texts: The Food and Drug Administration said Wednesday female deodorant sprays may cause such harmful reactions as blisters, burns and rashes. Although the FDA judges that the reported reactions are not sufficient to justify removal of these products from the market, they are sufficient to warrant the proposed mandatory label warnings.
labels: Shit O dear, that's enough to make me asthmatic. The nerve of those twits. What do they know about female odor? Don't interrupt. Here's my concept. My ranch out West? It's a beauty ranch. Oh, it's got a few head of cattle for atmosphere and tax purposes. But it's a beauty ranch, a place where unhappy women -- divorcees and widows, mainly -- can go to lose weight, remove wrinkles, change their hair styles and pretty themselves up for the next disappointment. My ranch is named the Rubber Rose, after the Rubber Rose douche bag, my own invention, and bless its little red bladder, the most popular douche bag in the world. So get this. It's on the migratory flight path of the whooping cranes. The last flock of wild whooping cranes left in existence. Well, these cranes stop off at my little pond -- Siwash Lake, it's called -- twice a year, autumn and spring, and spend a few days each time, resting up, eating, doing whatever whooping cranes do. I've never seen them, understand, but I hear they're magnificent. Very big specimens -- I mean, huge mothers -- and white as snow, to coin a phrase, except for black tips on their wings and tail feathers, and bright red heads. Now, whooping cranes, in case you didn't know it, are noted for their mating dance. It's just the wildest show in nature. It's probably the reason why birdwatching used to be so popular with old maids and deacons. Picture these rare, beautiful, gigantic birds in full dance -- leaping six feet off the mud, arching their backs, flapping their wings, strutting low to the ground. Dears, it's overwhelming. And picture the birds doing their sex dance on TV. Right there on the home screen, creation's most elaborate sex ritual -- yet clean and pure enough to suit the Pope. With lovely Sissy Hankshaw in the foreground. In a white gown, red hood attached, and big feathery sleeves trimmed in black. In a very subdued imitation of the female whooping crane, she dance/walks over to a large nest in which there sits a can of Yoni Yum. And a can of Dew. Off-camera, a string quartet is playing Debussy. A sensuous voice is reading a few poetic lines about courtship and love. Are you starting to get it? Doesn't it make the hair on your neck stand up and applaud? My very goodness gracious! Grandiose, lyrical, erotic and Girl Scout- oriented; you can't top it. I've hired a crew of experts from Walt Disney Studios, the best wildlife cinematographers around. You're my eternal favorite. Princess Grace herself couldn't be better, not even if she had your personality which she doesn't; Anyway, dear, I'm out of photography now and into water colors. Ah how circuitous conversation is! We're back at the beginning. The exact man I've wanted you to meet is my artist the watercolorist.