Thursday, November 26, 2009

What to Give Your Wife for Christmas

(Note to readers: This post will be more enjoyable if you try reading it aloud with a Deep South accent, somewhere in the range between Haley Barbour gumbo and Jerry Foxworthy grits.)

My conservative concern for traditional family values means that I am enthusiastically pro-marriage. In addition to my two decades of marital bliss, with six wonderful children, I'm constantly playing matchmaker with my single friends, trying to hook them up with their soulmates.

Once I get theem matched, I then begin to harass them about getting married -- "When's the wedding? Why don't y'all just run down to the courthouse and tie the knot?" -- so as to avoid a problem caused by long engagements: The temptation to fornication. You might surprised just how commonplace pre-marital sin has become in our society. Or perhaps not.

Pro-family advocacy doesn't end on the wedding day, of course. Once the young lovebirds get lawfully hitched, it's time to start badgering them about making babies. Some suspect me of furthering a clandestine agenda, but my Victory Through Breeding Program is no secret. Between sodomy and abortion (the most important "rights" for liberals), the Democratic Party is charting a path to demographic oblivion, and conservatves can hasten that process simply by doing what comes natural.

The birds and bees. Tarzan and Jane. "Let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel." IYKWIMAITYD.

Despite the genius simplicity of my pro-family agenda -- "Get married and make babies" ain't rocket science, folks -- there remains the problem of divorce. A woman won't get married and breed a Duggar-sized brood if she's afraid her hubby is going to run off with some two-bit homewrecking floozy like Mark Sanford's Argentine tramp. Guys, if you want that long-lasting death-do-us-part deal, you've got to show your wife that you really love her.

Which brings us to the subject of what to buy your wife for Christmas: The Cuisinart Grind and Brew.

Trust me on this one, my friend. Nothing says "love" like the Cuisinart Grind and Brew. Add the beans, add the water, push the button and -- whirrrrrrr! -- just a few minutes later, you've got 10 cups of fresh-ground, fresh-brewed coffee.

Better Marriage Through Technology, you see, because the Cuisinart Grind and Brew comes with a timer-alarm function. Your wife can set it up at night before she goes to bed and at 6:51 a.m., be awakened by the beautiful music -- whirrrrrr! -- of that high-speed bean-grinder going into action, knowing that the coffee will be piping hot when she brings you that first cup of the morning at 7 a.m. And since you don't have to get in the shower until 7:20 a.m. . . .

Well, a little snuggle-time is a fine way to start the day. IYKWIMAITYD. But wait -- there's more!

The Cuisinart Grind and Brew features a thermal carafe that keeps your coffee hot for hours. So if your early-morning snuggle-time leaves you in such a mellow mood that you decide to call in sick at work -- "Hey, boss, I'm sorry, but I think I might coming down with something here . . ." -- that second cup will still be warm when you finally crawl out of bed about 10 o'clock.

Now, some of you fellows may be thinking to yourselves, "Do I really want to give my wife a household appliance for Christmas?" Relax, boys. This isn't like a vacuum cleaner or something. The Cuisinart Grind and Brew is a luxury gourmet experience, especially if you add a few clever gifts under the tree: Well, there you have it, fellows. The secret of a long, happy marriage is to give your wife something thoughtful for Christmas.

The best part? You can remind her how much you love her 364 days a year, just by saying those magic words that every woman longs to hear: "Hey, honey, can you fix me another cup of coffee?"

Merry Christmas, y'all!



UPDATE: Addressing some reaction to my pro-family agenda. Also, trying to explore new frontiers in shameless capitalist blogging.

17 comments:

  1. I take it Mrs. Other doesn't read this blog.

    'Cause, like, this was really funny, Stacy. Funny.

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  2. I take it Mrs. Other doesn't read this blog.

    As a matter of fact, she does. She understands me. Which is not necessarily an unmixed blessing . . .

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  3. And one more thing, Attila: If I sell enough of these Grind and Brews, that equals $$$$ -- and Mrs. Other McCain loves me when I make $$$$

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  4. Haaaaaaa! I'm adding the 'Grind and Brew' (IYKWIMAITYD) to my list posthaste.

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  5. I think he's just trying to get the number one google ranking for "grind and brew". NTTAWWT.

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  6. As a coffee addict and an American patriot I have to reccomend my favorite coffee roaster: www.rangercoffee.com for anyone that loves coffee and the USA!!

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  7. While I appreciate the advice, Stacy, I don't drink coffee to start my day. Do you have something that would kick off the bacon, eggs and toast instead? Oh, and keep the children fast asleep for the same period of time as is necessary for all of that to cook.

    Thank you and have a blessed Thanksgiving.

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  8. You are shameless, Stacy! But that was reallllly funny.

    In all seriousness, if you are truly a divine matchmaker, my oldest (the girl) is graduating college in a few weeks and is in need of a soulmate.

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  9. I took your advice and tried a Deep South accent, along with a baritone, uh, tone, and I must say this could become a Christmas classic. Y'know, the kind of thing that gets read on the radio in the evening between the very traditional Christmas hymns.

    And three cheers for your continued efforts to get folks married, keep them married, and to have fine, large families. Dadgummit, you'd make a great Catholic.

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  10. Obi's Sister wrote:
    You are shameless, Stacy!

    Capitalism should always be shameless.

    In all seriousness, if you are truly a divine matchmaker, my oldest (the girl) is graduating college in a few weeks and is in need of a soulmate.

    Two pieces of expert advice you can share with her:
    1. KEEP YOUR BRITCHES ON -- Remember that old story about free milk and a cow. Do not be persuaded by bandwagon psychology ("Everybody's doing it"). You are not "everybody." Also, don't let a fellow get away with that "take it for a test drive" argument. Tell him you're a Porsche, and his demand for a test-drive raises doubts as to whether he can handle such a high-performance machine as yourself.
    2. DON'T PLAY THE 'BOYFRIEND' GAME -- Which is to say a young lady's first job in managing her social life is to avoid wasting time with immature window-shoppers who aren't ready to close the sale. When a fellow is truly ready for marriage and finds the right girl, he won't be playing that idiotic passive-aggressive game where (a) the boy wants to monopolize your affections, but (b) he isn't ready for serious "commitment" himself. There are 3 billion males on this planet, and there is no reason for a woman in the prime of her youth to let herself be emotionally abused that way, just so she can tell her friends she has a boyfriend.

    When you are single, be single. Unless and until a fellow puts that ring on your finger, he doesn't own you. It's foolish to discourage other potential suitors by advertising to the world that you've got a "boyfriend," or to let a guy think he can monopolize your time at any point prior to the moment he puts a diamond on your finger and books the wedding hall.

    If you are genuinely a worthwhile woman, deserving of his undying devotion, the guy who strings you along -- "Maybe I will marry you, maybe I won't" -- is abusing and insulting you. Don't put up with it.

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  11. El Cerdo Ignatius wrote:
    Dadgummit, you'd make a great Catholic


    Are you kidding me? I'm not even a mediocre Protestant!

    Seriously, though, if you go back and study the history of Margaret Sanger, the Rockefellers and the Birth Control crusade, you will see that anti-Catholic prejudice was a major motivating factor.

    From 1880-1924 -- with a lapse during WWI -- there was a huge influx of Catholic immigration into the U.S. These new arrivals, added to the already large population of Irish Catholics, presented a major cultural and political challenge to WASP dominance in the Northeast. This was an era when Anarchism, Communism, labor unionism and other leftist ideologies had a great currency among the "huddled masses" (as they were called by the socialist poet Emma Lazarus). So it wasn't as if the fears of the WASP elite were without a basis in fact.

    The WASP elite focused on the higher birth rate of Catholics as the most important variable in the demographic equation. Rather than to ask themselves, "Why is the birth rate of Old Stock Americans declining?" the WASP elite instead resolved to reduce the birth rate of the immigrants. Thus began the Birth Control Gospel.

    The ironic result, however, was that the propagation of the Sangerist doctrine actually accelerated the WASP decline. It was not until the 1960s that younger Catholics began to accomodate themselves to the Contraceptive Culture. In the meantime, however, the WASP elite had embraced the Birth Control Gospel to such an extent that not even the restrictive immigration laws passed in the 1920s did much to halt their decline.

    Even the "Baby Boom" of the 1950s was predominantly a phenomenon of urban Catholics and rural Protestants. In 1957, the U.S. total fertility rate peaked at 3.7 (average lifetime births per woman, based on annual birth rates) which meant that the average U.S. woman was more likely to have 4 children than to have 3. Yet if you scratch below the surface on that number, you'll see that the WASP elite of the Northeast were reproducing at a rate far below the national average.

    The descendants of the Pilgrims and Puritans had become decadent, you see. Once that sort of decadence becomes widespread within any society -- or within any particular segment of society -- the decline is usually irreversible.

    Well, my ancestors were not part of the WASP elite, but the restless independent Ulster Scots who settled the Appalachians and the Piedmont uplands. We're doing our best to avoid WASPish decadence. There is a reason the No. 1 spectator sport in America is NASCAR, you know. ;-)

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  12. Today Is Black Friday, The Gift That Keeps On Giving.

    http://youhavetobethistalltogoonthisride.blogspot.com/2009/11/tgif-circus-life-black-friday.html

    Rule #5

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  13. Guys, if you want that long-lasting-death-do-us-part deal, you've got to show your wife that you really love her.

    Many men have believed - to their lasting regret - that the latter ensures the former. It may have in times past, but we no longer live in that world.

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  14. Despite the genius simplicity of my pro-family agenda -- "Get married and make babies" ain't rocket science, folks -- there remains the problem of divorce. A woman won't get married and breed a Duggar-sized brood if she's afraid her hubby is going to run off some two-bit homewrecking floozy like Mark Sanford's Argentine tramp.

    As if that is the chief, much less only, cause of divorce.

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  15. I especially like the amazon ads for FOOD items that say xx from $yy.yy OR BUY NEW from $zz.zz

    Who would want to by USED food anyway?

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  16. Mr. Other McCain, you could almost convince me to give up my stove-top percolator. That seriously sounds like heaven.
    Problem is, I barely have counter space to keep the toaster sitting out.
    But a lovely thought!

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  17. The best Scots were Catholic before that sad turn toward decadence, Mr. Other McCain.

    Also, wombatty is correct: it's the female who most often unhitches the marriage - most of the time for fluffy-headed reasons such as "I need to find myself." Man-blaming like yours, Other, is born from 20th century WASPy feminist fables. Wake up.

    The reasons the Gov. Sanford and Gov. Spitzer tales get so much air time are two: (1) too many females watch TV and spend as the boob tube programs them to, and (2) those cases are rarities. Reality is unfriendly to the typical female's fantasies about her 'true self.' The TV networks know this and dare not chase away their biggest audience (females), thus the formula served up by the boob tube is female-coddling and heavily spiced with all the man-bashing a modern female can suck up.

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