I don’t own a home or have a dual income, but somehow I’ve still managed to get on this “upscale” mailing list. Which basically means every month, I receive catalogs from certain luxury brands (Sharper Image, Hammacher Schlemmer and Frontgate) trying to sell me all their latest overpriced junk:

A nostalgic looking bike with a hidden motor.
An electronic dog translator.
A fourteen-foot inflatable snowman.
A banquet table for your pets.
A life-size model of Batman.

Now, come on. Why the hell would anybody want this stuff? Can’t you find something better to spend your hard earned cash on? I admit, I’ve been known to spend a lot of money on certain luxury items. But I always keep one thing in mind when I’m shopping: Shit is shit, no matter what it costs. Expensive Crap sucks.

Update: Obviously, those links don’t work anymore. Uh huh.

Okay, I admit it. I’m guilty of creating some of the ad banners you see on the Web. But the ads I create don’t blink four hundred times per minute or beckon you to try to click on the dancing monkey. My ads merely let you know there’s a new product or service available and give you the opportunity to check it out.

But this isn’t about any of those ads. It’s more about the way they’re starting to be delivered. The first of these nuisances is the often-hated pop-up ad. Yes, I understand that Web sites need to make a profit somehow, but these ads have become so annoying that we’ve learned to close the window before anything even loads.

Which led to the infamous pop-under ad. These aggravating little shits first pop up and then quickly hop behind your current page before you can even react. For a while, I used to try to use a keyboard command to quickly close the window, but it would almost always result in closing the wrong page, leaving only the ad there to inform me of the world’s smallest video camera.

But now that most of us have found browsers or free software that kills the pop-up ads, Web sites have had to come up with even more devious tricks. The latest I’ve noticed is having the top of the page refresh so that more than one ad can be shown to you as you read the content on the page. The only problem with this is, if you hit the back button after being on the page for about five minutes, you have to go through about twenty ads before you can get to your previous page.

So what’s the solution? Simple. Go back to the good old fashioned ad banners, and stop basing the success of an online ad on clickthroughs. No other form of advertising relies on instant feedback. And there’s a reason: It’s moronic. Ads are supposed to keep your product in the consumers mind, so that when they’re actually in the market for a spy camera, they’ll think of buying yours. That is, unless you piss everyone off with your fucking pop-under ads. Inconsiderate Ads Suck.

This one couldn’t wait until after the weekend. Unless you’ve been living inside a cave and under a rock, you’ve seen these spots: A bunch of women are moaning in the bathroom like they’re having their way with a Waterpik Shower Massage head. But, wait. No. They’re just washing their hair! Apparently, the shampoo penetrates the scalp and goes straight to the vagina. Who knew?

You know how it feels when you accidentally scratch the surface of a chalkboard? That’s how I feel every time I hear those women screaming out their G-rated cries of ecstasy: “Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!”

No! No! No! Make it stop! This damn campaign has been going on for what seems like forever. And it’s not getting any better. I bet over fifty percent of the population doesn’t even get the implied pun. Unfortunately, I do. “A totally organic experience.” Organic, orgasmic. Oh boy. That’s rich. Anyone associated with this commercial should be tied to a rack and pelted with vegetables. Organic vegetables. Those Fucking Herbal Essences Shampoo Commercials suck.

I have a confession to make. I hate reading long copy. I don’t care who wrote it. Or how clever it is. If I see an ocean of text, chances are pretty good, I’ll just be skimming the page. Am I missing out on something? Probably. Do I care? Not in the least. (Normally, I would place a paragraph break right here, but I’m trying to make a point.) Paragraph breaks are your friends. Use them. Otherwise, you end up with the literary equivalent of a cornfield. And anyone who’s seen “Signs” or “Children of the Corn” knows how scary that shit can be. (Another break here would be nice.) Avoid redundancy. Don’t repeat something you’ve already said. Go back and read what you’ve written. Are all those words absolutely necessary? Believe me, they aren’t. Cut it down. You’re not getting paid by the word. And if by chance you are, you should know better. Another thing you should do is count the commas and conjunctions in each sentence, and see how many of each you come up with, and then see if you can, maybe, you know, remove some commas, or maybe cut the sentence into two or three or four sentences, so that people don’t have to go back and read the sentence over and over until they understand what the hell you were trying to say. It makes the copy easier to read. And when it’s easier to read, more people read it. Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah. The Wall Of Words sucks.

I’m fairly new to Friendster. It’s kind of a cool concept. You invite your friends to sign up, and then they get their friends to sign up, and it progresses on and on like that bad shampoo commercial from the 70s (and so on, and so on, and so on). The idea here is that you can meet new people who aren’t complete strangers, since someone you know knows somebody who knows them.

Well, that’s the concept anyway. But since this site is free (and hardly regulated), it’s open game to pranksters and saboteurs. Which means, not only can you be friends with Albert, Jennifer and Myra, you can also be buddies with the planet Earth, Piss, or even a city like Los Angeles, which, by the way, is apparently a man.

Okay, so everyone’s having a little fun. Where’s the harm? Picture this scenario:

Let’s say a woman named Shelby contacts you and says she’d like to get together for some drinks. So you click on her name to check her out. You know, see what she likes and doesn’t like, stuff like that. That’s when you see it–up there, in the left hand corner of the page–a list of names that tells you just how you’re actually connected to Shelby.

Turns out, your good friend Dana is buddies with Mike who is apparently pretty chummy with Arianna Huffington who is a friend of Shelby’s. In other words, the only connection you have to Shelby is that she and your friend’s friend share the same bad sense of humor.

So, the next time you find yourself thinking about how funny it might be to open up a Friendster account for, say, Steve Jobs or Ginger Lynn, step away from the keyboard and slam your head into the wall until you black out. Fakesters suck.

As a single man, I’m all for anything that can make doing the laundry easier. I prefer the Tide tablets, even though they’re more expensive. And, yes, I use the Downy Ball. Not that I really understand what The Ball does. It just seems like it does something good. And more, importantly, it’s easy. You just add the liquid to the ball, seal it up, and drop it in. No problem, right?

Wrong.

A lot of my clothes started coming out of the dryer with these odd-looking splotches on them. Where did these mystery stains come from? Did I leave something in my pocket? Was one of my shirts bleeding dye? No. It was that fucking Downy Ball. They were fabric softener stains. Apparently, the Downy Ball doesn’t just soften the fabric, it shits all over your clothes. The Downy Ball sucks.

I really hated working in retail. No, it wasn’t the unruly customers. Or the fact that I was a cashier with minimal math skills. It was that damned timecard. A stamp when I came into work. A stamp when I was taking a ten-minute break. A stamp for lunch. Another stamp when I came back from lunch. Stamp. We don’t trust you. Stamp. We own you. Stamp. Your time is ours. Stamp, Stamp, Stamp, Stamp, Stamp.

How demeaning.

Every time I placed that timecard into the machine, I imagined placing a pistol into my mouth. When that stamp came slamming down, I’d pull the trigger. Stamp! Blam! It’s all over.

I wanted to destroy that timecard machine. I wanted to take a bat to it and knock it off the wall, then bludgeon it mercilessly until it was unrecognizable.

So, guess what I did. That’s right. I quit that lousy job and found a gig that would pay me a nice comfy salary. Stamping The Card sucks.

You think car phones are dangerous? What about these motorists who try to speak directly to one another while they drive? Not only do they block both lanes, they coast down the road at about a walking pace.

Hey, I realize it’s kind of cool to see someone you know on the road. You naturally want to roll the window down and have a chat: “So, how are the kids?” ” Did you hear about Maria’s divorce?” “I’m glad I ran into you. I need that egg salad recipe. Wait, let me get a pen.”

Yes, I’ve been guilty of doing this myself before. Usually it’s because somebody asked me directions about two seconds before the light turned green. That’s why I don’t even bother to roll my window down anymore. They can honk their horn and wave at me all they want. I’ll just act like I don’t notice. Sure, they might be trying to tell me that my vehicle is on fire. Or that the trailer I was previously towing just caused a ten-car pileup. That’s okay. I’ll take my chances. Because Car-To-Car Conversationalists suck.

I just read an article in the L.A. Times about a new publication for teen girls called Revolve. Take one look at the cover, and you’ll notice something isn’t quite right. Missing are the usual headlines about hot guys and sexy Spring fashions. Instead, you’ll find articles with titles like, “Are You Dating A Godly Guy?” and “Radical Faith – what scripture really means.”

Yes, folks, it’s a bible–the complete New Testament–disguised, oh so cleverly, as something a depraved teenager might read. The belief here is that kids today don’t read the Bible because it’s “too big and freaky looking.” So rather than let the girls make their own decisions about philosophy and religion, they slather the scripture with pink frosting and shove it down their throats.

I know I’m going to lose a lot of you with this entry, but this kind of stuff really pisses me off. Here’s a sample from an article titled “Top Ten Random Ways To Have Fun On A Date:”

5. Double date with your parents.
9. Taking cookies to a nursing home.

Give me a break. And I used to think Davey and Goliath was bad. Camouflaged Christianity sucks.

The economy is in the shitter. A lot of us are having a hard time finding work. And those of us who do have jobs aren’t getting those wage increases we’ve relied upon year after year. No, instead we’re getting the rarely-coveted Title Raise. One day you’re a Mid-Level Copywriter, the next day, you’re a Vice President. Of course, your paycheck remains the same. But, my, how impressive your resumé looks. Keep in mind, with so many Vice Presidents in the company, the title kind of loses its sizzle. But, hey, at least you’ve got a job. Yeah, right. The Title Raise sucks.