Magick Sandwich

Michael Douglas Provides Vital Link Between Oral Sex and Cancer, Embarrasses Wife

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Wed, 05 Jun 2013 21:54:00 +0000

It's bad enough that Michael Douglas made out with Matt Damon. For shame! He has sullied the memory of watching Liberace with my grandmother, never knowing he was gay. (I had a crush on Paul Lynde, too. Don't judge me.) So when I heard that Douglas had blamed his throat cancer on oral sex, I was so outraged that I wanted to know why I was outraged so I could write a snide tweet-- something like this:

Or I could write a confessional about how I had contracted ass cancer from a toilet seat in the Kaufman Astoria Cineplex. Maybe someday.

A search for "Michael Douglas cunnilingus" triggered a Safe Search block and meltdown that crashed my cell phone. An algorithm assumed I was looking for porn? Somehow I can't imagine that finding it requires such highfalutin' vocabulary. You have a dirty mind, Safe Search. You don't know me at all.

Turned out "Michael Douglas cancer" was just the ticket. Apparently, I'm coming to the story late. Douglas has already denied he said cunnilingus caused his cancer. Was his remark taken out of context? Here's what he said when asked if he regretted the years of smoking and drinking prior to the cancer, he said, “No. Because this particular cancer is caused by HPV, which actually comes from cunnilingus.”

It does sound like he's blaming oral sex. It also sounds like a nifty way to deflect attention from the abuse he's put his body through. He told a Guardian reporter his throat cancer could also be related to the stress of dealing with his drug-addicted jailbird son. Okay, so oral sex and heartache give you cancer but not smoking and drinking, two other things that go on in the mouth area? And if stress causes cancer, shouldn't we all be dead? To be fair to Mr. Douglas, he might be in denial or he could just be tired of being asked.

I wish this had led to meaningful discourse about our need to have a reason for everything and the impropriety of pushing that on an ill person who may be at the most vulnerable point in his or her life. But just knowing that anyone with a television has been subjected to repeated mentions of this story is good, too.

In his own creepy way, he's bringing attention to human papillomavirus, which is rampant and kills thousands of women each year. Vaccines exist for both sexes but few are inoculated. Prude Jesus chastity faith blah blah blah. People don't want to admit their children will have sex. There's also worry about risk of the injection itself. I don't know where this John Bircher-level bullshit comes from-- fear and love in varying measure, I suspect.

So listen up, all you Moms and Dads out there, I have all the inducement you'll ever need. If you think picturing your child having sex is bad, picture her having sex with this guy:

"It's a sexually transmitted disease that causes cancer. And if you have it,

cunnilingus is also the best cure for it."

The doctor will see you now.

Today's Special: Hot and Spicy Spam

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 21:12:00 +0000

Normally, I wouldn't make a sandwich, especially a magick one, with Spam. It's a scourge for blogs, necessitating moderation of every last comment. I used to be so happy that a reader, even one with wobbly English, had taken the time to write...and then I'd get to the sales pitch for a sex toy or an Indian escort service. (I assume rubber genitalia are easier to get through Customs.) Needless to say, the thrill is gone.

Spam emails aren't much fun, either. But this morning, I got a good one from Mr. Bongaki Khonu* who needs me "to receive $18.720M and we will discuss what we both stand to benefit." Once I have the money, what does he think he's going to get from me, the zero at the end of the millions? What's that for, anyway? What a sucker! The money "belongs to my late client who has the same last name with you." (Note to self: Change last name to Undisclosed-Recipients.) "He passed away five years ago in a boat disaster." This really hooks me. It's so vague in its specificity. It could mean anything from drowning in the bilge water on a Carnival cruise to losing a high stakes game of Battleship.

I was already planning to buy a solid gold toilet when I opened this gem, titled "Sleep with 6 girls in the next 6 days...guaranteed!" Now this is some Hot and Spicy Spam.

-----

Scientists at Harvad University have discovered a strange secret that allows you to control women's minds. And make them want to sleep with you.

Women worldwide are OUTRAGED because they trusted the scientists to use their research for good...

But instead they have discovered the secret to making women horney and attracted to you

Click Here to Discover the Secret

And then use the scientists' discoveries to get chicks into your bed.

-----

Those frigging scientists. We should have known they wouldn't use their powers for good. How else are they going to get laid...by curing world hunger? I don't think so. (And shame on you if you clicked that link. Now get back to work.)

*name changed

Sandwich Fixins #9

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Tue, 26 Mar 2013 16:30:00 +0000

When I can't stand the clutter in the fridge, I bring you another serving of sandwich fixins.

*****

What's the warranty on an exorcism?

*****

I'm sad that Hugo Chavez' body was too decomposed to be preserved and displayed like Lenin. It means no one will ever be able to break into his glass casket and dress him in crotchless panties.

*****

Why do pickles say "Refrigerate After Opening?"

*****

People who love pigeons should be forced to feed them worms and grubs. Do they just assume the birds prefer stale bread, with all those carbs and gluten? Why isn't PETA on this?

*****

Could Lois Lane get cancer from Superman's X-ray vision?

*****

If tombstones are our final caption, I'd like mine to read "Ask me about alternative medicine." Or maybe "Incurable romantic." I also like "This isn't my gum." I can't decide. Maybe I could pay people to let me carve things onto their dead loved ones' gravestones. That could work.

Fixins Archive:
Sandwich Fixins #8
Sandwich Fixins #7
Sandwich Fixins #6

Google, Come Back!

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 18:57:00 +0000

Google, why won't you call? I've tried so hard to make you love me. I study everything you want me to: Page Rank, Author Rank, Adsense, AdWords, Analytics--the list goes on and on. Yet I'm still confused. You must be nice since you like penguins and pandas. So why aren't we in Sync?

You stalked me with your Street View car and took an awful picture of me while stealing my neighbors' WiFi data. I was a little flattered, though I wish I'd had time to freshen up. Then you swore it was a rogue buddy who'd done it and taught me that without a password, we're all just asking for it. But lately I feel like I'm the only one putting any effort into this relationship.

No fooling- Google my address and you'll see me.

Are you trying to cut me off from my friends by dumping Google Reader? How long until you further isolate me by killiing Feedburner? You say I should concentrate on Google+ but how can I trust you when I never hear from Buzz anymore? And you couldn't let me have my pretty little iGoogle. Is it all about youGoogle?

What else must I do, Google? I love you and fear your displeasure. You know everything about me. Everything. So please, Google, unencrypt your heart.

Get Gorgeous with Crazy Treatments on Valentine's Day!

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 10:52:00 +0000

Welcome to Magick Sandwich, your source for all things Valentine! Since I've already listed 9 Ways to Prevent Your Own Valentine's Day Massacre and taught you to Pimp Your Vajajay for Valentine's Day!, it's time to get serious about skincare for your special day. We've got some interesting products to get through so let me start with a question, ladies. Remember what your high school boyfriend always told you? Turns out he was right. It really is good for your skin.

Get your game face on at Graceful Services where, for only $125, you'll be massaged with Spermine, a powerful antioxidant found in human sperm. The spa takes corporate accounts and does house calls. (Is that legal?) If you're feeling a bit sheepish, you can purchase a tube of the stuff online. This company which is really, truly named Bioforskning, asserts that Spermine is "the only antioxidant which is capable of penetrating the horny layer of the skin." Adolescent chuckles all around.

If you're feeling flush, hop across the pond to London's Hari's Salon for a bull sperm hair treatment. Yes, it's the real thing but don't fret: they keep it refrigerated so it's nice and fresh. Trowel that on, slap a load of Spermine on your face, then lie back and pretend you're an extra on the set of a porno flick. Tell this tale to your date and he will be snoring peacefully with a stain on his crotch by the time dessert arrives. You're welcome.

If you fancy your secretions a bit less personal, book a snail slime or bird poop facial at Townhouse Spa in NYC. Earthworm excrement-enhanced Wrinkle Butter or Heaven Bee Venom Mask (50ml for only $311.03) can be ordered from the comfort of your own home. But please refer to these things as secretions, droppings and castings. The marketing folks have worked so hard, it would be a shame to waste their diligently researched synonyms.

All this reclining under excreta may have you worried about toxins but never fear. We've broken it down for you. Animal poop: good. Your poop: bad. Now you'll need to fly back to London's EF Medispa for its Californian Colonic, perhaps inspired by the warm California sun...or just filled with bits of real Californians. One should never assume. After the normal colonic--did I just write that?--blows "unnecessary waste and toxins" through a length of tubing, wheatgrass is "directly infused into the colon." Again, hats off to the marketing department but the line must be drawn somewhere.There is no way to make the word tubing sound pleasant. Besides, colon hydrotherapy sounds suspiciously like what Sybil's mother did.

Did it suck her brain out too?

If having a juice box squeezed up your butt is not your idea of fun, go the full Gwyneth with cupping, a treatment that harkens back to the days of bile and leeches. (Leeches are still around. Demi Moore likes them, which explains her attraction to Ashton Kutcher.) Suction cups are placed all over your back and the vacuum created pulls the toxins out, frees your chi and gets your circulation going. I could do the same thing by slapping your face and taking your wallet. But maybe the hickeys you get all over your back will make you feel young. (Again, this explains a lot about Demi Moore.)

Procuring all this dewy softness can make one rather cranky. So if your date shows up stinking of Febreze with a bottle of Snooki perfume in one hand and a box of post-Hef Holly Madison candy necklaces in the other--I think I got a cold sore just writing that--slam the door and clear your schedule for some quality time with the Crave Duet Lux, described by its inventor as the iPod of vibrators.

This bad boy comes complete with a USB port that's chargeable by computer so there are no pesky cords or batteries to slow you down. And it sports a super classy gold-plated base and 16 big swinging gigabytes of memory so you can keep your treasured memories close to your, well, you know. Best of all, whatever you choose to store--photos of autumn leaves or the complete works of Ryan Gosling--Duet Lux will remember everything you tell it. And isn't that all you really want in a guy?

More innovation:
Lonely on Valentine's Day? There's an App for That

JC Saves the World! No, Not That One.

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Sat, 22 Dec 2012 21:38:00 +0000

Magick Sandwich asks the big questions like, "Who's predicting the end of the world this time?"

Last year, Harold Camping, a self-proclaimed Biblical scholar, predicted Judgment Day would begin with global natural disaster on May 21st, 2011. I immediately penned this letter to Jesus to find out what to pack for the Rapture and the logistics of getting to heaven. When I learned many of us would be left behind, I suggested ways to thrive on our doomed planet, including real estate opportunities and gainful employment caring for pets left behind by Raptured owners.

As we all know, May 21st came and went without incident. But Camping knew the reason. God had come to Earth incognito and spiritually judged us all without revealing who would be saved. God had always intended to have a spiritual Judgment Day before the physical one but felt that only the threat of physical torment would get people to take Him seriously. That God is one mean practical joker.

As Magick Sandwich reported here, God postponed the massive earthquake He'd planned for May 21st out of concern that too many would die that first day and escape the five months of hell on Earth until His big reveal, the final, physical Judgment Day scheduled for October 21st. This "soft" Rapture was convenient for Camping, who said that, since the End hadn't happened yet, he didn't need to refund any donations.

When the world woke up October 22nd, Camping could claim no divine sleight of hand. He said he'd been wrong and that he was disappointed. Disappointed to be alive? He was 89 at the time. Could this be the first known case of attempted suicide by Rapture? At his age, his dream will be coming true mighty soon. He just won't be taking the rest of us with him. And the money he never returned? I'm pretty sure he can't take that with him, either.

With the help of Urban Dictionary, we coined a term for this phenomenon: no-pocalypse. We figured we were done this End of Days thing. But soon there was a new doomsday in town: December 21, 2012. It had something to do with the Mayan calendar or maybe Nostradamus wrote it after he caught syphilis on a trip to Mexico. Who knows?

By this time, everyone's got an acute case of apocalypse fatigue. I don't think too many people have maxed out their credit cards or quit their jobs to hand out flyers warning about this one. It could be due to the Mayans themselves. They're a pretty secretive lot; I couldn't find even one to go on the record. Then I saw this movie, 2012, starring John Cusack.

He looks like he is having a very bad day, caught in a Dante-meets-North by Northwest nightmare. I'm pretty sure that smoke cloud is flipping him the bird. This is John Cusack, the adorable, eternally youthful face of a generation, whose performance in Say Anything made every girl demand romance and every guy hate him for it. His performance in Grosse Pointe Blank is under-appreciated, in my opinion, but I'm getting off-topic. My point is that this Mayan end-times prophecy must be true if John Cusack believes it.

It's December 22nd and the world didn't end. There's only one explanation: John Cusack leapt into his hot tub time machine and prevented the apocalypse. If you woke up this morning, it is only because John Cusack let you live.

Great Gifts for Alcoholics!

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Wed, 19 Dec 2012 00:13:00 +0000

Looking for a great gift for the alcoholic in your life? It can be hard to find something new for that special someone who's tasted everything from Purell to paint thinner. Take things up a notch with Magick Sandwich's guide to tasty vodkas. They're the classiest Christmas gifts yet to come with a screw top.

Chances are, you know someone who's forsaken food in favor of booze. Now, he can have both. We've discussed the joys of bacon vodka here, so let us now extol the virtues of Alaska Distillery's Smoked Salmon vodka. It's a little taste of the Pacific Northwest with what's sure to be an even more distinctive flavor on the way back up.

Smirnoff Espresso vodka is eye-opener, hair-of-the-dog and morning joe all rolled into one. Brought to you by the master of liver killing libations, Smirnoff shows mercy by disguising its usual vodka tang. The same could be accomplished with Starbucks' coffee grounds salvaged from a Dumpster. But that would be harder to wrap.

Is your buddy bloated from too much 7- Eleven wine? With its dietetic fruit flavor and implied protection from scurvy, Belvedere Pink Grapefruit vodka is an excellent choice. It shows you care about his bleeding gums but not enough to let him into your house.

For those with a sweet tooth-- though not necessarily an actual tooth-- we recommend Cupcake vodka, in flavors like Devil's Food and Frosting. Pinnacle Cotton Candy vodka, conjuring images of the county fair midway, is a yummy choice, too, unless it reminds him of the time he got turned down for a job as a carny because he was too dirty.

Your best choice of all may be Medea vodka. Though it boasts no interesting flavor, its bottle has a scrolling LED display on which you can program your most heartfelt message, such as, "We really think you should get some help." No intervention necessary!

We hope this helps with your last-minute holiday shopping. Bottoms up!

Great Gifts for Everyone on Your List!

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Sun, 16 Dec 2012 01:05:00 +0000

It's that time of year again. Are you wondering what to get for your loved ones to show you really care? Avoid the Walmart scrum and spread Christmas cheer this season with Magick Sandwich's sure-to-please holiday gift list!

First, for the friend whose dog makes sweet love to your pant leg as soon as you step in the door, we recommend Hot Doll, the first sex toy for dogs. Its legs boast a "no slide" system and its cone is made from "the same materials used by veterinarians."

Yes, the cone is exactly what you think it is and yes, it makes your vet sound kinky. It's also washable, which will make picking up dog poop a joy by comparison. Stylish in black or white, this puppy will set you back 159 euros plus shipping. Did I mention it's made in France? Of course it is.

For the aunt who wears leggings because they're "slimming" and who hasn't seen south of her own border in umpteen pounds, we suggest the Cuchini Camel Toe Solution. It fits inside her drawers to shore up her sagging nethers. Her inseam will thank you.

If you'd like to see the before and after photos, you'll have to visit the site. Showing a doggy sex toy is one thing, but we have to draw the line somewhere. Standards must be maintained. A bacon merkin, on the other hand? Good clean fun.

Distract the coworker who gets preachy about your lunch with What Would Jesus Eat?: The Ultimate Program for Eating Well, Feeling Great and Living Longer. (Spoiler alert: He's not a fan of processed white bread but He does recommend non-fat cream cheese.)

Along with its companion cookbook, no doubt straight from the savior's test kitchen, it's the perfect gift for the believer who wonders, "Are these fishes sourced locally?"

Finally, give that special someone languishing on an organ donor list the gift of a life sized plush organ from the folks at iheartguts.com.

Some of the organs available are the testicle, ovary, gallbladder, lung, prostate and spleen. Maybe while Uncle Roy clutches this adorable, festively colored plush liver, he'll think about taking better care of his next one. If he gets one. If not, you can always re-gift it to one of the other hopeless drunks in your family. Do they sell in bulk?

Well, that's all for now. Click here for more gift ideas. While you're at it, see our advice on gifts for depressed and/or lonely friends, bacon lovers and drunkards. Remember: Don't wait for their birthdays. They may be dead by then.™

More gift-giving know-how:
Great Holiday Gifts: Bacon Edition
Great Gifts for Depressed Friends!
Great Gifts for Everyone on Your List!

Naked Sandwich: World Without Wonder Bread

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Sun, 18 Nov 2012 20:41:00 +0000

When is a sandwich not a sandwich? When there's no Wonder Bread, of course. Without it, we're left with a denuded blob of pb&j lying on a plate. The Magick Sandwich is in existential crisis. What to do in a world without Wonder?

While others scramble to buy the last Twinkies on earth, I mourn the loss of the penultimate lunchtime wing man. Wonder Bread doesn't compete for attention. When I eat bologna and cheese, that's all I taste. The bread's there to keep the mustard off my hands. Wonder Bread is a delivery system for food. There's no flavor, no seeds and nuts and tree bark. I don't need to sacrifice taste to mask cold cuts as health food. I don't want to think about my bowel health while I'm eating my sandwich.

As it turns out, Hostess Brands is screwing not just its gluttonous customers, but its workforce as well. In September, having worked at reduced wages for over a decade in part due to a prior bankruptcy, employees rejected a contract that would further cut wages by 8 percent and benefits by 27 to 32 percent. A bankruptcy judge then ruled that Hostess could break the union contract and impose the cuts anyway. This also released the company from paying future pension benefits. The cuts were enforced in October.

The strike began November 9. With the union effectively broken by the judge's ruling, Hostess stated that unless workers returned by November 15, all 18,500 workers would be fired. Its collective bargaining power stripped and with hardly any time for a vote, the union did not return to work. Not only did they lose their jobs but Hostess will no longer be obligated to pay them $100 million in back pension benefits, money siphoned from the fund to keep the company afloat until it could sell its assets for the benefit of the private equity and hedge fund firms that control it. So, in a way, they financed their own demise.

So here we all are in a world without Twinkies, Wonder Bread, CupCakes, Devil Dogs, Ding Dongs, Donettes, Funny Bones, Ho Hos, Ring Dings, Sno Balls and Yodels. Well, almost. The final batches have Best By dates from now through December. eBay is replete with offerings from $1 to $10,000 for a single packet of Twinkies. (I'm pretty sure the latter is a joke listing but who knows? If Damien Hirst gets hold of one, the sky's the limit.) I've never been a big Twinkie fan. Once in a while, I get a hankering for one and eating it cures me right away.

My weakness is Hostess Cherry Pie. I've loved them since I was a kid. The filling is just perfect, never a disappointment like so many diner pie slices. They're hard to come by so I never get tired of them. Finding one in a gas station convenience store or a grocery store in the middle of nowhere always makes me a bit giddy. A little unreasonable happiness is a good thing, in my opinion, even if makes the cashier think I'm nuts. So while eBay turned into Twinkie central yesterday, I quietly acquired three cherry pies. I'm eating my last slice of Wonder toast while they wing their way to me from somewhere in Petaluma, CA.

Come to me, my darling!

I'm pretty sure Twinkies will be back eventually. Some company will snap up the formula after seeing how much fuss is being made over them. Only when it puts them into production will it realize people no longer care. I can only hope that someday I'll see BP Cherry Pie on a store shelf someday (oil slick not included). Most of all, I worry about the lawyers. What will become of the Twinkie defense?

Twinkies Maker Will Close After Strike
Judge Rips Up Union Contracts for Twinkie Makers
Hostess, maker of Twinkies and Wonder Bread, to shut down, blames striking workers

Immodest Proposal

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Mon, 17 Sep 2012 20:10:00 +0000

Here in New York, we're celebrating the official start of Mayor Bloomberg's ban on sodas larger than sixteen ounces. Restaurants are now prohibited from serving mop buckets of soda. I assume if I walk around with a two-liter bottle of soda, I won't get slapped with a ticket for open container, but who knows?

Most of us will adjust to the smaller size, never realizing that we've grown accustomed to super sizing due to the fast food industry, which creates an illusion of higher value with its seemingly generous, yet incredibly cheap, portions. The rest of us will buy two sodas, which creates more profits. McDonald's and Coca Cola aren't going to suffer, believe me.

I'd like to suggest some bans of my own to Mayor Bloomberg. Your Honor, you might need to wangle a fourth term to get all this done. But with your pushing through the pedestrian plaza in Times Square with no oversight, you can do anything.

Several states have passed a ban on smoking in a vehicle with a child. Do we not care about our youth? We need to pass this and go further. What about smoking in the back seat while the child drives? What if the child smokes?!? There's no telling what horrible things might happen that we haven't legislated against yet. Uneven application of sunscreen, momentarily forgetting to bolster the child's self-esteem, providing sugary snacks and non-educational toys? Also farting and country music, although I expect those two would be difficult to enforce.

I think we can agree mother love is a beautiful thing. No one would want to curb any expression of that wondrous miracle. That said, why not charge a corkage fee for women who breastfeed in restaurants? People who bring their own bottles of wine have to pay it. Why shouldn't the earth mother who brings her own boob (byob)? This would lead to more revenue or to fewer women exposing themselves in public. I know it's natural but so are many, many things one wouldn't want to share on the six o'clock news. Women have been doing this privately for a long time. Holster that thing or pay the price.

Speaking of birth, it's high time we regulated the placenta industry. There must be some way to tax the jerky and pills produced from dehydrating and grinding up afterbirth. It's a cottage industry in Brooklyn. January Jones claimed in April she'd been eating her placenta since giving birth last September and she's almost an actress: we need to pay attention to this trend. She must be out by now. Would she eat someone else's? Slap a label on and call it a cleanse and we're in business. Maybe we could promote it by having Alicia Silverstone chew and spit it into patrons' mouths after she's done bird feeding her kid, who must be one well-adjusted little tyke.

Finally, I think we should follow the lead of New York's Downtown Alliance, which has brought cutting edge technology to Trinity Wall Street Church. Thanks to the Alliance, the church, founded in 1697, offers free wi-fi in its graveyard, a quiet place for harried New Yorkers to check their email as they wolf down a hot dog atop the bones of Alexander Hamilton and John Jacob Astor. Mayor Bloomberg, I urge you to install wi-fi in all city cemeteries. Let's face it, it's the only way we're going to get our children to visit.

I'm Radioactive

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Tue, 03 Jul 2012 02:38:00 +0000

On Friday I had a radioactive seed implanted to mark the exact site of my breast tumor. The isotope is Iodine 125 with a strength of .13 millicuries. Though Marie Curie was a pioneer in radiation research, she died as a result of long-term exposure. It's silly, I know, but the use of her name in dosage measurements doesn't give me a warm fuzzy feeling. She died in 1934 and even her cookbooks are still kept in lead-lined boxes and can't be handled without protective clothing. It's a shame, too, because I've been looking for a good banana bread recipe.

Before it was injected, it was checked with a Geiger counter. The meter looked the same as ones in old Civil Defense films during the duck-and-cover, build-a-bomb-shelter-in-your-backyard era. As if the contrast to the high-tech equipment in the room weren't enough, the clicking noise sounded like the reading of radioactive coconuts on a show about Bikini Atoll I watched recently.

So I'm radioactive. Which reminds me of this song from the 80s:

The post-implantation instructions were interesting. I had to minimize contact with young children where the seed was implanted. If the seed dislodged, I needed to use a piece of tape or tweezers to pick it up and store it in a remote location such as a cabinet or closet and call the Radiation Safety Office immediately. So, inside boob: good. Outside boob: call the hazmat team. Iodine 125 has a half-life of 59 days but it will be taken out tomorrow morning during surgery. Today, I had contrast dye injected. This will help my surgeon locate the lymph nodes she wants to take out. The dye contains technetium 99. This stuff is a gamma ray emitter. Woot! Bruce Banner time!

More technetium, with a blue dye added, will be injected during surgery. So I'll have Smurf pee for a day or two. I know I sound like I'm freaking out but really, truly, I know that without all these things, the tests and dyes and machines and doctors who use them, my prognosis might not be so good. All these things have saved many people and undoubtedly will save many more. That said, I want to leave you with one factino I learned about technetium 99. It's reported to be dose equivalent to 500 chest X-rays. And that reminded me of this scene from Repo Man.

"Radiation. Yes, indeed. You hear the most outrageous lies about it. Half-baked goggle-boxed do-gooders telling everyone it's bad for you. Pernicious nonsense! Everybody could stand a hundred X-rays a year. They ought to have them, too."

That's just how my brain works, people. See you on the other side!

Tales from the Waiting Room

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Sun, 01 Jul 2012 00:20:00 +0000

First one mammogram, then another mammogram plus ultrasound, then biopsies. That's how I spent the last two weeks of May. I got to know the radiology office better than I'd ever wanted to. On June 1st, I received my diagnosis of breast cancer. I needed an MRI to look for more tumors but couldn't schedule it until it was pre-authorized by my insurance company.

Once United Healthcare was sufficiently convinced that a malignancy justified further diagnostic testing, I had the MRI done on June 6th. Then I got a call that I needed a second MRI. The first had "lit up" as if there were multiple growths on both sides but they were pretty confident this was due to hormones and the images would be "quieter" the following week. I hoped so, since my mother had a bilateral mastectomy 5 years ago for multiple tumors.

On June 12th, I found myself once again in the same waiting room. As before it was nearly full of people, mostly women, in some stage of fear, worry or, worst of all, resignation. Some were drinking contrast dye from a cooler marked DO NOT DRINK. From their involuntary cries of disgust, I gleaned it might be the same barium I drank for a G.I. test 18 years ago. It tasted like moldy drywall. This begs the question: with all the advances being made in technology, including the digitally assisted mammography that caught my cancer early, why can't someone make a contrast solution that tastes better?

While I waited to take the test that would tell me if I had a little cancer or a lot, a story came on the wall-mounted TV. A guy writing a book called Kindness in America had been shot. Was this a joke? It continued: he was hitchhiking across the U.S. and gathering stories for his memoir about the kindness of Americans when a drunk man in Montana rolled down the window of his truck and shot him. For no reason.

I confess, I cracked up. In my defense, the guy was only hit in the arm and is fine. Getting shot would definitely help him get a book deal. He'd need to find a way to turn it into a positive experience. He had certainly cheered me up in a rather grim setting. *Update- It now appears the guy shot himself to get publicity. Perhaps he was affording emergency room staff the opportunity to display kindness by treating him?*

Back on planet Waiting Room, my name is called. The nurse recognizes me and helps me with the sticky safe lock in the changing room, the phlebotomist remembers which vein she stuck the needle in for the contrast-dye IV catheter (no taste, yay!) and the doctor remembers the classic rock radio station (104.3) I favor from last time.

I ask him if people freak out about MRIs because of House. He says, "All the time." He watched an episode once and green sparks were flying out. He can't watch it because it's so inaccurate and it's too bad because he hears it's a good show. I tell him the show's over and people were always having seizures during MRIs and someone vomited blood in almost every episode so maybe he hasn't missed much. He puts the headphones on me and as the bed rolls me inside, the radio plays Pink Floyd's Welcome to the Machine. Perfect.

Good News. Really.

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Sat, 16 Jun 2012 21:30:00 +0000

A couple weeks ago, I got the news that, like one in eight women in America, I have breast cancer. Thanks to digital mammography and excellent doctors, I'm going to be fine. You're not going to get rid of me that easily.

Considering my posts about vaginas and fart filters, it's strange that I find this difficult to discuss. Writing about a breast shouldn't make me feel shy. In this case, though, I am the owner of the body part that's gone on the fritz. I have a titanium clip in there, soon to be joined by a radioactive seed for precise tumor location. I've dubbed it Robo-boob.

I wasn't going to address this at all since I write an allegedly humorous blog and this tends to be pretty dramatic stuff. But here goes. I'm going to have a lumpectomy on July 3rd. (Thieves be warned. My house is staffed with attack cats.) If the excision has clear margins, meaning the entire growth has been removed, I will begin radiation a month later.

I'm not very worried about the surgery. I'll be having "twilight sleep"--the good stuff that Michael Jackson favored. I have been assured that, unlike Michael, I will continue breathing on my own. The idea of radiation is scarier to me. Luckily, it's not the kind that will turn me into Godzilla, the Hulk or a giant spider. Phew.

Unfortunately, my insurance won't cover a scooter. No handicapped parking either. I did get a binder from Mt. Sinai Hospital to keep track of appointments, post-op instructions etc. But I saw some women walking around with reusable grocery bags emblazoned with the pink ribbon on them, so I'm hoping for more swag. Gotta find a silver lining to this thing.

I know that prayer is a comfort to people and makes them feel less powerless. But when someone says, "I'm praying for you," what I hear is, "You are so screwed that only a deity you don't believe in can save you now." As far as I'm concerned, everyone except my surgeon is helpless in this situation. There will no Tebowing in the OR, let's put it that way--at least while I'm awake.

A proliferation of cancerous cells will not result in a conversion experience for me. That seems like a faulty basis on which to start (or stop) believing. So, while I love my Christian friends for caring, I respectfully ask them to understand it does not make me feel better to hear about it and to please keep it to themselves. Surely I can't be the first person to feel this way?

I'd like to address a few popular sayings/beliefs trotted out regarding cancer.

Everything happens for a reason. Yes, the reason is cancer. Is it because I paid the gas bill late or didn't send a Christmas card?

[She] is fighting a battle with cancer. My chest is not a war zone. I prefer to say I'm having a slap fight with cancer. Sounds less ominous and it's a nice visual, too.

Here's an email from Johns Hopkins about breast cancer. It's a hoax that's been circulating since 2008. The person who wrote this should be flogged.

This [alternative therapy] really works. Ever meet someone who cured cancer by drinking his own pee? Probably not. Want to talk to Steve Jobs about the miracle macrobiotic cure he did for months before agreeing to conventional treatment? Oh, that's right, you can't: he's dead.

I should point out that I am not saying I'm an expert. Having cancer doesn't make you an expert any more than having your driver's license makes you a Formula One racer. But I don't think I'm so unique that no one else has had these thoughts. Bullshit artists like Louise Hay have made a lot of money getting people to think they have all the answers, which brings me to my final thought for those who would easily pass judgment on someone like me:

Negativity causes cancer. If you believe that, why don't you have cancer, too?

Radiant Tampons: Product of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 23:15:00 +0000

I've seen some odd stuff--everything from scrotal wash to anal bleach--but never at my local pharmacy. So when Tampax Radiant Tampons turned up at Walgreen's, it piqued my interest. I found this description on the Tampax website:

"New Tampax Radiant tampons give you an ultimate protection experience like never before!"

Radiant? Does it double as a flashlight? Is it a nuclear energy source? Does it glow in the dark? I have to admit, that could come in handy during a blackout. Or a rave.

"The Radiant tampon features FormFit™ protection that gently expands to fit your unique shape...."

I've always assumed that all vaginas are fairly similar. How unique can they be? Square, rhomboid? Surely not fractal?! I don't know how we've survived all these years without this bespoke tampon. I am also glad to read that it "gently expands." We've all had too many of those things going off like airbags up there. Am I right, ladies?

"...a LeakGuard™ braid to help stop leaks before they happen..."

This just seems like a waste of perfectly good extensions.

"...a CleanSeal™ wrapper—the first ever re-sealable wrapper for worry-free disposal..."

Why would we worry? Are we in space, trash floating free in the capsule? Training a cadaver-sniffing canine unit? Camping in bear country? Trying to hide our preoperative female-to-male gender reassignment from friends? (We know who we are.)

"...and a CleanGrip™ applicator designed for incredible comfort."

This is definitely preferable to DirtyGrip™ or GreasyGrip™ (which are probably already on the market as lube). It sounds a bit like ad copy for a Brookstone personal massager. Still, I'm sure that Tampax has done a lot of research into this truly new and different product and hasn't just had its marketing department come up with new and different words to sell the same old thing.

So when the woman in the stall next to you breaks into song and yells, "I'm incredibly comfortable!" you'll know she has a Tampax Radiant tampon to thank.

But you still may want to alert the authorities.

More dirty business:
Flat-D: Product of the Week
Magick Monday Manscaping
Pimp Your Vajajay for Valentine's Day!
Scrotal Deodorant Wash: Product of the Week

Clarity Costs Extra

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Sun, 04 Mar 2012 00:34:00 +0000

I've been trying to figure out how, despite unlimited this and family plan that, my cell phone
bill is so high. Did I sign up to fund a bridge to nowhere project in my sleep? How did my cell phone turn into a handheld perpetual debt machine? Naturally, I suspected sorcery but logged onto att.com just in case there might be an earthly cause. Then I saw this.

Lord knows, I'm in favor of limiting parental controls. (Who do they think they are?) But what about that second thing, "Detailed Billing"? Could it be that the invoice I receive each month does not represent AT&T's best effort to convey the value of its services? Perhaps, but I required further information. Luckily, getting to the detail within the detail cost only a click.

As paying customers, we're entitled to thorough, comprehensible billing and communications, aren't we? It seems nothing is implicit in a world where basic clarity is commoditized. AT&T has the wherewithal to generate a better, easily understood bill for every customer. Instead it sends out a statement it knows to be inferior by its own standard. Why? All we've done is pay every penny of our bills. Don't we deserve better? Not if companies can get us to pay for the privilege.

I still don't know why my cellphone bill is so high. I don't think "Detailed Billing" would have helped me figure it out, anyway. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find out why my nav system only speaks Urdu.

Lonely on Valentine's Day? There's an App for That

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 17:56:00 +0000

It's Valentine's Day again, when lonely souls search for a good time. Now they can look no further than their iPhones with the OhMiBod Remote app, available on iTunes. This breakthrough for the hands free onanist allows one to operate one's vibrator remotely.

Designed for touch screen control, the app also works with the iPad and iPod touch. A tap on the screen accesses five preloaded settings, including "Ooh I like!" and the mysterious "Fire Alarm." For a more personalized experience, OhMiBod can direct the massager to pulsate with the beat of one's favorite songs, perhaps causing bass-heavy rock bands to edge out, say, Moby, on one's playlist.

Of course, this remote can be used by couples as well. What boyfriend wouldn't want to take a break from playing Angry Birds to pleasure his woman while watching porn and indulging in low tech masturbation in another room?

Steve Jobs would be so proud.

More to love:
Pimp Your Vajajay for Valentine's Day!
9 Ways to Prevent Your Own Valentine's Day Massacre

My New Rehab: Opening Soon!

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 23:42:00 +0000

I used to think that there were only three foolproof jobs in the world: weatherman, umbrella salesman and pantyhose manufacturer. A "meteorologist" can be wrong much of the time and not get fired. The other two sell products whose planned obsolescence is so quick it almost precedes purchase. No one expects an apology or reimbursement or innovation. Repeat customers happily come back for more. Failure is its own reward. What could be better?

One word: rehab. Exhaustion, racism, anti-Semitism? Rehab! Relapse, overdose, suicide? What doesn't get blamed? Rehab! Dr. Drew Pinsky fails more than 75 percent of the time and he's got three shows. Catch him on CNN giving expert commentary on the death of Whitney Houston. I'm not kidding. If there's is a downside to the rehab business, I can't see it. Some say AA is a cult--if so, it's a lousy one, since it doesn't turn a profit. That's why I'm opening the Magick Sandwich Full Service Rehab and Grill, accepting applications now.

I'm sure some of the more pampered crackheads will be expecting entertainment and plush accommodations. High thread count sheets and bottled water will be provided. In the spirit of tough love, however, no equine therapy will be available, despite its popularity at many resort-habs. Hazelden, a pioneer in the "life is better when you're not drunk and/or stoned" industry, recommends it for clients who tend to over-intellectualize.

Many patients have avoided feeling emotions for so long that they don't know how to anymore. Through working with horses, feelings of fear, anger, resentment, sadness, loneliness, joy and peace are brought to surface.

How about anger and resentment that they're stars and they've paid good money to muck a stable...in Minnesota? And while these four-legged psychiatrists are great listeners, phone sessions with them tend to be one-sided. What is a celebrity who can't cart around his trusty steed in case of the odd jones to do?

At my new rehab, I've considered the practicalities. That's why I'm proud to introduce Goldfish-Assisted Therapy.™ "Horses are typically non-judgmental," according to one rehab, and "have no preconceived expectations or motives." Typically? I can say with certainty that every goldfish is non-judgmental, unbiased in every way. Plus they're portable. They can come along for moral support to parties where hooves are prohibited. They can be transported in the rectum or swallowed in case of cavity search, although this may result in premature fish death. Luckily, they're easy to replace. No one expects them to last.

In anticipation of my rehab's success, I hereby announce the Magick Sandwich Sober Coach Certification Program, featuring my revolutionary "Put It Down, Charlie!" treatment method. All major credit cards accepted.

***No Mr. Ed, happy horseshit, Black Beauty, Trigger or horse pun was harmed in the making of this blog post.***

Spam Superstar 2011

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 13:22:00 +0000

I tend to get a lot of spam comments on Magick Mini Movie Review: Bad Lieutenant. Apparently, "harvey keitel penis" is a popular Google search. Though the most interesting commenter this year was Call Girls in Mumbai--I clicked it and it does appear to be a website advertising Indian prostitutes--Anonymous' critique of Uggs (now stripped of its links to online sales of same) has the distinction of being the Best Spam I've Gotten This Year. Spam is a terrible thing, I know, but I hope you'll agree, this is a thing of beauty.

*****

Uggs plus the Individuals Who Don Them

The weather conditions is just not a element when it comes to fashion i've discovered. And these Uggs or what i like to call :"moon boots" appear to present up no matter temperature. I've seen them with the spring fashioned with skirts, or inside the winter tucked into sweat pants. They are truly feel are only worn due to the fad vogue.

They have got seemingly popped up just about everywhere, i do not just affiliate them with the trendy girls i see, strolling about malls. These are worn by preteens, and even a number of mom's who no one has the heart to say definitely shouldn't be sporting them. Unless i'm mistaken, and they take place to get quite possibly the most relaxed parts of foot apparel to the current market. Or have females all fallen underneath a consumer cult mentality.

For my part, and i want to pressure that its my impression, and never which they actually seem ridiculous. I wouldn't brain it if when worn, say with pants where the pants are pulled in excess of the Uggs boots that would be fine. But this is not the situation. Ladies go out of their method to tuck them into their pants concerning show off the boots. They have no style and design to them its simply just a substantial boot that may be reminiscent of rubber rain boots, whom no person would be caught lifeless donning.

Are we so vulnerable to Hollywood, publications and media that individuals will dress in everything? Where by does it stop? I might like to have females remark to me and explain to me uncomplicated they bought it because they enjoy the comfort and ease and heat that they obtain, and that its an excellent wanting boot/shoe/hybrid piece of vogue.

For my part within the close to distant long run, all people that personal them will likely be ashamed which they ever wore them. Precisely the same way many of us experience era to era with vogue fads. Many of us share similar "oh jeez" response a person might have when seeing or referring to "bell bottoms." The topic is always an awesome conversation with mothers and fathers or persons from distinctive decades to discuss their vogue goof ups.

I desired to carry consideration to this fashion wonder or in my eyes blunder, as i am in disgust once i see a pair of Uggs strolling my way. I jump for the conclusion which the lady who has them can be a Esq persona. 1 who's spoiled, contains a pair of Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses, normally has her hair died, and trimmed and certainly not walks out of the house without a miniature model of what utilized to be a pet dog. The type who would never be caught dead exterior the home without, a manicure, or am i erroneous?

*****

Help! I've fallen underneath a consumer cult mentality and I can't get up. I know I shouldn't brain it or go out of my method, but my hair died and my eyes blunder. I want to pressure it is my opinion, all people that personal them should not be caught lifeless donning them...or am i erroneous?

Christmas Gifting 101: A Visual Aid

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 13:50:00 +0000

You're in that mad, last minute scramble to find a present for that special someone. When it comes to gift-giving, a scarf is always a safe choice, right? Not always. Behold:

In your frenzy to get out of the store, don't forget to pay attention to what you're buying. Unless she wants to look like her nipples sucked a lemon or saw their own shadow and retreated for six more weeks of winter, put this back on the clearance pile. If she's into that sort of thing, go ahead and get it. I'm sure Freud would have an opinion on this. But he's dead and anyway, sometimes a scarf is just a scarf.

Last Minute Gifts: Wine Warning

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 16:21:00 +0000

Over here at Magick Sandwich, we've finished our Christmas shopping. Since we never stop spending on ourselves, it's really just shopping with the holidays as a convenient cover story. Much like an alcoholic who rationalizes drinking on special occasions, for a shopper every day is a special occasion.

Speaking of addiction and Christmas, you might be thinking of giving the last-minute gift of a bottle of vino. After all, Jesus, guest of honor, turned water into wine. Since you can't, you'll need a credit card and a little help from FedEx.

With only four days till Christmas, you need to make haste. But take a moment to learn about the art of wine shipping. Did you know there are certain states that do not allow it? Montana, South Dakota, Massachusetts and Pennsylvania are a few.

The grape of wrath?

The "dry state" of Utah I can understand, although I've known quite a few Mormon drunkards, believe you me. But New Jersey? Why would it deny its citizens a bit of relief? Luckily, you can help fight this injustice at freethegrapes.org, a national grass roots coalition of wine lovers, wineries and retailers fighting the powerful wine wholesalers' lobby. Those bastards!

Don't get sidetracked by this cause, worthy though it may be. For now, you need to concentrate on your wino friends who live in one of the 39 states protected by direct shipping legislation. There are many distributors online, some of whom will package bottles nicely so as to remind your recipient of its heart-healthy benefits while de-emphasizing its cirrhotic effects on the liver.

When choosing your gift, don't forget to read the fine print. I was perusing wine.woot.com this morning and saw a 2 pack of 2003 Keller Estate Sparkling Brut. How can you go wrong with a 2 pack? So classy and only $49.99. But then I saw this:

What? Am I supposed to call Glenn and tell him to stay sober all day so he can sign for the package? His inability to do so only proves that this is the perfect gift for him! What if Nancy's been huffing paint? Will the FedEx guy be able to tell the difference between high and drunk? What qualifies him to judge? This is human-rights abuse, pure and simple.

Looks like it's going to be another year of clean piss in Christmas mugs for my parolee friends and festively wrapped syringes for the junkies. Maybe you're thinking I should get a better class of friends but it isn't easy to find people happy to get cheap wine. When everything you drink has a screw top, you appreciate a good cork now and then.

More gift ideas:
Great Holiday Gifts: Bacon Edition
Great Gifts for Everyone on Your List!

Xmas Re-Gift: Manger Danger!

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 15:03:00 +0000

Pittstown, DE--Is your neighborhood nativity scene safe? Sadly, the answer was no for the Davis family, whose three year old daughter, Mensa, was injured last night when a faulty manger toppled onto the youngster.

"We were in the town square videotaping her throwing rocks at squirrels," her father read from a prepared statement at a press conference this morning. "It's good for her hand-eye coordination. Then she started to climb up the manger wall. One moment her mother and I were laughing and clapping, the next, tragedy struck. It is unconscionable that the city did not properly anchor the manger to the ground. How could they do that to my little girl?"

Reached by phone, Mensa's mother stated, "If she doesn't come out of the coma soon, she'll lose her spot at Branstone preschool. Her life will be ruined!" She added, "They're going to pay for this!" before hanging up, overcome with emotion.

Savior Sold Industries, manufacturer of the nativity scene, is expected to release a statement later today. This is not the first time the company has had a problem with a defective product. In 2007, it voluntarily recalled its Sweet Jesus Jumbo Tabletop Candy Crèche after a Pekingese choked to death on a piece of myrrh.

In related news, a Wise Man was attacked on December 6th in Baye Village, Ohio. DNA evidence is pending. Local registered sex offenders are being questioned. The manger's owner, Jerry Smith, has removed the display from his lawn and says it will remain deflated until further notice.

Meanwhile, a church group in Iowa continues its efforts to make peeing on the baby Jesus a felony.

Great Holiday Gift Ideas: Bacon Edition

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 22:58:00 +0000

At Magick Sandwich, we like a nice BLT. Minus the L and T, of course. We also know it makes an awesome gift. Surprise your loved ones with the gift that keeps on giving, all the way from tastiness to heartburn to deadly plaque buildup: bacon.

Heard of heirloom tomatoes? Kids' stuff. The Pig's Heirloom Bacon Club will ship your loved ones a different "delicious artisan bacon made from heritage pork" each month, selected by professional bacon connoisseurs. That's an intriguing career choice. There's probably significant turnover considering the occupational hazard of coronary artery disease. But what a way to go, huh?

From atherosclerosis to cirrhosis, bacon has you covered. This Christmas, gather 'round the tree for a festive eyeopener. Friends and family will love the carnivorous cocktails you whip up with Bakon Vodka. (Because you can't trademark Bacon.) Top them off with Demitri's Bloody Mary Rim Salt. Bacon. Salt. Bacon salt. Did you just hear angels sing? I did, but that could be my blood pressure medication wearing off.

Time for some inventive foods to soak up all that booze. Pancake and bacon cookies are a fuss-free alternative to a traditional breakfast. Set out a basket of blueberry bacon muffins, a bowl of pork candy, wash it all down with a tall glass of bacon soda or a steaming hot cup of Maple Bacon Morning coffee, and you've got a feast your guests won't soon forget. In fact, they may not let you have Christmas at your house again. Ever. You're welcome, bacon would say if it could talk, but it can't because its head was cut off.

This is what pork candy looks like.

But what to do later? If you happen to be in New York City, you're in luck. Head to Fatty 'Cue in the West Village for its famous half pound orders of deep-fried bacon. Your guests will think they've died and gone to heaven. Or they might just die. Honestly, the pig leg handle on the front door cannot be a good sign.

It's so literal.

Finally, for the oddball in the family--we all have one--who lives in the woods, braids his own ear hair and has a statue of Jesus made entirely of toenail clippings, we suggest Tactical Bacon. It's fully cooked bacon in a can with a 10+ year shelf life so poor old Uncle Mudge will have rations to last him through that zombie apocalypse he's always muttering about.


Directions: Open Can. Receive Bacon.

Conveniently, CMGG Inc, purveyor of Tactical Bacon, also sells firearms. Nothing goes with bacon like a 16" M300 AAC Blackout Rifle with Pistol Gas System. The next time you're online shopping for canned breakfast meat, take a look at the armaments. You might want to stock up, you know, just in case Uncle Mudge is right about that whole zombie thing.

More gift ideas:
Great Gifts for Depressed Friends!
Great Gifts for Everyone on Your List!

3 Haunted Hotels for Halloween Night

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 20:38:00 +0000

I recently stayed in Room 35 of the Irma Hotel in Cody, Wyoming. Prior guests reported lights going on and off, being touched by an unseen hand, etc. Some claimed they saw the ghost of a Civil War soldier in dress uniform--but only half of him! Creepy. I didn't get to find out which half. It occurred to me the next morning that, had I seen a ghost, I would have had to change my entire belief system. So it was probably a good thing nothing happened.

But staying in a "haunted" room got me wondering what other scary places might be out there, waiting for a skeptic like me. You know, the one who laughs at her cringing friend as she opens a door and gets an axe in her head. These three places fit the bill and would make for unsettling lodging even without the promise of paranormal activity.

*****

At the top of my list is the Lizzie Borden House in Fall River, Massachusetts. I remember skipping rope to this rhyme:

Lizzie Borden took an axe

And gave her mother forty whacks.

When she saw what she had done

She gave her father forty-one.

According to Wikipedia, "In reality Lizzie's stepmother suffered 18 or 19 blows and her father just 11 blows." Still effective, but not as catchy. (A child reciting a ditty about parricide in this day and age would be whisked away to specialists, medicated and denied cutlery till she left for college.)

The house is now a bed and breakfast. Cuddle up on the sofa in the sitting room where Lizzy's father met his end. Take a nap in the John Morse guestroom, where Lizzie's stepmother was discovered. Play CSI, bring your Luminol and look for any blood that might have been missed. Of course, they've cleaned up the place since then but hatchet deaths are pretty messy....

Or stay in Lizzie's room. She continued to live at home after her acquittal but, shunned by the locals, I imagine she didn't get many trick-or-treaters at her door. It's worth noting that tours are conducted every day through most of the rooms. If you sleep in, it would be wise not to do so in the nude. You will be part of the show.

Why not wake early, hide your unmentionables and head downstairs for breakfast? You'll be treated to the same meal that Abby and Andrew enjoyed before being hacked to death: bananas, sugar cookies and jonny-cakes, flatbread made of cornmeal. Yum.

If it seems like the owners are cashing in on a gruesome double murder, it's because they are. They're in the process now of setting up the Ghost Cam Project, in which online subscribers pay to conduct "paranormal investigations" over web cams placed in the guest rooms. Hopefully, this will only go on when there are no corporeal guests in them.

*****

Next up is Marshall House, the oldest hotel in Savannah, Georgia.

This is a popular one. Even Fox News recommended it as a Halloween getaway. The website mentions that it was built in 1851, served as a hospital for Civil War soldiers and later for victims of yellow fever. That alone might make it a repository of ghosts.

It's also quite posh and doesn't have shared bathrooms, web cams or tours popping in, unlike the Borden B&B. It's a nice place to kick back, enjoy some room service and order up a scary movie on pay-per-view.

Guests have claimed to hear children's laughter in empty hallways or woken up feeling pressure on their wrists as if someone is taking their pulse. That's nothing compared to what actually happened. During renovation, workers found the bones of amputated limbs hidden underneath the floorboards and in the back yard. Eek, am I right? I guarantee you will not find that in the promotional literature.

*****

This last place qualifies as a hotel only because you can rent a room there. Or, more specifically, a cell. Karosta Prison in Latvia was built in 1900 and functioned as a military detention and torture center until 1997. Officers held here included tsarists, enemies of Stalin and deserters from the German Wehrmacht.

For only $16.00, "spend the night in a prison which is considered to be even more impressive than the Alcatraz in the USA, to sleep on a prison bunk or an iron bed, and to have a prison meal." Better than Alcatraz? Fancy!

If that sounds a little tame, book the Extreme Night. It'll cost you a little more, but for less than $25.00, you'll be treated as a prisoner all night--once you sign the waiver, of course. There are special rates for schoolchildren and seniors. They also do weddings. No, I'm not kidding.

Did I mention it's haunted?

Apocalypse No?

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 21:00:00 +0000

Here at Magick Sandwich, we enjoy a bit of name-calling as much as the next guy. Back at the end of May, when it appeared the Rapture hadn't happened, we wracked our brains to come up with a term that would adequately define the non-event.

In order to share our results with the world--and to try to look clever--we rushed off our newly minted moniker to the folks at Urban Dictionary. Then we waited. And waited. In the intervening months, we learned from that lovable old coot and Nostradamus wannabe, Harold Camping, that the Rapture had indeed happened and God had already chosen his flock.

But He'd postponed their ascension and withheld the results. Did He do it out of concern for his faithful getting motion sick on the flight up to Heaven or was He just toying with them? Either way, it's helped Camping keep hope for death alive while filling his coffers. Camping's followers continue to give, though some must have the queasy feeling of spending one's life savings on a lottery ticket.

According to Harold, the world will end today. He's got a pretty bad track record thus far. I'm sure it's just a simple computational error. Or he could be batshit crazy. If tomorrow comes, we'll need a new noun to suit the occasion. We humbly submit our sobriquet, published just in the nick of time: no-pocalypse. This occurs when Judgment Day passes without incident. For example: I wish I could go to your no-pocalypse party but since the Rapture didn't happen, I have to do my homework. Bummer!

Of course, the most interesting words will be whatever Harold Camping is saying tomorrow. Stay tuned!

More from me:
Apocal-Update
Jesus is Coming Soon. Really, Really Soon.
3 Ways to Survive and Thrive on Judgment Day

Apocal-Update

noreply@blogger.com (kathcom) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 18:46:00 +0000

They're back!

It's that time again: the End of Days. Seriously, they really mean it this time.

To be fair, the date the world will end hasn't changed. It's the Rapture that was a little confusing. Remember when Harold Camping--an old geezer who, inexplicably, people pay attention to--said the Rapture would happen on May 21st, 2011? You know, it was the day that God's chosen ones would be whisked up to Heaven and dine on honeydew while the rest of us writhed in agony on an earth beset by fire, earthquakes, floods and general mayhem. Quite a few of those things have happened this year, though not with the gusto Camping predicted. The first problem he faced on May 22nd, 2011 was the fact that we were all still here, heretics and believers alike. But he cleared it all up two days later on Family Radio.

The Bible tells us that Christ has no pleasure in the death of the wicked. God is a very compassionate God and while the law of God demands that there has to be punishment, it does not mean God is going to punish, and punish, and punish, and punish.

So the Man Upstairs is going to have mercy and compress all the suffering of the Rapture and end of the world into one day. He delayed the Rapture earthquake because He realized most of the damned wouldn't survive it and He wanted to make sure they all lived until the big reveal: the earth exploding in a fiery ball of doom! Maybe it could more properly be called End of Day? I imagine it will be like standing on the Death Star when Luke takes his shot.

Camping's followers spent their life savings and quit their jobs to travel around the country warning us to repent. They bought billboard space and festooned their front yards with signs. They marched around with colorful informational placards, handed out flyers, yelled at their neighbors. All about one specific date: May 21st, 2011.

And this was their thanks? A compassionate God? Many felt they'd been conned by the Almighty. After all their effort, they were still here, having to cope with their massive debt, their average kids, their crafting rooms bulging with unfinished scrapbooking projects. They'd need to refill that blood pressure/diabetes/high cholesterol medication they'd let lapse. How had this happened?

Luckily, Camping has an answer for them, too. God did come down to earth May 21st. But He did it quietly. So it was more of a soft Rapture, I guess. It was spiritual rather than physical, according to Camping. So those He marked for salvation that day didn't know it. Why? Camping says it's because if God had let people know it was a spiritual judgment, then "no one would have taken notice or feared God." Only because May 21st was declared as a physical Judgment Day did the world take notice.

Not to quibble with a prophet, but two things about this bother me. First of all, wouldn't anyone who was worthy have taken notice without the threat of violence? Wouldn't a spiritual judgment be enough? Is God trying to trick people into taking Him seriously? He sounds pretty insecure. Second, why would He continue to withhold knowledge of who is saved? Is He messing with the chosen or giving the rest of us false hope?

As for Camping, he told his followers to stop trying to save others after May 21st. Since judgment had already happened, that would be useless. He said his goal until October 21st was to "feed my sheep." Apparently, there are millions who've unwittingly been saved and need his teachings. How can Camping do this when no one knows who is worthy? Writing him a check might help him divine an answer for you. And make it as big as you want. If the world ends, who's going to cash it?

More:
3 Ways to Survive and Thrive on Judgment Day
Jesus is Coming Soon. Really, Really Soon.

Still more:
Harold Camping Quits Evangelism, Focuses Only On the Saved - Christian Post
Family Radio Redesigns Website with No Mention of Rapture - Business Insider
Rapture: Harold Camping issues New apocalypse date - BBC News

Magick Sandwich

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