Sealy mattress tops J.P. Morgan Investment picks for 2008

(New York)- Today J.P. Morgan released its annual report on investment picks for 2008. Topping the list was a Sealy brand mattress.

“In today’s unsure environment, investors crave security. Throughout our research, we were hard-pressed to find a more solid performer than the Sealy Posturepedic king-size model mattress…” read an excerpt from the report. “While other mattresses still offer similar levels of asset preservation, the combination of the Sealy’s managable weight and patented EZ-lift handles make it the smartest choice for nest egg protection on the market today.”

Many industry analysts tend to agree. Herman Price, former consultant for Bears Sterns says he has been suggesting the safety and convenience of a solid performing mattress for more than a year now.

For added security, Price advises his clients to hedge by placing some of their funds within a few inches of the edge of the mattress, while the true nest egg rests safely in the middle. “By positioning limited funds near the edge, you are allowed faster access to your portfolio in times of emergency- there is no need to fully raise a king size mattress. But beyond the obvious advantage of added liquidity, “ added Price “there is a good chance such a move will prove to distract would-be thieves from your main core savings.”

Price also suggests a diverse portfolio, consisting of not only 20’s and 50’s but 5’s and 10’s as well. “Most people don’t think of that at first” he said. “By covering a variety of denominations, the investor allows himself greater flexibility and will waste less time waiting for change.”

Avant Golf!

Introducing the newest trend for the ironic, artsy thrill seeker. Avant Golf!



Hole 1- Wunder kids: Try to get your ball past the harried rush of mechanized children intent on kicking your ball into the rough.

Hole 2- Choose your Destiny: There are actually 8 holes on this one. Get it in the right one and win an ice cream cone. Get it in the wrong one and receive a mild shock when retrieving your ball. Winning hole changes every time for a never ending challenge!

Hole 3- Bulimic clown: A challenging par four in which you must get the ball into the clown's mouth and hope he doesn't spit it back out.

Hole 4- Hall of Mirrors: What do I need to say, it’s a freaking hall of mirrors.

Hole 5- Shagville: See how hard it is to make par when the course is laid in 4 inch turquoise shag!

Hole 6- Andy's Candies: Pretty straightforward, just the grass is dyed to resemble Andy Warhol eating a Hershey Bar.

Hole 7- Siren Call: The closer you get to the hole, the louder the shrieking array of 10,000 Hz horns get. Pray for a hole in one so..it..will..just..stop!

Hole 8- Swingers Club: After sinking the ball, you will be given another of a random color for the rest of the game.

Hole 9- Suessian Stair: Hope the laws of physics cut you some slack as you attempt to hop the ball up a series of teetering, climbing platforms.

Hole 10- Confidence Builder: A simple straight forward shot 1 foot from the tee. You'll need the breather after the Suessian Stair.

Hole 11- Use the Force: You've been relying too much on your sense of sight- this hole's challenge rests in the fact it is in utter darkness.

Hole 12- Field Trip: Hit it as hard as you can, the hole is just past the four lane highway. See it? Right behind the gas station dumpster there. Don't lose the ball!

Hole 14- Up and Away: Try to get the ball up onto the volcano-shaped..what do you mean there was no hole 13? What are you trying to jinx us?!

Hole 15- Lounge Singer: After sinking the ball, rest a moment and enjoy a cocktail while Larry sings for you.

Hole 16- Windmill: Avoid the windmill's spinning blades. The sheer nostalgic irony is hilarious. That and the fact the blades are made of rotting Northern Pike.

Hole 17- Big Bad Voodoo Daddy: The tiki theme will blow your mind. That and the natives trying to fire tiny blowdarts dipped in ibocaine at you.

Hole 18- Celebration!: Sink a hole in one and Tammy will jump out of that cake and smear you with pistachio frosting! No one's made a hole in one in a while. Hey, when's the last time someone checked on Tammy?



Second round is only $2.

Unicycles are Evil

My wife's mother recently found a silver 20” Torker unicycle in mint condition atop a pile of curbside refuse. "What a waste" she cried, before rescuing this glistening steel siren from its date with the county incinerator. It was indeed a poor reflection on the wastefulness of Americana, to toss such a wonderful, shiny object away with the same reverence as one would a sack of melon rinds. The only thing it lacked was air in its tire, and that we had in plenty. It was summer. The thing was free. We would learn.


We would quickly learn that a unicycle is an evil thing, probably first invented by a sadistic machinist with a spare bike tire and a slow Saturday. Just one look should tell you that this is an impossible device, a mechanical Möbius strip to be mastered only by circus clowns and the curiously devoted. There is just no sense to it, no reason for being other than to bedevil all comers. And the curious nature of the beast lures in all but the most jaded of minds, each justifying the experiment by telling themselves they had never tried one before, and it always looked like fun. How hard could it be?


After pumping the tire I adjusted the seat to what I imagined to be the proper height. Then I took an awkward stance on it and tried to figure out what to do next. What to do next was to have it slip from beneath me. Again. And again. And again. There is simply nothing to hold on to. The first instinct is to drift along slowly like one would on its more sanely apportioned two-wheeled brethren. But the pedals move in lockstep with the tire, there is no coasting. Just a constant, desperate struggle to stay upright, like a Segway deep in the throes of an epileptic fit. One particularly unsuccessful attempt cast it headlong through the porch screening. My final mounting ended with a maneuver that without going into embarrassing detail, succeeded in raising the pitch of my baritone a solid octave. My son laughing at my incompetence tried for himself only to be rushed to the bathroom minutes later nursing a cruel, dripping gash across his left pinky toe.


I asked my mother-in-law if a hobbling figure with a plastered leg was seen anywhere near the vicinity of the disposed unicycle. Perhaps he was watching with binoculars nearby, snickering as she took the bait. How many times had this damnable contraption been pawned off to another unsuspecting soul? Was this a tradition? A mechanical fruitcake that never gets used more than a day, but instead is passed along to someone new each Christmas? If so we were humbled and in no mind to break precedent. The decision to return the thing to the communal no-man's land of the curb was soon made.


With smeared blood over our doorway, we hope the curse will sniff our threshold and move on, sated by our admitted defeat. As I write this I can see its spokes glistening under the light of the moon. Garbage pickup isn't for two more days. Someone will claim it. They too, will learn.