Monday, January 27, 2014

Cathy Mitchell Takes a Dump


There's a dark secret I've been hiding all these years.  Back in the early 80's, Cathy Mitchell (the elderly infomercial foul temptress) and I had a torrid love affair.


I was tender, impressionable youngin.  God-damnit!  Those were my sticky buns!  But alas, she was only emboldened by my sexual naivete.  She had the finely tuned instincts of a sage grandmother and the gaseous estrogen of a stampeding wildebeest in heat.

She groomed me with a Bar Mitzvah gift.  That's right!  A vintage Ready-Set-Go skillet sealed the deal.  And the coup de gras --- I opened the present and discovered a mystery envelope: a $100 Krogers gift certificate accompanied with a note that cryptically read...

"I'm ready for you to set me off.  Let's go."

Love ya kid, Catheter

For the love of god, she was using food as a weapon.  Much like the Somali warlords in the movie Blackhawk Down.

Strange tangent: Last week I was having lunch with friends Mark and Ted.  I had just eaten breakfast, so TJ's Sportsgarden seemed like an ideal choice.  TJ's uses food as a weapon too.  I ended up just getting a side salad so I wasn't sitting there looking like a complete douchebag.  The salad was marginally acceptable if you're hip on a gulag of drenched iceberg.

Anyway, somehow we got on the subject of Bar Mitzvahs.  Ted asked me how much I pocketed off mine.  Normally, I'd exercise a little more discretion with content like this, but I think someone actually might find the precise dollar amount to be interest.  Safe to say, I've seen far more controversial content on the internet.

$3,400

Remember, this is a "Jewboychick" from Wheeling, West Virginia circa 1983.  Not too shabby.

I can't recollect the exact breakdown.  But if memory serves me correct...

$500 savings bond from my godfather (incredibly wealthy individual from Philly - Cadillac dealerships).  Roughly another $750 or so in other misc. savings bonds from about 10 different relatives.  And a slew of personal checks and cash ranging in amounts of $20 - $50 (mostly from congregation members and friends of my parents).

Ironically, the most prized gift was from my neighbors across the street.  They gave me a year's subscription to 2 different pro wrestling magazines (Inside Wrestling and The Wrestler).  Mere words cannot describe my joy.  I expound further on this in the prologue of my auto-biography.

One other anecdote and I'll drop the subject, or Torah, if you will.  Because if you drop a Torah I think you have to go without food and water for 40 days.  Just punishment for an acne-covered teen in the latter stages of puberty.

In addition to the $500 savings bond (an ungodly sum for a 13 year old in 1982), he also sent me an autographed football from the entire 1982 Philadelphia Eagles football team.  Ron Jaworski, Tony Franklin (the barefoot kicker), Wilbur Montgomery and my hero at the time (defensive lineman Frank LeMasters - only because I saw a highlight reel of him recovering a fumble and running it in for a game-winning touchdown).  Anyway, when I got the football, me and my neighbor friends Dave and Matt went outside and started punting and throwing it around.  While this was happening, my godfather called and asked my mother if I'd received the gift.  Glancing out the kitchen window, she was casually like... "Oh yeah, they're all in the backyard playing with it right now!"  Of course he shrieked, "Jesus Christ!  That's a collector's item!"  Two decades later, he passed.

I kept the football until shortly after 9/11.  Gave it to my buddy who's a big Eagles fan.  It's all beaten to hell, deflated and badly scuffed.  Sucked.  End of story.

Now onto more important matters.  And that's CATHY MITCHELL and her "DUMP CAKE" infomercial.




I love these guys.  Total real-world, dorm room infomercial pioneers w/ just a subtle touch of Beavis and Butthead.  I watch it three times.  I cried (which is rare).

Some background here is critical.  If you do a google search on "cathy mitchell," a blog I wrote back in 2009 appears on the MAIN PAGE.  Now keep in mind, this is GOOGLE we're talkin' about.  Not Lycos or some Alta Vista shit.  My blog shows up in the first 10 fucking entries!  In my opinion, that's kinda crazy!  After all, a search on the words "cathy mitchell" is pretty generic stuff.

The best part is the comment section.  I truly believe it's the real Cathy Mitchell who weighs in.  My best advice is to read actual blog and make your own determination.  In the past decade of personal blogging, this one easily stands out.  I normally don't plug my past writings (except the book), but this one's actually worth it.  Relatively harsh but kind of amusing.  The comment section is what makes it.

Four years later, Cathy Mitchell has baked her way back into my life.  Now if I was legitimately baked (stoned), it would be one thing.  But I assure you, I'm completely sober.  Hell... such a typed internet admission can get you fined and/or imprisoned in the current West Virginia police state.

So Saf, what the hell is your problem with her "Dump Cakes?"  You're probably thinking: I happen to enjoy a moist pound cake from time to time.  Well... not to be overly prudish, but don't most people equate the word "dump" with "taking a dump?"  Isn't it comparable to the vernacular of "taking a shit?"  I can't be the only one out there who thinks this.  Personally speaking, if I were to announce the movement of my bowels, here's my preference in descending order.

I'm going to...

1) Take a shit
2) Go poop
3) Take a crap
4) Take a dump
5) Pinch a loaf

Even worse (as if it can get any worse from a fecal marketing perspective), isn't a "dump" the slang term for the city landfill?  You know, the final depository for medical waste, used prophylactics and discarded mush from any Long John Silvers.

Cathy is so blatantly proud of her dump cakes.  Her repetitive use of the word "dump" throws the viewer into some kind of "scatlike-trance."  When she pours in the can of diet soda, for a second I thought she might say, "If you want, you can substitute pee-pee."

Furthermore, I really don't have a clear cut understanding of what she's actually selling.  Is it her kindergarten recipes?  Is it the no-stick skillet?  Is it the fucking cake batter mix?  Aside from the gross sexual imposition in 1983, why does this woman haunt me in my dreams?

Alright, I'm Cathy Mitchelled out.  So let's close it off with 2 Super Bowl predictions.

The first -
There will not be an artificially generated stampede.

The second -
It has been reported that the Red Hot Chili Peppers will be joining Bruno Mars (the secret love child of Erik Estrada and Penelope Cruz).  An aside --- Gigi's friend Carla wishes to fornicate with Bruno Mars.  Back to the prediction.  I'm going way out on a limb with this one.  Flea, the annoying RHCP bassist, has a penchant for going commando or occasionally wearing a diaper.  So without further adieu, here's the boldest prognostication in the history of Halftime Super Bowl entertainment.

Remember, it's going to be sub-zero temps.  So strutting around on stage naked seems appropriate.

Flea will be wearing a codpiece - similar to this.


(But don't confuse the two.  Flea isn't fit to wear Blackie Lawless' jock... let alone his codpiece).

So here it is --- When he takes the stage, Flea will have a bedazzled, sparkling jeweled butt plug pre-inserted into his ass.  At the conclusion of a rocking "Give it Away," Flea will rip out the marital aid and literally give it away by tossing it into the audience.  This move will instantly replace the Miley Cyrus perpendicular tongue "twerk jerk."  Flea will follow it up with a late night after party tweet.  He'll regale the world with photos of his cock and the aforementioned Doc Johnson device.

This historic moment and impending social media craze will be hailed from 2014 onward as  
"tweet your meat."  It will cement the Chili Peppers in the "anals" of halftime history.  And if you don't like it, you can suck on Janet Jackson's fake nipple.


Incidentally, I got a letter today from "congressional watchdog" Henry Waxman (D-CA).  He thinks I should take up my artificially generated stampede concerns with the California Department of Public Health.  Suffice to say, I was totally unprepared for that one.  Not joking.  I can see why the California population values his commitment to public service.

Okay.  We're done here.  Final Superbowl prediction.

Broncos  34
Seahawks  28 

But I'll be rooting for the Seahawks.  A friend of mine refers to Peyton Manning as "he-who-must-not-be-named."  I'm beginning to see the wisdom.  I don't want that pristine yokel uttering those celebratory words... "I'm going to Disneyland."  I'd prefer it if he said, "I'm going to watch Cathy Mitchell take a dump!"


9 comments:

Anonymous said...

Papa Bear...Hut Hut!
Go SEAHAWKS!!

My prediction...
Seattle 27
Broncos 25

Anonymous said...

Cathy Mitchell will be a guest on an upcoming episode of TLC's Here Comes Honey Boo Boo on September 13th, 2014. Cathy will act as a mediator with the Thompson's and their baker. It will be an exciting contest to see who can bake the best "pickin' dark skin chicken pie and Mama June's prune caramel surprise and little Alana's favorite, glazed rooster's adam's apples! Cath Mitchell will stand as judge and mediator to see who's the best baker at the bake off. This is going to be a really fun episode! TLC is thankful for the tremendous support and positive responses from viewers of Honey Boo Boo.

sonofsaf said...

I'm loving this guerrilla marketing campaign. I can't fathom someone making this stuff up.

If somehow... this is bullshit, I will never forgive Anonymous (the promoter of the Honey Poo Poo excrement AND the civil rights organization).

In the interim, I promise to watch the episode and write an extensive review. It's a long way off but it's a date !!!

Anonymous said...

Cathy Mitchell was institutionalized last year for a year and a half due to her bipolar disorder and psychosis apexing to the point where she was eating her own excrement.

Cathy had been collecting her feces in Mason jars that were stored in her basement. She'd spontaneously get out of bed at odd late night hours, go down to her basement, grab a Mason jar with her poop in it, and then go to her kitchen and "flavor" her poop with seasonings, etc, and fry her feces in her signature GT Express sandwich griller.

Cathy's friends were concerned because Cathy was talking more shit than usual, so they assumed something was terribly wrong when one of Cathy's friends, the late informercial hack Billy Mays' wife, saw a piece of Charmin hanging out of the corner of Cathy's mouth.

911 was called and Cathy was taken away and sedated my paramedics. She spent months in isolation and heavily drugged with antipsychotic meds.

Thankfully, with the "miracles" of modern medicine and secular psychology, Cathy is back home making lots and lots of high carb dumb cakes and destroying her vascular system day by day. But Cathy doesn't worry because she takes Lipitor and a host of other meds that her doctor assures her will allow her to live to be 110 years old. Cathy is a highly gullible person and will believe any bullshit she's told.

Cathy is now going into partnership with Billy Mays' former wife to pitch a brand new form of synthetic snake oil to sell to tele evangelists worldwide. Cathy has been a frequent guest on TBN's This is your Day with Benny Hinn. Cathy is a huge fan of Benny Hinn and believes that Benny truly possesses supernatural healing powers.

Cathy's new synthetic snake oil will undoubtably be a huge sales success to all of the cretins in this world who follow tele evangelists.

sonofsaf said...

At first, I thought this comment was some form of poli-spam.

I can neither confirm or deny all the scat references. However, the thought of Cathy Mitchell teaming up with Benny Hinn intrigues me. Infomercial gurus and televangelists would seem like a natural fit.

What better way to sell your trinkets than to the naive religious hoards? If they seek salvation, they'll be willing to buy anything.

Incidentally, I wrote another blog about Cathy Mitchell and SHE LEFT A COMMENT. Not joking. If it wasn't her, my life has no meaning.

Cathy Mitchell said...

I'm still watching you. This is worse than the last one. Not even anything I can crack wise about.
But I like the thought of giving meaning to someones life :-)
Cathy

sonofsaf said...

If you're still watching me then I'm sure you know of my involvement with an asymmetric national security issue (the artificially generated stampedes). Your stuff is mostly about relieving stress, kind of a bad taste, comedic outlet. I bitch about Maury Povich as well.

As I was saying, please consider a collaboration. I need an unconventional, high profile individual to start physically telling people that "Legitimate emergency venue evacuation orders do NOT come from personal cell phones" --- if you get one it's a hoax designed to create a human stampede. You could be that person (a la Bob Barker --- have your pets spayed or neutered).

Learn more and get back to me.

agsaf.org

Anonymous said...

Cathy plays a mean bass guitar in her all girl geriatric band, "The Bedpans."

eric saferstein said...

Good name for Ravens fans/street musicians outside M&T Bank Stadium --- The Baltimore Bedpans.