Genius!

When I first saw this commercial (while drunk eating last Saturday at 4am) I was appalled.

“WTF?” I screamed, spitting a chunk of cheese onto my rug. “What kind of country do we live in where we need an invention to make our pants bigger to fit our fat asses?”

Then I realized I was talking to myself and, as I looked down at my own pants (that had left a deep red mark around my entire waist and were now unbuttoned as I sat on the floor housing a pizza), realized that maybe this isn’t so WTF after all. In fact, it might be the best invention for drunk-eating college kids since Facebook and Easy Mac!

I guess the only WTF thing about The Perfect Fit Button is that, WTF, why didn’t I think of this myself?

Yup, they’ve thought of it. The toilet seat scale. In case you don’t have time to stand up and wait about three seconds for your weight to show up. You can kill two birds with one stone by checking your weight and peeing out your recommended eight daily glasses of water at the same time. And everyone knows, we Americans love to multi-task.

That was my initial reaction to the news of the toilet seat scale.

But then I got to reading about the inspirations for the TSS.  Poor, naive, non-toilet-humor sharing little me didn’t consider the fact that this was actually created for consumers who might want to see how much weight they lose each time they relieve themselves.  It makes sense, but I’m a bit uncomfortable with that.  Sure, there are times when I’m at a seedy bar and refuse to risk getting the clap from the bathroom stall, and wait to get home to piss out approximately three gallons of beer.  And there are times when I indulge in some Olive Garden or Taco Bell and some unladylike shizz goes down in the bathroom.  It doesn’t help that I tend to get bladder (and bowel)-shy around people I don’t know and have to hold it for long periods at times, and at the end of those excruciating intervals, yes, I feel like I’ve lost about five pounds.

But do I actually want to know?  I don’t think that’s necessary.  Besides, one of the criticisms of the TSS is that it’s an open invitation to struggling bulimics.  Can you imagine that locker room convo? “I just puked up three pounds of Sushi.  You?”  Gross.

So, if its a convenience factor, I say bring it on.  Build a scale into the tiles immediately in front of my bathroom sink so I can check my weight at a glance while I brush my teeth.  But I’m perfectly content to refrain from monitoring how much skinnier I become after taking a massive dump, and I certainly don’t want to find out that when I “drop the kids at the pool,” I’m talking about quintuplets.

My personal consumer’s conclusion? Thanks, but no thanks, Toilet Seat Scale.

I would like to preface this letter by saying that your work has made a large yet incredibly skimpy contribution to my adolescent years. And while I do believe in the nobleness of your cause, I am rather puzzled by the method to the madness of such an invention. As I hold up the tiny piece of fabric that is my underwear, several questions come to mind, such as:

• Which came first: The thong, or “The Thong Song”?

The first time I heard the thong song, I was 11-years-old. Try explaining to a sixth grader, still under-clad with flower-print Hanes grannie panties, the concept of a thong. Watching a leprechaun of a man do cartwheels on the beach doesn’t really do that good of a job of explaining the exact science behind the thong. In fact, I’m pretty sure I thought he was singing about summertime footwear up until 2001, when I realized I needed to wear this contraption to be socially acceptable.

• Where the devil did you get this genius idea?

Was it a public service project? Did you see one too many VPLs (Visible Panty Lines, for you not-in-the-knows) and proclaim “I’ve had it! I’m inventing buttless underwear!” To you, Mr. Thong Inventor, going commando just wasn’t an option. Now that point I can understand, as I probably have not washed my jeans since the opening night of “Sex and the City.” And who really likes walking around with that “I’m wearing the pant equivalent of dirty underwear” feeling all day? Yeah, neither do I. So really, Mr. T.I, you were the answer to my laundry-lazy, VPL-phobic prayers.

• How the hell did you get it to catch on?

No seriously. It takes pure skill to get a woman to try on a permanent wedgie, let alone make it a long lasting trend in the sexy lingerie industry. Think about it: it’s a tiny scrap of cotton, satin, silk, or pearls (hey, I dunno what kinda stuff you’re into…) that is designed to chill between your butt cheeks all day. But women still go crazy for them! They even tease other women that don’t wear their underwear up their ass.

I remember my friend Emilie was the first of our 8th grade “group” to wear a thong. She finally caved in after much ridicule from her older sister regarding a tragically obvious VPL in a tacky polyester skirt (honestly, can you blame the older sis?). The day of her thong debut, she literally screamed in agony every time she bent down to open her locker. Even after witnessing her shriek six times before the end of third period, I still thought “Man, I gotta get me one of those!”

Even now, as a “mature” college girl, I will not be caught dead touching a pair of grannies, let alone wearing them during a hook up. You didn’t just sell them to the women of the world, you fooled guys into thinking they were the sexiest form of underwear. Yeah, I get the whole “more is better” thing when it comes to women’s asses, but that still doesn’t really explain to me why butt floss is an attractive option. You must have had to have some pretty solid endorsements to sell this baby to the masses. In this case, I think this product would even be a toughie for the OxyClean man (and that’s saying something – that guy can get me to buy anything). Was Sisqo dancing around a few lubed up beach babes really all it took?

Please find time in your busy pants-dropping schedule to get back to me as soon as possible. Seriously, we need to talk. I have a great idea for an invisible lingerie line that could really use a boost…

Yours truly,

Miss Thong Investor

[photo from www.environmentaltalk.com]

Or, that’s what I would be saying if I was a dude upon learning about rubbot.com and their plans to design a revolutionary new sex toy aimed at men.

Hands-free orgasms! It’s like having a girlfriend — minus the girl! Which, depending on who you ask, isn’t always a bad thing.

The design kind of reminds me of those water snakes I had as a kid. They fold into themselves and move very fluidly…much like…genitals? Perfect! This is called the “Inch Worm Effect” and is effective at getting dudes off. And fast.

The guys behind Rubbot are looking for beta-testers too! Know a guy who’s in a rut? Be a pal and send the info along…at least you won’t have to hear about he’s not getting any for awhile.

Now, I’m not here telling you girls about this miraculous invention because your boyfriend needs one (although if you want to buy one for the two of you…more power to you!). At the risk of sounding like a brain-dead sex obsessive, I just feel that, much like taking a look though your guy’s porn collection, it’s important to know what makes him happy when you’re not around.

So when you are? He’s a little more than happy.

I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Anyways, I don’t know about you but I know that I am pretty careful when using the bathroom. I lay TP down on the seat before I sit down, flush the toilet with my foot, and never (EVER!) put my handbag on the floor.

But until I saw this new invention, I never even considered the gross factor that is the toilet paper dispenser.

Who knows who/what has touched that thing? And the long strip of paper hanging out from the roll when you get in there? Lord knows where that’s been dangling. I don’t even want to think about it.

Okay, I just did and now I’m getting sick again.

This invention is awesome. Not only does it prevent me from having to actually interact with the toilet paper roll, but it is also a great force of conservation, considering how much toilet paper people waste. People like me, unfortunately, who have to wrap the entire seat before settling in.

I just hope they get these at my neighborhood bars ASAP. I may still have to play the game of “Vomit or Some-Other-Gross-Substance” in the stall, but at least I won’t have to touch a thing.