Wednesday, August 15, 2012

It is sometimes a fashion blog (?)

It is not often that someone sends me a FWD: email that really cracks me up. Today, I received such an email, and without doing much research regarding the authenticity of the subject, I am pleased to share the contents with you. Apparently, this made the rounds a while ago, but I missed it- and maybe you did too.

I have basically just cut and pasted the information for your review. I believe in giving credit where credit is rightfully due, so after a few quick google searches, I was able to trace the original blogger who can be found here.

Last weekend I put an exhaust fan in the ceiling for my wife's grandfather. After a bunch of hours spent in The Hottest Attic In The Universe, he had a ceiling fan that ducted to the side of his house.
While my brother-in-law and I were fitting the fan in between the joists, we found something under the insulation. What we found was this:
A JC Penney catalog from 1977. It's not often blog fodder just falls in my lap, but holy hell this was two solid inches of it, right there for the taking. I thumbed through it quickly and found my next dining room set, which is apparently made by adding upholstery to old barrels:
Also, I am totally getting this for my bathroom, because obviously nothing absorbs errant pee like a nice, thick shag:
There's plenty more home furnishings where those came from, however I'm not going to bore you with that. Instead, I'm going to bore you with something else. The clothes.

The clothes are fantastic. Imagine if you wore them today.

Here's how to get your ass kicked in elementary school:

Just look at that belt. It's like a boob-job for your pants. He probably needed help just to lift it into place. The belt loops have to be three inches long, for god's sake. And way to pull your pants up to your armpits, grandpa.
Here's how to get your ass kicked in high school:
This kid looks like he's pretending to be David Soul, who is pretending to be a cop who is pretending to be a pimp that everyone knows is really an undercover cop. Who is pretending to be 15.

Here's how to get your ass kicked on the golf course:

This "all purpose jumpsuit" is, according to the description, equally appropriate for playing golf or simply "relaxing around the house." Personally, I can't see wearing this unless you happen to be "relaxing around your cell in D-block." Even then, the only reason you should put this thing on is because the warden forced you to at gunpoint.

Here's how to get your ass kicked pretty much anywhere:

I'll bet these guys do ok with the ladies. If you look at that picture quickly, it looks like Mr. Bob "No-pants" Saget has his hand in the other guy's pocket. In this case, he doesn't, although you can tell just by looking at them that it's happened - or if it hasn't happened it will. Oh yes. It will. As soon as he puts down his color-coordinated coffee cup.

Here's how to get your ass kicked at the beach:

He looks like he's reaching for a gun, but you know it's probably just a bottle of suntan lotion in a holster.

How to get your ass kicked in a meeting:

If you wear this suit and don't sell used cars for a living, I believe you can be fined and face serious repercussions, up to and including termination. Or imprisonment, in which case you'd be forced to wear that orange jumpsuit; which, frankly, is a step up.

How to get your ass kicked on every day up to and including St. Patrick's Day

Dear god in heaven, I don't believe that color exists in nature. There is NO excuse for wearing either of these ensembles unless you're working as a body guard for the Lucky Charms leprechaun.

In this next one, Your Search For VALUE Ends at Penneys

As does your search for chest hair.

And this -- Seriously. No words.

Oh wait, it turns out there are words after all, and those words are What. The. Fuck. I'm guessing the snap front gives you quick access to the chest hair. I think the little tie must be the pull tab. If you look closely, it says, "In case of chest hair emergency, pull tab quickly and back away."

Also, judging by the sheer amount of matching his/hers outfits, in 1977 it was apparently considered pretty stylish for couples to dress alike. These couples look happy, don't they?



I am especially fond of this one, which I have entitled "Cowboy Chachi Loves You Best."

And nothing showcases your everlasting love more than the commitment of matching bathing suits. That, and an appreciative blonde with a look on her face that says "I love the way your junk fights against that fabric."

Then, after the lovin', you can relax in your one-piece matching terry cloth jumpsuits:

I could go on, but I'm tired, and my eyes hurt from this trip back in time. I think it's the colors. I will leave you with these tasteful little numbers:
Man, that's sexy.
Sadly, I did not pen the actual remarks you just read, but I easily could have. Let’s face it, I am married to a guy who graduated Fort Wayne’s South Side
high school in 1974. Back in his day, JC Penney was the bomb. There were malls in Fort Wayne, but Saks Fifth Avenue it wasn’t. Before the “world wide web” there were catalogs, lots of them, and JC Penney circa 1977 was a postal carrier’s nightmare. A thick, heavy, 2 inch, bound ream of pages featuring the wish lists of everyone in small town USA. I am betting that when the catalog first came out, people everywhere were dog-earring pages as they sat on the shitter. SHUDDER!

To further prove my point, you may recall this photo;
which I have posted in the past. Here is an example of that 1977 magic- Slutsky style.

That is right people, I am back. Back to blogging and back to the business of fashion (if you can even call it that?) of all kinds. Yeah, I have missed you too. Really. I have.



3 comments:

Nothing shocks me anymore... said...

Welcome back!!!!!!!!!!!!! Missed your writings, musing and all around humor!

peacefrog said...

I'm so happy you're back!!! I have seen this e-mail before and I cried laughing then as I did now!! Thank you!!!!!

Helene Eichenwald Slutsky said...

Shucks, Seriously. I'm glad to be back too

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