Defective, carcinogenic garbage? I’ll take it!

I firmly believe that I am the sole reason the advertising even exists in the media today. Have you ever heard those commercials that advertise things like "Super-Duper-Happy-Wowser-Thing-With-Lights-And-Bells,-Although-The-Bells-Don’t-Actually-Work?" and wonder who would be stupid enough to buy things like that?

That’s me, all the way.

I am the kind of person who would buy my car based solely on the song that plays in the commercial that advertises it. I watch infomercials for fun. And I buy anything that is endorsed by a pro wrestler, which is why I have a closet full of Slim Jims, even though the mere thought of dried processed beef and spices makes me want to vomit.

As a result, I tend to end up with massive amounts of things I don’t want or need, and that often don’t work correctly.

This was precisely the case this past weekend, when I flew in the face of all things good and right (i.e., my parents and my common sense) and purchased a CD recorder.

This was not something I had set out to do. Specifically, I had set out to go to lunch so I could come back, write my modern novel paper, and perhaps engage in some recreational burping. However, one of my friend Kelly’s co-workers came over and happened to mention that he was thinking of buying a CD burner, and something inside of me snapped.

I don’t know if this is something that happens to other people, but occasionally I will be overcome by an intense desire to buy something (usually something I don’t need, like the time I couldn’t sleep for weeks because I wanted to buy a Tamagotchi) that it eats every rational thought in my brain and replaces it with MUST GET CD BURNER NOWWWWWW, and I can’t even do normal things like breathe independently until I have done so.

Now, I would like to state for the record that at press time my CD burner does not work. I cannot stress this very important fact enough, because I have witnessed firsthand the path of terror these things can wreak upon people’s lives once they go public with the fact that they own one:

[KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!]

You: What do you want? It’s 3 A.M.!

Down-the-Hall-Neighbor-You’ve-Never-Actually-Spoken-To (henceforth known as Don): I heard you had a CD burner.

You: That’s a dirty lie!

Don: Don’t you try to hide it from me! I need you to burn a copy of my… uh… roommate’s Carpenters CD!

And soon the whole floor knows, and you become DJ Jazzy Your Name Here for an entire gaggle of people, who feel it is their God given right to demand CDs from you simply because you bumped them in the elevator or happened call their mom a dirty name.

I know, because I do this to my friend with a CD burner all the time. Teach him to call my mom a… anyway, this isn’t a problem I need to worry about, because my CD burner does absolutely nothing at all, except flash its malevolent green light at me and mock me openly about my utter stupidity and lameness, and it makes fun of my nose to boot.

So, while I ponder other uses for this extremely expensive Life Lesson (beverage holder? Cracker storage bin?), I cannot help but think that this whole tragedy could have been avoided if I were not a big stupid idiot so willing to throw away my money.

However, as always, it is much easier to blame society, so that’s exactly what I plan to do. And I beg of you, please, if you see me walking around a store clutching something I don’t need to my bosom, and I have wild look in my eye, call the cops and have them sedate me. Unless it’s endorsed by a pro wrestler. There’s just no stopping that.