Rampant Consumerism, Commodity Fetishism, and the Ducks of Capitalism walk into a bathroom...

Yea, has been many a day since on this blog posted I. No, Tiny Gunpoint Dancer, I was not chained to a radiator - more like an engine block. Virgle, I heard your call, and your worrying was not in vain - I acknowledged it, and thusly held it aloft amongst my beatific visions like a beacon of the grail hovering in heavenly heights to a famished crusader, ambling toward his homeland, besmirched with the blood of the infidel - yet driven by the promise of survival, a simpler tomorrow, and, ultimately, redemption.

But, as Copyranter pointed out, I have been infiltrated by the forces of rampant capitalism.

So, I asked myself, where else hath such terrible penetration occurred? Incidentally, all of my former lady friends have asked themselves the same question. Ba-Dum-Dum (CRASH!).

Naturally, to begin such an investigation, I went to the bathroom.
And what did I see there, mis hermanos?

Firstly, a duck. Resting on the outer banks of the Great Wall of Tubdom. Okay, sure, one duck.. What's the big fucking deal, right? For wasn't it the Dead Milkmen who asked, innocently, "My baby drives a truck, My baby sure is good luck, My baby has a pet Duck, and my baby is a heck of a F......Friend?" Sure, that's a statement, not a question, but who's splitting hairs? Especially when you can pull whole ones off the bottom of that tub?

So I looked above, to the perch where resteth the Shampoo. And what do I see?

Another Fucking Duck.

No, dear Reader, I would not stage such a scenario - There really are two such Ducks in my bathroom.

And really, why not have one to work the top, while the other, well, what the fuck am I talking about?


Product Placement Gurus: READ IT AND WEEP.

I don't know what the fuck Precision makes, but call 'em. Someone in the Biotechnology field wanted me to have these.

And let me tell you, I've had 'em.

Had 'em good.

Squeaky little bitches.