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I Heart Infomercials (Pt. 1)

So far, you guys have been really good sports to put up with my endlessly trivial ramblings about refrigerator lint and sponges and whatnot.  

But, let’s be honest.  There’s probably only a finite number of those posts you’ll tolerate before you start assembling into a mob hellbent on delivering swift Indian burn- and swirlie-style justice. 

Or just, uh, stop reading entirely. 

Wait, scratch that.  That’s not an option.

Fortunately, with the recent return of my marital manfriend Chuckles, I’m feeling rather magnanimous and altruistic and big-wordy today.  So, in a rare act of mercy, I will forego the inane anecdotes I usually post about and actually dispense some semi-useful information.  

If we were in a late 90’s house party movie, this is where the music would screech to a halt.

I know you’re all like “Say wha’?” right now.

But I’m here to tell you: “Fo’ shizzle.”

So, here goes.  I’ve already confessed that I’m a shameless infomercial addict who’s spent obscene amounts of money buying stuff because some toothy maniac on TV was shrieking at me to, right? 

Well, I figure I might as well exploit my utter lack of self-restraint by imparting my wisdom unto the masses on which products are actually worth buying and which ones are, in fact, the useless crap that they appear to be to just about everyone but me.  

On a side note, I like to think I’m a pretty smart cookie in real life.  I don’t let myself get taken by Nigerian princes or real estate scams selling beachfront property in Iowa.  So I don’t know why I’m so darn gullible when it comes to infomercial pitches. 

Maybe it’s the warm, comforting glow of the television that beckons to my lonely, sleep-deprived heart in the wee hours of the morn.

Maybe it’s watching some schmuck-actor’s mind-blown elation at his long-awaited deliverance from the sheer agonizing torment that had been his life before this product.

Thank GOD someone finally simplified THAT convoluted process!

Or maybe some small, hopeful part of me really wants to believe that at least some aspect of life could be blessedly simplified in just three easy payments of $19.95.

No matter the reason — my loss is your gain today, friends! 

So here’s how it’s going to work:  I’ve got a lot of products to review since I’ve been at this whole ‘infomercial bidness’ for a while now, so I’ll be breaking this down into semi-manageable blog-chunks over the next couple days.  

But since I’ve already reached a massive word count just to preface this little project, we’re only going to have space to review a couple today.  Oops.

So, without further ado…

Shake-It Flashlight (, $8.95 for 2)  

The concept behind this battery-less, bulb-less flashlight is to draw upon your own energy reserves to generate, through vigorous shaking, a reliable, maintenance-free, limitless light source. 

Sounds nice, right? 

It’s not.

After shaking this sucker for the amount of time necessary to maintain a feeble beam of pale yellow light for any extended period, you will no longer require a flashlight, as you have developed a massive, hulking bicep and are now able to punch through car doors, concrete walls or any other pesky obstacle impeding your access to more convenient nearby light sources. 

This isn’t the Shake-It.  I just wanted to use this photo.  Huh-huh.

Verdict:  There might be other shake-able flashlights that work out there, but this ain’t it.  So unless you find a better brand or you’re prepared to start sewing size XXL sleeves onto all your S/M shirts, just take my advice and stock up on batteries.

Up next…

George Foreman’s Lean, Mean, Fat-Grilling Machine (, $14.99)

Thanks to George Foreman, I managed to narrowly avoid malnutrition despite a steady, four-year diet of Bojangles BoBerry Biscuits, late-night gas station hot-dogs and Busch Light back in college — look for my new diet book, available January 2011! 

Occasionally, when my eyes and skin would take on a sickly yellow pallor and it’d smell like a deep-fryer when I sweat, I’d break this puppy out, slap a few protein-rich chicken breasts on it and be nursed back to health in no time. 

Of course, nowadays I look like Gollum from Lord of the Rings if I happen to accidentally skip my 20-vitamin routine one morning, but I digress…  

Verdict: Consider this a great — nay, life-saving — graduation gift for any college-bound kid.

Ok, so that’s all for now!  I’ll be sure to cook up plenty more tasty product reviews for your consumer appetite (can you tell it’s almost lunchtime?). 

But, in the meantime, feel free to chime in below with your own infomercial anecdotes so I don’t feel like such a total loser. 





After we graduated high school, my mom and dad got divorced, therefore making my dad responsible for buying gifts for Christmas and birthdays.

The first year after they divorced I had just moved into my first college apartment. For Christmas he bought me the small compact George Foreman that only fit like 1 chicken breast on it.

The next year for Christmas I was shocked when he got me the bigger one where I could now easily fit 2 chicken breasts on there.

The next year once again I got bumped up and got the one that fits 2 chicken breasts with the bun warmer on top.

Last but not least the next year he got me the mac daddy one that you can fit 4 peices of chicken on (at least) with the bun warmer.

What made it even better was that every year as I was opening my present he would ask me if I had ever seen one of those before. Like it was some new revalation. Now every Christmas my husband and I joke that we are gettting the outdoor Gerorge Forman grill from my dad… hasen’t happened yet but I’m still holind out hope for this Christmas!

Just thought I would share my funny George Foreman story with you!! LOL



Haha, love that story! I WISH I had multiple George Foremans to my name, but my folks always get me emergency car kits (which I mention in the next post).

I’m keeping my fingers crossed for you, cause the outdoor grill is the holy grail of George Foreman products. You might need to start buttering him up a few months out even. Keep your eye on the prize, girl. :)


Don’t exaggerate, Erin. Dad usually gets us the left-over freebies that come with his NRA and magazine subscriptions. I don’t know that I’d call them “emergency car kits” so much as “crap he didn’t want”.

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