
I've been trying to sell my deluxe VHS copy of The Phantom Menace on eBay for nearly a month now. I just posted the item for a fourth time (each time costs me a quarter). This time, as part of the listing, I included an original screenplay starring the winning bidder. And if that doesn't work, I'll try something even gimmickier . . . so stay tuned!

I am staring at a tall, frosty glass of peanut butter and cranberry soda.
First, some background information: By the age of ten, I was an acclaimed experimental chef. My peanut butter and Dorito sandwiches were legendary, and kids from across the neighborhood thrilled at my peanut butter carrot sticks (with Kool-Aid powder sprinkled on top), sometimes against their will. Everyone wanted to know how I did it. What secret ingredient infuses your creations with such an irresistibly creamy, crunchy, nutty taste? the children would demand in unison, between mouthfuls of peanut-butter-and-flour-and-sugar-globs. I never told (and I never will.)

Our reindeer lawn ornament (which I will put outside before February, I promise) made a new friend today, and it's big, green and pillowy. Simply put, the Kush Kush is the last word in beanbag chair technology. It's a little pricey, but man is it comfortable. As you start to sit, it feels soft, gently conforming to your body; then, at a certain point, it firms up dramatically, to about the level of your favorite armchair.
Sally compared it to sitting on a fat man's stomach. She immediately wanted to know if they made couch-sized Kushes. (They do.)
The manufacturer's website features more info and an online order form, if you can endure slogans like "I don't let my tush kush on anything else but Kush Kush." (Blech.) Bachelor Furniture has better prices and a handy color guide.