When we moved to Colorado, the postal service had a heck of a time with the fact that we'd moved our address once to the in-laws address in the same town (also Masks) and then moved it again after a few months to Highlands Ranch, CO. The sweet Navasota PO just couldn't seem to sort out that NELL was NOT one of the names we listed to forward mail on to Colorado.
So for three years now we are still getting sales catalogs with Nell's name showing up in our mailbox. The most regular of these is Harrier Carter, whose catalog is filled with all sorts of strange little inventions, not a few of which you have to admit you wish you had thought of.
However, I have to say there are some of these items that are just a little too weird for my tastes. And the pictures really don't make things any better.
I mean, I just cannot fathom the desire to strap this thing around my neck and start pumping for all I'm worth while my neck stretched to Alice in Wonderland proportions. Is it just me, or does this poor woman's face look just a little swollen from the anaconda-squishing going on?
I also am trying desperately to imagine a 60+ something person (the demographic this magazine seems clearly aimed at) who would actually WANT to wake up to a drum solo?? No wonder it's on sale...
And there's this. Words just fail to express the utter doofiness contained in this picture. Tedious sweeping? As opposed to the tiny little hairs that will spend an eternity hiding in the seams of this Lost in Space contraption? 
Really? Because putting your tired feet up on the regular couch just doesn't cut it?
And now we come to what must be the Crazy Old Farts section of the catalog. These are apparently designed for people whose height of humor is limited to toilets and clips of men getting doubled over by footballs in their groins.
First up, the bank that farts (6 flatulent sound effects!!) when you insert a coin into the "slot". Good. Grief.
Flushing sounds every hour on the hour. . . how relaxing!
Is that Cary Elwes?
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