not teach them the dont’s? It's always better to learn the tough lessons early in life. Help natural selection along by leaving your child alone with these dangerously small delicious looking bite size toys that the intelligent kids, the ones that will support you in your dotage, will shy away from. But the dolts that will mooch off of you forever will be a thing of the past!

Goldmind's Unwind Jr. “Smell ‘n’ Say” Stench-O-Matic
Wouldn’t it be great if your children could tell you they’ve stepped in something before they track it into the car? Teach them the difference between ammonia and chloroform and get a break from them for a while. Or just have a few laughs watching them wrinkle their noses and puke up all that candy they ate. They’ll never say the dinner you slaved over smells like shit because they’ll know what shit smells like.

by numbsain...“When you go to the well this often, you're bound to fall in once in a while.”

This post was brought to you by...

Mo' Pro Promo Co....“Yo promo no go? So go mo pro bro”

Crappy Merchandise From Sweatshops Inc.

Mark's Marketing...a marked difference

Then and Now. A Pictoral Comparison

It is a topic that's been visited many times on email and web page, but it never gets old. Truly seeing how far we've come (both in terms of progression and regression.....you decide which is which) in our respective life times. So here is our own version of then and now. The then is the decade of this author's birth, the 1970s. The now is whenever the hell I want it to be. So there. You're in my world now.


THEN:
Everyone remembers this classic, even if it is a bit vague in the pic. It's "Pong", the first video game ever designed for public consumption. It would provide easily 30 minutes of fun as you pounded on dad, shutting him out 8-0 while he mumbled about "new fangled gizmos" in frustrated consternation.


NOW:
Providing high quality graphics, animated combat, and seductively dancing elven women, the world of warcraft is home to over 10 million players world wide. It gives more than 12 hours of fun every day to the casual player who no longer sees his parents, friends, the dinner table, or the shower. Also provides economy boost to China and Korea as foreign "gold farmers" work round the clock to sell players currency that is licensed by "Blizzard." Sure it's theft. But it's fun!



Then:
Look at the sleek frame. The athletic build. The upholstered head. The 70s body was a work of art. Still subsisting for the most part on home cooked meals, marijuana, and hardcore disco nights, the 1970s tummy was taut, smooth, and perfect to snort a line off of. And the 70s ass wasn't bad either.








Now:
Hello fast food Era! Hello sitting in front of the TV watching American Idol every day era! Hello redhead on the right in the pink bathing suit....rooowwwrr...ahem! This is the modern day body. "Curvy". "Voluptuous." "Athletically challenged." "Obese." "Fatty fat fat." Could there be a correlation between this body and the above "World of Warcraft" insert? I don't know and I'm too busy photo shopping the bikinis off of these women to care.



Then:
Recreational entertainment? The lawn Jart. Come on, who could forget the family togetherness? The competition? The aiming for Uncle Frank when he was inebriated because he wouldn't remember anyway? Millions of Americans got hours of joy and not a few hospital bills from this family pass time.



Now:
Entertainment? Recreational teenage pregnancy. Come on! Leading the way for the erosion of common sense and morals in the country, the Spears family is an easy target of my withering sarcasm. But seriously. You have a tv show. Your sister is already a disaster. You're well on your way to your first million. Keep your legs closed!!!!! But to be fair, it's not just you. Say hello to planned parenthood, free clinics, and halls of shame all across America these days. It used to be the birth rate would would double 9 months after a power outage. Now it doubles 9 months after a Hannah Montana concert. Stop it kids! Go play World of Warcraft!




Then:
Ahhh 70s fashion. The bright colors, the bell bottoms, the afro, the mercedes medallion. Every Saturday night was like a rainbow as wave after wave caught that saturday night fever. Never in all of history were fashion trends so affected by alcohol, narcotics, and hideous taste.









Until Now.

More Failed Inventions From the Patent Office

More Bad ideas

In an earlier post, we here at Goldmind's Unwind had dilligently dug through the U.S. Patent Offfice's scrap heap to present to you some of the greatest failed inventions of the last century or so. The time has come to revisit the topic, as "Bunny", the newly befriended patent office secretary, has emailed us several more selections for your scrutiny. Thank you very much "Bunny." For Everything. And I mean everything. Ahem.

The Cadet "Handicrapper"

The diligent researchers at Cadet, premier manufactures of the residential and commercial commode, thought that they had done their research. They had seen in their local supermarkets, malls, and other public gathering places the mobilized scooter for the handicapped individual. So, collectively, they got to thinking. If you aren't mobile without a scooter, what other problems might you have? That's right! Getting up and down to the restroom! Even handicapped people tinkle! Even handicapped people pinch a loaf! Why not spare every physically disadvantaged individual the difficulty of getting up and down. Of trekking to the porcelain God for relief! Why not motorize the crapper? Amazingly, in all this brilliant brainstorming, no one once thought to ask "what about non handicapped people?" Do you think they'll mind squeezing their melons and checking their eggs next to a strenuously grunting handicapped person giving birth to last night's pot roast while frozen in the middle of aisle three? So, alas, the prototype "handicrapper" was relegated to invention obscurity....

The Gratest invention.....

Not even marketing gurus can tell you why some companies choose to leave their field and venture into other revenue markets. This is what happened with Kraft food in the 80s. Apparently unsatisfied with their profit margins, exec's decided it was time to branch out. Explore new products. Like Children's playground equiptment.

At first, the "grate slide" was an inside joke among corporate executives. One comedian even went so far as to develop the plans for how such a slide was to be moulded and assembled. Those plans were then "accidentally" left on the desk of the product development manager who assumed it was his latest directive from CEO John Kraft. The prototype was assembled and installed in Central Park. Company researchers stayed behind with the slide to guage the reaction of the public. After 6 casualties and, not so coincidentally, 6 lawsuits, Kraft disassembled the slide and retired their idea in shame.

The Chia Bug

This from the "I can't believe it failed" department! Cha-cha-cha-chia! Come on...you know owned a chia something. Or at least are related to someone else who did. Don't deny it! Well, with any such product, some brand loyalists actually became bonafide fanatics, and this product was for them! It was mail order only, as it had to be delivered by flatbed truck. The Chia bug was a lifesized frame of an actual Volkswagon Beetle. You slathered the frame with seeds, hosed it three times a week, and voila! Your yard became the redneck shrine of a lifetime! There is no obvious reason as to why this brilliant creation actually failed. It can only be surmised that neighborhood property values still hold sway over what is socially acceptable and what is not. Sniff! Phillistines!

KOA's "Campsite friend"

Isn't it amazing how many of our inventions have their roots in that greatest of rooms? That throne room of thought? That office of creation? Well the good folks at KOA campgrounds, who offer shelter to the RV driver as well as the tent camper, got tired of "unusual soil erosion" around the base of their trees. This mysterious erosion was creating a foul smell, killing foliage around the tree, weakening root systems, and proving to be an environmental hassle. But what could be causing this "erosion." Well...someone figured it out and in went the "campsite friend". Nailed to the trunk of the most "eroded" trees, the campside friend conveniently drained into the same septic system that RV drivers used to clean their mobile restrooms. It came complete with urinal cake and urine drenched cigarette butt for recognition purposes. Had to leave a "clinker" instead of a "tinkle"? Fine. On the other side of the tree was our friends at Cadet's contribution. The clinker bowl (not pictured here) also fed into the same septic line and had spacious seating for poopers up to 300lbs. Both products failed miserably though, because, as it turns out, the more a camper drinks, the less he gives a crap about proper bowel and urological etiquette. Go figure!

That's it for now folks! Stay tuned for any more contributions from "Bunny". And while you're at it, write a letter to Chia! We want the car back!

GREAT MOMENTS IN ADVERTISING

In the 50's A small ad firm put several entrepreneurs on the map with their direct no nonsense approach to slogan and corporate image design. Let's listen in on history in the making, shall we...

The Boss: Okay, what's on deck?

J.B.: Well sir, the client is Melvin Spitz and he wants to open a restaurant on the side of the highway.

Hodgkins: A hamburger-stand type of thing, Sir.

The Boss: Okay so what does he wanna gonna call his place?

J.B.: Well he had some ideas he thought were really clever...

The Boss: Oh brother, let's hear 'em.

Hodgkins: "Highway Burgery" "The Skid Mark" or "Burger Brake" and it's spelled like the brakes of a car...

The Boss: Oh my god, I hope we're not too late to save this man from himself... Okay what did you guys come up with?

J.B.: Well sir, you have so much more experience with this, we were hoping you'd tell us...

The Boss: WHAT THE HELL AM I PAYING YOU BUMS FOR?!?! AT LEAST TRY TO USE YOUR BRAINS!!!!

Hodgkins: ...Uh, M-M-Melvin Spitz by the side of the highway?

The Boss: You're both fired! Get the hell out of my office!

Hodgkins: Yes sir, Sorry sir.

The Boss: Get back in here! We've got work to do. Now first of all nobody wants to go eat on the side of the highway. People like to go "in" somewhere. makes 'em feel special.

Hodgkins: Melvin Spitz "in" the highway?

The Boss: Oh I can see it now, "Can I take your order? Vroom Screeeeech! ‘SPLAT!" We gotta put Melvin in a nice place! Talk to me boys.

J.B.: How about a house, no a room, "Melvin Spitz in a room?"

Hodgkins: No J.B. the boss wants us to think outside the box remember?

The Boss: Actually Hodgkins, thinking outside the box never seems to work for you guys. Just think inside the box.

Hodgkins: "Melvin Spitz in the Box!"

The Boss: Better, but the names gotta go. He needs a catchier name, something with some pizazz.

J.B.: Steve in the Box?

The Boss: You call that pizazz?!

Hodgkins: Clyde in the Box?

The Boss: Even worse! Come on you guys, I'm falling asleep over hear.

J.B.: Ralph in the Box?

The Boss: HORRIBLE!

Hodgkins: Vinnie in the box?

The Boss: Look you guys are jacking me around here, What the hell do I pay you bums for? You ain't doing Jack for me!

J.B.: That's it! "Jack In the box!"

The Boss: You just earned your paycheck J.B., Ship it!

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FAUX PAS-MOBILE

In 1989 Ford introduced a sporty little coupe with a name that really should have been nixed before it ever hit the showroom floor. The scene opens in a meeting at the Ford Motor Co. Creative Department.

Henry Jr.: Okay Billingsly, we're at the deadline here. Manufacturing needs a name for the new sport coupe so they can start casting the logos. What have you got for me?

Billingsly: Well sir, we have narrowed it down to three choices: The Ford Pony, The Ford Slingshot, or my personal favorite The Ford Probe...

Henry Jr.: Are you kidding me? Those are the choices? Those are the worst names I've ever heard in my life!!! Who the hell is gonna buy a car called a "probe?" What are you thinking billingsly?

Secretary: Sir, It's your wife on line 7...

Henry Jr.: Put her on speaker...

Secretary: Uh, Sir, I think you'd better pick up.

Henry Jr.: (click) What's the problem Stephanie?...

Secretary: Your wife is very angry sir, apparently she found a pair of my panties under the seat of your other car sir... I'm sorry... She's talking about a divorce.

Henry Jr.: Uh, I gotta take care of some personal business Billingsly, meetings over.

Billingsly: But Sir, the deadline, what are we going to call the car?

Henry Jr.: Look, I don't care about that right now! Just... do whatever you want, get outta my office!

And thus the Ford Probe was born. At least it represented the first example of truth in advertising as the Ford Motor Company really stuck it to it's customers with this lemon.

ZOOBREAK!

Baboon: Alright listen up! The eagle flies at midnight. That'll be your cue, big cats. You need to have the perimeter secured by 12:15am. We're looking at two guards. So you have five minutes to stalk 'em, ten minutes to polish 'em off.

Lionesses: Baby, that's fast-food for us! / Yeah, the UN-happy meal! Hah! / Hee-hee-hee, you know that's right, girl!

Baboon: Then we spring the zebras, okapis, bongos, antelope, gazelles ...y'know, the "legs." The simians are next, so swing by here and we'll follow you guys to the main gate.

Zebra: Okay, Babs. We'll lead the way, but make sure your 'mates stay with the herd.

Chimp: Hey, don't worry about us: monkey see, monkey do... just like clockwork baby.

Baboon: Okay, next order of business is the main gate. Who's taking care of that?

Elephant: What's the load rating on that bad boy?

Spider monkey: 4000 lb iron gate, 2 ton steel latch, so I'd say... 2500 lbs of pressure should snap it, if you hit it right at the latch.

Elephant: Sheeit! This's gon' be a baby elephant walk.

Spider monkey: Yeah but you gotta hit the latch side, not the hinge side. Don't forget!

Elephant: Forget? Monkey, Ple-e-ease.

Flamingo: Hey, shouldn't we fly the coop next?

Baboon: If you want the whole neighborhood to know about it! You guys are like a neon sign.

Crocodile: May I suggest we release the meerkats, prairie dogs and possibly the more diminutive primates at an earlier juncture so as to initiate the pre-navigational reconnoissance well-prior to our departure en masse?

Gorilla: Who talks like that? Could you repeat that in plain old junglese, Professor O'Dile?

Cheetah: He means, we should send out the scouts early-on so we know where the hell we're goin'. He's right y'know, 'cause once I make my move, I'm like; Ptweeeeooo! Outta there like a bullet. It would be nice to have a target so I don't overshoot.

Zebra: Oh, you mean like that time my little baby sister gave you that head fake back on the Serengeti? Ha Ha Ha!

Other Zebras: HA-HA-HA Hee-Hee Whineee-e-e Ha-Ha! Zeeb', she put a MOVE on 'im! He was halfway to Mozambique by the time he figured it out! HEE-HEE HA-HA ho- ho.

Hyenas: HYUK-HYUK HA-HA-HA-HO-HO HOO-HOO HA...

Cheetah: SHUT-UP!!! They wasn't talkin' to you, hyena!

Baboon: Settle down! We gotta herd together!

Lion: Damn right! Nobody's eatin' NOBODY until we're all safely back home! And you'd think certain SCAVENGERS would remember who does the dirty work for them.

Buzzard: No shit, Holmes! Don't be dissin' the paw you should be kissin'!

Lionesses: Thass right baby! You don't taste 'em 'til we waste 'em! / HA-HA! You go girl! / High four! (Fub!) / Tell 'em sistah!

Lion: Right! Now back to business!

Hyenas: Tee hee giggle, sorry your Royal Majesty. We have no bone to pick with, er, without you.

Rhino: clomp clomp clomp clomp CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP! (skreech!) What'd I miss?

Elephant: Oh, so nice of you to show up, Mr. Nocerus. You think this is all a BIG GAME?

Rhino: Hey, I figured you were still in the planning stages, what do you need me for?

Lorakeet: Psst, dude, that okapi over there just said: "Well it sure ain't for your brains, you bone-head!"

Rhino: HEY! WHO YOU CALLIN' BONE-HEAD, OKA-PEA-BRAIN!!??

Okapi: How the hell did you hear that?

Rhino: A little birdie told me!

Baboon: Now Look! We're never gonna pull this off if we keep fighting amongst ourselves. Now I don't expect love and devotion between predator and prey, but you herbivores; can't you all just get along?

Gorilla: Speaking of herbivores, is there a giraffe in here? Why don't he speak up?

Giraffe: Thpeak up? I normally have to thpeak down to you, thilly.

Chimp: Hey, how's the weather up there, Stretch?

Giraffe: Gee, that wath tho original.

Hippo: Du-u-h, hey you guys, isn't there like, an ocean between here and Africa?

To be continued...


by numbsain

Click here for the exciting conclusion to Zoobreak!

Mr. Saturday Night Special

A Night in the Life of Yours Truly

Left: I had the misfortune of running into “Suzette” here at the Arlington Heights Playboy Club. What made it unfortunate was that I was quite inebriated and am now apparently engaged to the chipper fellow pictured. It could be worse, of course. He DOES shave his legs.

by Cheese

It’s Saturday night. A time when a young man’s fancy turns to his pants, or more pointedly, what’s in his pants. Now, I am no longer “young” by most definitions, but I am not quite knocking on death’s door either. I can hear the calling of the frothy mug. I feel the desirable tug of a night spent painting the town. I can taste the freedom of neon lights, gorgeous women, beer nuts, and endless testosterone. So I call my closest friend Mike, grab my fedora, and start driving towards the Arlington Heights Playboy Club.

It’s been years since I’ve set foot in the club. I figured by now there were new employees and I resemble the picture of myself on the wall less than ever, so the lifetime ban imposed on me will be much harder to enforce. Plus, of course, there’s the fedora. No one recognizes you when you’re wearing a fedora, right?

Mike is waiting for me at the entrance. He’s a large man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and ballhugger jeans that would make Steve Perry blush. His heavy brow gives him a look of authority that his comical pompadour all but erases. He’s an excellent drinking buddy because no matter how many beers you put away, he never starts looking like an attractive woman. Or an attractive man for that matter.

Without a word needing to be spoken between us, we pay the cover charge and enter. It takes seconds for all the old familiar sights and smells to overwhelm me. The red brick interior. The plush velvet carpet. The odor of beer, sweat, crisp dollars, and loneliness. I felt right at home. Until........

“Umm, dude,” Mike whispers, his unibrow furrowed in consternation. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Walking towards us is a pair of “bunnies”, or scantily clad club employees. The one on the left is 300 lbs bone dry, 350 soaking wet I’m sure. The one on the right has a mustache and talks like my uncle Ed. Both of them have Mike and I stopped in our tracks, hands still on wallets, the phantom taste of that first beer still flirting with our tongues.

“Hi fellows,” the buffalo says. “Care to buy a lady a drink?”

“Where do we get the lady?” Mike asks, always as smooth as good bourbon.

“Look no further,” the mustache says, and actually wiggles his hairy ass at me.

I hear Mike make a wretching sound beside me, and move to take action. “Um, we haven’t been here in years. Since when did they start hiring guys as bunnies?” I ask.

“Title IX buddy,” the mustache replies. “It’s not just for women’s athletics, you know?”

“Err, OK,” Mike says. “What’s with the blob here?”

“I prefer metabollicly challenged,” the brontosaurus says. “The American’s with disabilities act covers morbid obesity and ensures that I have the right to work here. Get enlightened gentlemen! Look around!” And with that the “bunnies” moved off.

Sure enough, Mike and I looked around and really took in the employee pool for the first time. There were midgets, crossdressers, siamese twins, amputees, malformed faces, and people in wheelchairs. The only person not represented among the “bunnies” was hot women. We started to back up towards the door.

“I wouldn’t do it fellas,” said a whispering voice. We turned to find an old man huddled over an oak table in the corner. “I tried leaving once like you all. The freaks all came to my house the next morning and screamed about enlightenment in my front yard until every neighbor on my street was sure I hated all the handicapped, crossdressers, and retards on the planet. To this day no one talks to me. My advice would be to go get a beer or three. Pretend to enjoy yourself. Then leave at closing time.”

So we drank. And drank. Then drank a little more. With each one, we were SURE the bunnies would begin to look appealing. Short of that, we hoped for an alcohol induced coma to allow us the opportunity to escape.

Neither occurred of course. We got blitheringly drunk, pretended to have the time of our lives, puked our heads off in the surprisingly clean white porcelain of the club’s restroom then blacked out. Sunday morning we awoke, heads throbbing, in a king sized bed. Mike was spooning with the mustache, and I was tightly holding my Suzette. (see above)

This Saturday, Mike and I are going to watch M*A*S*H* reruns in my living room and drink water. If we feel really crazy, we’re going to go the library and check out books on Title IX and the Americans with Disabilities act. It’s time to write our Congressmen.