A Word From Our Sponsors…



Nothing says ‘Mother of The Year’ like having a newborn baby with that healthy “just got back from spending 8 hours on the beach without sunscreen” glow. But these days, who really has time for sitting on the beach? Especially when there’s so many other things your baby needs. Like Botox. Or Gastric Bypass, even.

That’s why there’s DuPont Sun Lamps. With this extra UV radiation-emitting 2800 watt bulb, it’s like having 28-100 watt bulbs condensed into one!  And you know what that means, right?


Just  rub your precious little one in half a bottle of canola oil, then hold him no further than six inches away from the bulb, baking him for eight  minutes, turning once to ensure uniform browning. Or, if you have to leave for an appointment, place him on a sheet of tin foil and gently lay him underneath the lamp. That way you can rest easy, knowing that once you return from your Pilates class, he’ll be the spitting image of George Hamilton. Or Donatella Versace, even.

“Dupont. Because Who Says Exposure To Ultraviolet Radiation Is Just For Big People?”





“Before I met Mitch, I didn’t really have anything to live for. Sure I had friends, a great job, hobbies, but without anyone to define me as a person, what was the point?

But once Mitch and I got together, it was like my life suddenly had meaning.  His coolness made me realize that all of those other things just weren’t important. What was important, however, was that I do everything in my power to hold his interest.

Sadly, what he didn’t know was that for the last ten years I’d been suffering from a debilitating and mood-altering condition called “Premenstrual Syndrome”. Once a month I’d experience these horrible episodes, where not only would would I suffer from moderate to severe cramping, I’d also become mildly anxious and irritable, sometimes to the point of downright bitchiness.

Needless to say, when Mitch found out about my embarrassing ailment, he gave me an ultimatum; “Either your PMS goes, or I go!” Well, obviously it was a no-brainer.

Because of Midol, I was able to ” Lose The Bitch, And Keep My Mitch”!”

“Thanks, Midol.”

-Cindy J., Midol/Mitch Lover





“Hi. My name is Mary, and I’m here today to tell you about the dangers of maxi-pads.

I started using pads in high school. At first I was just experimenting…you know, it was “the thing” to do. But then it became the only thing to do, and pretty soon I was using three, sometimes even four times a day.

It wasn’t until I finally hit rock bottom that I took a friends’ advice and called the feminine hygiene hotline for help. They put me through to a menses counselor, who helped me realize that I was using sanitary napkins as an absorbant  menstrual crutch. Thankfully, after a cycle of detox followed by few months of intense therapy/Sexual Education classes, I was finally able to kick the habit and get on with my life.”

“Don’t get me wrong, some days are better than others. But with petal soft Tampax I feel as though I could overcome anything!”


“Watch out world, because now I’m hooked on Tampax!”





Certainly we’ve all heard the saying, “When you Ride Alone, You Ride With Hitler.” But what does it really mean?

Well, basically, it means that when you ride alone, you ride with a guy who wants to play Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun. And you’re  also riding with a ravenous tiger, who can smell the HP Steak sauce  that you decided to marinate yourself in earlier because you were bored. And high. Not to mention the  monster  that you’re riding with, who uses his claw-hands to rip your arm off at elbow, dunking your leftover stump into a pail of salt water.

Oh, and Chad Kroeger? Not only are you riding with him, you’re also stuck sitting on his lap, because there sure as hell isn’t much room thanks to the Russian Roulette guy, the ravenous tiger, the monster with claw-hands and your newly-detached limb.

Makes you wonder why you didn’t join a car-sharing club sooner, doesn’t it?




  1. Excellent post Bschooled.

    Part of the trouble of riding with Hitler is that he never shuts the Hell up. Yap yap yap yap yap all the damned time.

    Plus he’s always changing the radio station and singing along to songs by 80s bands like Haircut 100 and Kajagoogoo.

    And he reads billboards out loud. It’s damned annoying. Plus he’s a Nazi which is also very unappealing.

    Very nice work as always Bschooled. Just like Dupont, you’re a brand we can trust.

    Your friend,


    • Don,

      I had no idea this Hitler was such a pain in the ass (excuse my German). I remember reading somewhere that he was the leader of the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, but I had no idea that he was also one of “those” guys. Seriously, you’d think he’d try to make up for his Naziness (?) by being a little more pleasant to be around.

      He sounds like a mix between my Grandfather after his morning coffee (he used to be in a Barbershop Quartet that sang Depeche Mode tunes) and my seven-year old niece, who thinks that just because she’s learning to read, she should be doing it out loud.

      I always try to tell her that billboards are meant to be “read in your head”, but she just never listens.

      Thank-you for the comment, Don. Anytime you want to car-share, you just let me know. (I’ll even give you shotgun.)


  2. Wonderful work, bschooled. I especially liked the variety of feathered hairdos and the unexpected but totally welcome Kroeger-bashing. That alone makes this particular post a keeper.

    Who knew being a female was so complicated? Certainly not me. Not Mitch, either. Good old Mitch. Self-assured. Uncomplicated. Carefreely hooking his outdated denim jacket on one finger like a Montgomery Wards’ model, and smiling his devastating smile, all while wearing one of the most regrettable shirts ever photographed.

    What in the name of fucking cod is that thing? It’s like he got dressed in the dark while in a Swedish sexual reorientation clinic. As the hairspray set in and he began to feel comfortable with his body, he decides to top it off with his girlfriend’s broach. That nestled firmly against him borrowed shirt, he now heads off to tell his significant other that he wishes to play for the other team from now on, so she can dropped the clenched-teeth cheerfulness and endless Midol popping. Truly a dream come true.

    Still, as heartwarming and mildly nauseating as that all is, it’s nothing like taking Hitler for a ride day after day. The sad thing about it is that everyone knows I don’t like him. I’m just using him to blow by rush hour traffic in the carpool lane and to get the handicapped parking space at the mall. And that’s just kind of sad.

    Take care, bschooled. You rock the party that rocks the party. (Careful with that phrase. You get too carried away and it becomes a hall of mirrors.)

    • Thank-you CLT,

      What in the fucking cod, indeed. I was wondering the very same thing about Mitch’s (or is it Mitches? I mean, seeing as it rhymes with the word “bitch” -sorry, just thinking out loud) choice in torso-concealing attire. Didn’t anyone at Midol care enough to tell him how he looked before taking his picture and plastering it all over their product?

      It’s like you want to yell “Yo Mitch! The International Gay Rodeo Association/My Mom’s hairdresser back in the 80’s called, they want their signature looks back!” (Or maybe it’s just me who wants to say that, it’s hard to tell from way over here.)

      Oh, and don’t worry about that whole “using Hitler for his wheels” thing. I don’t like the guy either, but I understand where you’re coming from. A ride is a ride, and let’s face it; these days it’s just not that safe to be taking the footmobile. Or even transit, for that matter.

      Thank-you CLT. Not just for the thought-provoking comment, but for introducing me to the idea of Swedish sexual reorientation clinics.


  3. “Lose the Bitch, keep my Mitch” – ha hahaha ha!

    Honestly, b, I’ve been laughing for like five minutes. Broiled babies? Who knew that Dupont was cooking up such evil.

    At least now I know why I sometimes get a creepy feeling when I’m driving alone. Now I know I’m not insane. Thank you for putting my poor wee brain at rest on that score.

    (I’ll have to tell you a funny Chad Kroeger story sometime – my daughter met him out in Vancouver)

    • You are not insane, Talon. Far from it. Just make sure that in the future, you don’t drive alone. Or with a ravenous tiger for that matter.

      I have to say that I look forward to hearing your (or your daughter’s) Chad Kroeger story. Nothing tickles me more than hearing anecdotes about Nickelback, particularly ones that don’t have the rest of the world believing that this is the best talent Canada has.

      T’is true, every time I say something bad about the band I lose a friend, but still…until I am friend-less, I won’t be silenced.

      Nice to see you as always, T,


  4. Hahaha, geez, I didn’t realize when I drove to work by myself, I went with Hitler!!! :P

  5. My youngest son was born three weeks early, he wasn’t completely ready to be out of the oven, and still had lanugo hair on his ears. I swear if it hadn’t fallen out a few days later I would have taken that little tyke to a beautician for an electrolysis session.

    so what’s wrong with rolling your progeny in oil and sticking them under a sunlamp?

    • HAHA!!

      Oh, NM, we are so alike, you and I. Although I don’t have kids, I have been known to make similar comments(in passing, of course) to my newly impregnated friends. Which is probably the reason why I don’t hear from them for a good nine months afterwards, but really, what can you do?

      I don’t think the problem is so much the sunlamp itself, but the fact that the parents have to keep turning the kid to ensure uniform browning. That’s why I plan to invent an incubator-type sunlamp…or maybe just a miniature sunbed, I haven’t decided yet.

  6. elizabeth3hersh says:

    Bar-B-Qued babies…reminiscent of Campbell’s slogan M’m! M’m! Good! Delectable (even MORE so than calves whose hooves have been nailed to the floor) when braised in a pinot noir infused sauce, julienne vegetables and button mushrooms…all white meat and tastes better than chicken! Reminds me of an episode of the Twilight Zone: “To Serve Man.” The episode opens with:

    “Respectfully submitted for your perusal: a Kanamit. Height: a little over nine feet. Weight: in the neighborhood of three hundred and fifty pounds. Origin: unknown. Motives? Therein hangs the tale, for in just a moment we’re going to ask you to shake hands, figuratively, with a Christopher Columbus from another galaxy and another time. This is the Twilight Zone.”

    The alien Kanamits arrive on planet Earth and offer to share their technology and wisdom with the intellectually inferior earthlings. Their initial distrust is worn away by their designated ‘code-breakers’ who find and translate a Kanamit book called “To Serve Man.” They naively fall prey to the exemplary ‘service’ and are fattened up like pigs to a slaughter. Only after they have been herded onto the Kanamit spacecraft (destination: Nirvana) do they realize that “To Serve Man” was in actuality a cookbook. One of Twilight Zones finest episodes and an equally fine post, bschooled.

    • Haha! thank you, Elizabeth. Not only for reminding me of those tasty little Campbell’s tots (I used to like mine with hot sauce-I know, I know, I was a strange child), but for bringing up the show that used to both fascinate and scare the living daylights out of me as a kid. That, and Alfred Hitchcock Presents (although to be fair, I think it was Alfred’s voice and missing chin that creeped me out the most).

      In fact, when the Twilight series first came out, I thought it was a revival of the revival of the original Twilight Zone series. You can imagine my chagrin (I forgot how much I love that word), when I found out it it was just about some really good-looking (I can say that, seeing as he’s only a kid in human years) sparkly vampire, and a werewolf with a hot body but really deep set eyes that I can just never seem to get past, which is why I can’t bring myself to watch the movies.

      But I digress.

      Thank-you for the comment, Elizabeth. I always look forward to picking up the highbrow wit that you never fail to put down.


  7. Midol doesn’t cut it in our house. Premysin (sp?) actually says it has a mood alterer. They are known as happy pills and I can forget eggs, milk or anything else at the grocery. Believe me those are always well stocked.

    Is that Tampax ad Mary Lou Retton? Is that after Cathy Rigby lost the gig?

  8. This was maybe your best work yet B; I loved every sentence of this gem. The writing was seriously phenomenal, must be all that sun…or something.

    My mom really had one of those sunlamps and I really used to use it. It helped me pull off that Miami Vice look when I was 4. I’m lucky I haven’t gotten cancer yet, but I’m only 16, so I guess I have a few years before I have to worry about that.

    Is Mitch that guy from That 70’s Show that married the cougar? I think he is.

    And congratulations B, now I’m desperate to try a maxi pad. You know how much I love drugs and this one sounds fantastic! Like maybe better than the crizzy?

    And the last one…whatever it was about really brought home the fact that I should NOT have taken that 7th hit of acid. I’m all over the place now…literally.

    • Thank-you, Scott.

      I think it’s a combination of the sun, the scenery, and the cheap (albeit sometimes expired) drugs they offer around here. Really, every time you walk into a Pharmacy, it’s like Christmas! Well, it’s like the Christmases we used to celebrate, that is. (I grew up in a Presbyterian/Alternative Lifestyle household.)

      If I were you I wouldn’t even try maxi pads, Scott. Seriously, not only are they super addictive (especially the ones with wings), these kids that are experimenting just keep getting younger and younger. http://neatorama.cachefly.net/images/2006-07/kid-playing-with-tampon.jpg

      Sad, really.

      If I were you I would just stick with the acid (but maybe stop at 6 hits). It’s been around for years, which means it has staying power, not to mention the fact that it’s not as habit-forming. I mean, really, have you ever heard someone say “Help! I’m hooked on acid!” before?

      Of course not. Because we happen to be high at the time, which affects our hearing.

      (Sorry, Scott, I think the combination of sun, scenery and cheap expired drugs may have finally worn off.)

  9. Let me catch my breath here…. i’ve been laughing hysterically since my eyes set sight on the first ad. Though, it did answer a question that’s perplexed me ever since kindergarten… at least now I know how blond & blue-eyed Sally Henderson was always so tan even in the winter.

    I never used Midol, I guess that’s why I never had Mitch.

    Tampax had that effect on me too!

    I’m a bit creeped out about that last ad. I had never heard that saying before. From now on whenever I ride alone, I’ll have mustache on the brain.

    • Ha! I wonder how blond & blue-eyed Sally Henderson looks now? (I’m guessing she’s whatever the opposite of “a sight for sore eyes” is.)

      Tampax has had that effect on most of us, Jill. I’m proud to say that I’ve been Tampax free since ’93, but then again, that may have something to do with the fact that I went through early menopause (just before my grade 12 graduation, to be exact).


      Sorry, Jill, I have no idea what I’m talking about right now…I think it’s time for more of that special “Guatemala juice” the guy down the street always sells me. “Special price, just for you,” he says. (How can you say no to that?)

  10. Bschool

    I use my hitler cardboard cutout all the time in the HOV lane, saves me money from an expensive ticket. I got a deal on it, picked it out of the trash in back of the chinese restaurant..The cutout is not transluscent though…..And MR Mills is the reason I use MIDOL…hah hah just playin…zman sends

    • Haha! That’s fantastic, Zman!

      I think we should all get Hitler cutouts. But then again, the traffic cops would probably catch on sooner or later, seeing as he can’t be everywhere all at the same time. And he’s dead.

      Good to see you, Zman. And don’t overdo it on that Midol, I always enjoy your comments challenging Mr. Mills posts, and I would hate for them to start being mushy…

      ps. Good luck with the new post, Z. I keep trying to post on your blog, but for some reason it won’t let me. It has something to do with the internet here, but I’ll be back home in a week, so things should be better then…

  11. The images of a sun-baked baby and Hitler reminded me of the damn Auschwitz ovens . . .

    I gotta digress out of that right away . . . it’s late and reality is just too scary. I count too many Jews and infants among friends, so I’ll leave it alone out of respect. There’s nothing funny to be gained from my observation, and the human condition is freaking me out. This post is damn funny, B! Don’t tell Hitler there’s dog hair all over his uniform from my seat.

    • Thanks Dan!

      I promise I won’t tell Hitler about the dog hair. In fact, from now on I won’t be telling Hitler anything.

      Even if I have to hold someone up at gunpoint just to get them to come with me to the grocery store (or trolling for man-whores, for that matter), there’s no way I plan on riding alone, meaning “with Hitler,” ever again. Because let’s face it; it’s better to ride with a bunch of petrified strangers than it is to ride with Hitler.

      And let’s not even mention those other freaks (like Chad, for instance.)

  12. Clifton L. Tanager says:

    B. Schooled –

    Thanks for the thrilling picture of the skin-reaving sun lamp. I haven’t seen one of these since I was a youngster. My mother raised my three younger siblings from egg to pupa to larvae to juvenile deliquents under the harsh glare of a fast-food restaurant quality food lamp.

    The theory was that the sun’s harsh rays were too harsh for their young skins, what with all that ozone in the way and the millions of miles the light had to travel. To truly be safe, they needed to be indoors and away from the unnatural sunlight and set dead center below the radiant heat and life-giving gamma rays of the last product GE made that lasted past the warranty period.

    I was spared this being the eldest child, and was instead allowed to soak up the sun’s rays to my heart’s content. And soak up I did, mostly by inviting myself into the neighbor’s backyard and right into their pool. They swiftly learned that “good fences make good neighbors” but that even a 12-foot security fence could be scaled by a wiry and mostly nude 16-year-old.

    Soon enough my 18th birthday came and I was off to the Korean Conflict to soak up more UV rays and the occasional flurry of shrapnel. The unadulturated vitamin D did wonders for my body, aging me practically overnight and turning my skin from baby-faced to Jack Palance in shortly over a month.

    With my new “mature” look, I was finally able to get past the bouncers at various “entertainment” events and began to soak up the “grown-up” life, which often came packaged with rotoviruses and knife wounds. I wouldn’t trade those days for all the halogen in China.

    Thanks for the post, bschooled. You make us all proud to be Americans, even though you have had the misfortune of being raised slightly north of our proudly defended borders. I’d designate you as an “honorary American,” but I have been stripped of all ceremonial duties until the HGH test comes back clean.

    Until then,
    C.L. Tanager

    • Clifton,

      Once again, you are the epitome of historical wisdom, not to mention the quintessence of past knowledge as well. “All that and a bag of olestra-laden chips,” as we calorie counters like to say.

      I am curious about the similarities between you and Jack Palance, though. I’m assuming you’re referring to his “Ripley’s Believe it Or Not” days, as opposed to his “Attila the Hun” period? Although truth be told, I guess there really isn’t that much difference to speak of. It’s like my friend always says about Richard Gere, “I’m pretty sure that guy came out of the uterus with a full head of grey hair.”

      Well, I guess she doesn’t always say that, only when we happen to be watching Pretty Woman, or a documentary on the Dalai Lama. (Which lately hasn’t been all that often, due to our other commitments.)

      Regardless, your stories never cease to fascinate me, Clifton. You are like a rare onion, each layer enlightening my mind, while at the same time destroying those evil osteoclasts so they can no longer cause osteoporosis in menopausal women.

      (And just in case you were wondering, that’s one of the highest compliments a person can give.)

      • Laird Lang says:

        Just to keep you in the ‘groove'( a 60’s thing,hah,) Jack died last year. So I wonder if he ever finished that painting in the Baghdad Cafe, can you enlighten?.
        “I’m pretty sure that guy came out of the uterus with a full head of grey hair.” His mothers you mean?.
        Tapping finger…….

        • Jack died last year?

          “I Believe It!” (But only because I checked on Google first.)

          Yes, I believe (ha!) he did finish that painting. He was quite the Iraqi Graffiti Artist, wasn’t he? Nobody could vandalize a Cafe with Sahat Al Tahrir images quite like he could…

          Oh, and re: the head of grey hair, I meant Richard. Sadly, his Mother suffered from Alopecia.

          Clicking my heels and making exaggerated jazz hands…

  13. Mitch sure is rockin’ that pastel-colored patchwork shirt!

    • Hey Dennis!

      Yes, it sounds like Mitch must be rockin’ quite a few things if women are actually willing to take Midol just for his benefit…

      Good to see you, D,


  14. make sure you keep them fund people happy!

  15. Grannypants says:

    I will never ride with Hitler again, let me tell you. I was on my way to my Yeti Crab Appreciation Club social last Tuesday. Gladys flaked out at the last minute so I had to drive there alone, aka with Hitler!

    Bastard was getting all hyper and excitable claiming he knew where the new Ogden Legion was was and kept yelling “Nein, nein, Nein!”. So I turned on Avenue 9 and took us instead to the Hell’s Angels clubhouse where I had to perform fellatio on some guy called Hog just to be able to leave alive. Fucker made us late for the party and I missed Helen’s cheeseballs!

    • GP!

      I’m sorry to hear that! I understand your frustration about missing Helen’s cheeseballs (I heard she uses real Cheez Whiz!), but to be honest, I don’t understand why you’d be upset about upset about performing fellatio?

      According to the makers of Midol back in your day, that’s the best (not to mention only) way for a woman to communicate with a member of the opposite sex. (And with a name like Hog, it sounds like it would have been quite the conversation…)


      Regardless, I do think you need to find other friends to ride with. Like my friend B (different B) always “say’s” on her FB status, “Yup yup yup yup yup yup yup bleep bleep bleep…. that’s all folks!!!!”

      (Basically, I think it means that even if you have poor grammar, it’s important never to ride alone no matter what.)


    I would have burned with my fair skin! When i was a baby, my mum would take me out in a pram and i would burn in minutes due to the extreme heat and UV rays we have in australia! So that sunlamp would only have been used for 2 minutes per side!

    That syndrome seems so sad. Do you know if it affects a lot of people? And can i donate some of my money to a charity that is tackling the awareness of Premenstrual Syndrome? Lucky theres Midol, but i think it might be more effective to eradicate it once and for all because i know what its like to be around people with moods that are constantly changing!

    Oh B! Such wonderful writings! I cant drive so i have to get lifts everywhere and ive never seen hitler before in any of the car rides! I guess im one of the lucky ones.


    • Bob,

      Well I think it’s safe to say that had you owned a sunlamp back then, you probably wouldn’t be alive today. (But at only two minutes per side, think of the money your Mum would have saved on electricity!)

      I have to say that you are such a sweet young man, Bob. To think about people less fortunate than yourself, people who weren’t lucky enough to be born with male genitalia, is truly touching. And yes, there is a charity you can donate to. Just send your money to me and I will make sure the organization gets it.

      Just because they happen to be a small organization (no website, or donation receipts for that matter), that doesn’t mean they don’t need your help, right?


      Thank-you for the compliment Bob. and to answer your question, I think it’s safe to say that you are one of the lucky ones. Touched in the head by God himself.


  17. Haha, nice grouping B. I have to tell you that I ride with Hitler all the time and despite all the nice things people say about him, he’s a complete asshole.

    • Ha! I heard the same thing, FJ. That’s why we only drive with him if we’re desperate. Like if our designated driver forgets that’s she’s the designated driver and ends up doing tequila body shots on the bar at 8:00pm. (But to be fair, I can count on two hands how many times I’ve done that.)

  18. grannypants says:

    Did you know when you type “Hitler Yeti Cheeseballs Hog” into Google, your blog is not even among what comes up?

  19. Hmm Bschooled ,“When you Ride Alone, You Ride With Hitler.” does that include when you are having sex or just when driving a car? I’m a bit worried!!!!!

    • Good question, FL.

      Sadly, because I don’t believe in pre-emptive war sex, I can’t say for sure.

      I’ll have to ask my sister and get back to you…

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