Summer’s Eve, the brand of vaginal douche that apparently still exists, has a very, um, compelling advertisement in the latest issue of Women’s Day. Made to look like a piece of editorial content, the advertisement offers advice to women who are preparing to ask for a raise at work. But before you go marching into your boss’ office, better make sure your vagina smells good! Seriously. More, after the jump … Keep reading »
Boots, a pharmacy company in the U.K., has some explaining to do after Andrew Adams received a store loyalty card addressed to: Dr A Suicide Bomber. Boots supposedly has certain words flagged in its system, and it seems that someone wasn’t paying attention well enough to stop the card from being sent. The funny thing is that Adams says he rarely shops at Boots and didn’t apply for the card. Boots has launched a full and detailed investigation into the incident, but I wonder if an acquaintance of Adams works for Boots and sent this as a practical, not funny, joke. [South Wales, 08/26/10] Keep reading »
The Breast Cancer Foundation’s latest campaign encourages women to prioritize regular breast checks over fretting about less important worries like pimples, weight gain, and frizzy hair. Check out the beautiful (and NSFW) way in which they conveyed that message, after the jump… [OIC Singapore via BuzzFeed] Keep reading »
Coo-coo-bananas story of the day time! A man in Ghana claims he woke up one day to discover he had transformed into a woman and subsequently gave birth to a baby girl. Kwanbena Benie, 24, a “fetish priest,” the West African name for a spiritual advisor, says that when he was 13 years old, he was possessed by some sort of god who told him to become a priest. That same god told him that he shouldn’t have sex with women. Flash forward 20 years, and Benie married a woman and had sex with her, going against the warning he said he was given as a kid. And that‘s when his penis began to hurt. Keep reading »
Just a moment ago, I excitedly clicked on my Facebook page to see that I’d gotten a message in my inbox. I clicked on it, and was annoyed to see yet another invite to J’s band’s show. Great. There’s another thing I won’t be doing Friday night. J., you see, was a guy I dated for a month about two and a half years ago — and I haven’t seen him, in person anyway, since. But he still regularly sends me invites to band gigs. Because we’re Facebook friends.
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