Monday, October 5, 2009

Dating. Or, when Juicy Fruit doesn't necessarily mean gum.

The beautiful thing about life is, I just couldn't make some of this shit up. A Roman Catholic Bishop with kiddie porn. Elmer Fudd designs Canada's 2010 Olympic gear. NATO forces outsmarted by a man in a dress, hiding in a cave. Celine Dion. Life is simply laced with ridiculously fabulous fodder for the twisted mind.

Take for instance last week, when I caught up with a girlfriend who is recently single, and without exaggeration, one of the most flawlessly beautiful creatures on Earth. I'd honestly hate her if she wasn't so fucking fun.

Recently separated, and starting to venture out on a few coffee dates, or easy-escape type encounters, my friend told me about a recent date she'd been on. Her experience made me realize, that if things like this actually happen to a goddess, then what hope is there for me.

Chivalry may have been pissed away by the feminist movement, but common decency should prevail – at least until he gets you into loaded and into the sack, right? I ask, because not long into my friend's second date with a handsome, educated, successful, no-baggage type of guy – the gentleman proceeded to fart like my grandmother on Bingo night. (She was easily excitable). Her date farted out loud. He farted with glee. He farted with gusto. Uninhibited and repetitive breakage of wind came out of this man's otherwise, nice ass. What's so fabulous about this story is he started to name his farts: The first was Cheesy. Followed by Pop Tart. Bullfrog. Squeaky. And my personal favourite, M-16.

The sad part about all of this was, while my friend was horrified beyond belief, I found it quite funny. Almost, well... charming. They were outdoors, it was a beautiful day, and I probably would have been rolling around on the ground laughing – begging for a third, quite possibly a fourth date. Hey, why wait 'til you're married to find out the asshole actually has one.

But what do I know. I haven't been on a date in so long the Bishop of Nova Scotia's looking good to me. My advice to her was Surgically Clean Air. Yes, girlfriend, don't let a good man go for sake of a little foul air. An air purifier from Surgically Clean Air will not only clean up his act, it'll conquer things like mold, volatile organic compounds (VOC's), Sick Building Syndrome, even the probiotic yogurt and Buffalo wing/pitcher combo from Friday night.

Truth is, 30% of all doctor and hospital visits are respiratory related. (The other 70% are seeking a quick prescription for "mood elevators".) Once slated for dentist offices and funeral homes, quality air purifiers are popping up like water coolers in professional settings and living rooms. Lord knows I could use one back where my Silent But Deadly child hangs out.

Air purifiers from Surgically Clean Air come in a variety of sizes depending on your man, and they combine six stages of air sterilization and purification. There are four "capture" stages for particulate matter and two "kill" stages for volatile organic compounds, bacteria and viral infectious agents.

Capture and kill. Isn't that what dating's all about, Wet One?

Get your own purified air. Email For more information visit: or by calling 1.877.440.7770.