
And if you think that's an accident, remember this is a clock from "Naked Decor", maker of the terrorist teapot.
Edited to Add: Apparently I am not the only one to notice (see comments section).

So we want you to make a cover where he looks really, like, manly--you know. Because this guy is the ultimate he-man. He is... the Penetrator!
Okay, that thing you did last time was okay, but a bit subtle.
I love pulp paperbacks, seedier the better. It is part of what is interesting about them--the context in which they are published and the way gender, race, age and other subjects are handled and mishandled. The sad thing is that inexpensive paperbacks are not made to last, and they don't. Many in my collection are literally in the process of decomposing.
I thought, how is there shaving foam on his chest and he still has all the hair on his chin and chest?
Is he planning to leave the scruffy beard and just shave his chest?
Was he shaving a gap in his unibrow and the shaving foam washed off his forehead and onto his chest?
(On a positive note, I see one is now allowed to refer to men having "beauty" products. Ha, the beauthy burden hits the hairier sex!)
When I frequent Failblog, Cake Wrecks and other such blogs with funny pictures, one of the common themes seems to be "things that look like phalluses". It seems like plenty of pictures and objects have been created with a perfectly innocent intent--that now cause outbreaked of unseemly tittering.



If the pink hair bow wasn't enough of a warning, check out this virtuoso performance of the "crazy eyes." I just bet that if you marry a gal like this, you'll get enough material for a novel.
The Collected Erotica is a gorgeous book; trade paperback sized, with glossy white paper and lush full color illustrations. This work is collected from a previous set of three books edited by London-based Charlotte Hill and William Wallace. However the writing voice of the "narrator" throughout is unmistakeably a male one (with something of a fixation on erotica with clerical and religious themes, not that there is anything wrong with that).
I picked up a copy of the craft magazine Somerset Studio. One of the Halloween projects shown is a silhouette of the black house with various vintage and antique pictures of women in the windows and an orange background. A small excerpt with one example is shown in the cover (right). The artist describes the house as "occupied by a coven of diabolic witches".
Logically speaking 'supervert' would be the opposite of 'subvert', and Mattel is a master at it.
And yet today, over ten years later, I saw a TV advertisement for a barbie doll with hair you can style that used the distinctive hook from the song.





It seems even meat can't look like meat anymore. Payments are lower of you have spotted or striped pigs because the consumer doesn't know natural pigment from mold so these pigs need to be skinned before packaging. Steak is sprinkled with chemicals to help it keep a red, freshly dead color rather than a natural dark brown. And chicken is soaked in saltwater to make it fatter and heavier.
So Foster Farms makes an explicit connection between meat primping and cosmetic surgery with their "Say No to Plumping" campaign, complete with a bizarre little video with talking chickens. --"I've been thinking about having some plumping done...a lot of chicken's are having it done, Betsy." -- But, well, frankly I find chickens talking about being fatter and tastier, in the voices of chatty female friends pretty damn unappetising. If anything it makes me roll my eyes at Foster Farms.
The entire campaign website contains a total of about one page of largely unreferenced moral panic statements suggesting plumped chicken is a direct route to cardiac arrest and stomach cancer, reference to science no data actually on the site, and the whole thing excessively plumped up with talking animals. Chicken who want to be centerfold of succulant fleshiness.
Chickens are to women what public health campaign are to preachy ad campaigns--totally different things, thank you very much. (I also note that the chicken actors aren't beak or claw trimmed for our convenience. I bet all the chickens actually raised on at Foster Farms are and that whole issue worries me more than some saltwater.)
In the economic section the amount of "plump" versus real meat is calculated based on a nice heterosexual marraige with one child eating the purely speculative industry ideal of four chicken meal a week. Uh-huh. --"Plumping is deceiving, Martha."-- I am sure the idea is that natural is better. but in the end this campaign read more like a creepy male point-of-view rant about how women use cosmetics to seem more beautiful than they are, cheating the male "consumer".
Ewww.
For added "ewww" factor try replacing the word "plump" with other words in the little videos.
"The people who want to plump me say no one would ever find out".

Take for, for example, this Singaporean Burger King ad (source). Comparing a seven inch sandwich to male genitalia is overly obvious and not terribly clever, but, whatever. What make me more uncomfortable is the heavily made up and photoshopped women looking rather like a doll, a frightened doll. That's just, um, not nice.
It used to be that being "too old for acne but too young for wrinkles" was called: not having a skin problem. But it seems that there is not enough money to be made from discovering a need and catering to it. Now we have to create needs, and the easiest way to create a need is to create a problem.
I mean, seriously, you cannot make this shit up: "Over acne angst? Too young for wrinkle remedies? You and 21 million other women have in between skin. We have create a space just for you ... and nobody else". Nobody else, presumably, than those other 11 million, 900 thousand and 99 other in-betweeners with whom you are meant to interact in a skin care social networking "space" based on the compulsion to treat the terrible problem of not having problem skin.
During a visit to the 'House on the Rock' tourist attraction in Wisconsin a friend (you know who you are) pointed out this carousal not-horse.
