The ad: This blot on logic's landscape, for Shout "stain treater towelettes."
The verdict: As we feared, since this ad is about a stain on an article of clothing, the vast majority of our filthy-minded readership couldn't get past "that woman" -- the one The New York Post likes to call the Plump Pepperpot. Look, we enjoy a girl who can use Calista Flockhart for a toothpick as much as the next guy, but the bobbin' beret is henceforth banned from this page -- along with a certain furry little rodent that's sort of like a hamster.
Lisa is a stripper on her way to work, which explains the ratty denim shirt. But the stain bled through to the sequin bra she's wearing underneath, which probably melted a sequin or two.
Well, if she's a stripper, Amy, she won't be working in New York. The only place you're allowed to strip here, since Rudy "No Nudie" Giuliani took over, is the fitting room at Macy's -- and you have to get a permit for that.
Hey, Lisa, why not cut out a step and just wear your precious little wipes?
Now that's thinking outside the box, Jason. You wear enough of those and you don't need a permit to change at Macy's.
I'm glad to hear that with Shout moist towelettes I can enjoy my morning drive-time monkey-spanking with confidence.
Matt, even Jim Morrison knows you gotta keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel. We must insist you carpool with Monica Lewinsky. We realize we broke our own rule using her name, but lives are at stake.
Lisa M. is an anal AE who's used to unruly fluids in her car.
"Anal AE" is a redundancy, Larry, and when's the last time you saw a suit in a ratty denim shirt except at a Halloween party, when they like to dress up as creatives?
Lisa Mushinski's second letter to Shout: "Your wipes saved me again! I was all hopped up on coffee driving to a client meeting, and I decided to stop into a local slaughterhouse to punch some beef. I didn't realize I'd forgotten to put on my rubber apron . . ."
Punch some beef? How could you write this in front of Matt, Andy?
She wears a ratty denim shirt to work because she is an art director/copy/contact person for a large New York ad agency. She usually wears a natty, starched white blouse, just in case she has to have "contact," but this day she was helping direct a :30 TV spot.
We don't know what you're talking about, John, but the next time we're at a megashop in town and we see a woman in a natty, starched white blouse, we're going to demand "contact."
I think that Lisa Mushinski should be more concerned about the mysterious green circle leaving a slime trail across her shirt.
That was left by an anal AE, Al.
She's wearing the ratty denim shirt because it's Denim Friday at her workplace. That's when all employees can ditch the K-Mart Jaclyn Smith Collection wardrobe, the nude nylons, the frumpy white socks with gleaming white L.A. Gear shoes and let down that fake perm from the constraints of the ever-so-feminine scrunchie.
Melina, we see you carboned your colleague Jocelyn Baun with this entry. We applaud your efforts to subtly steer Jocelyn off the path of fashion victimhood. Jocelyn, you're lucky to have a friend like this!
Poor Lisa is an obsessive-compulsive rodeo clown, and she couldn't drive all the way back to Texarkana without missing the Saugus Prison Rodeo.
Hey, Jocelyn, have you thought about rodeo clowning? You can wear anything you want, and, anyway, you get to hide in a barrel a lot.
Excellent work! In this month's contest, you've managed to completely insult Polish TGI Friday's waitresses.
There are no Polish TGI Friday's waitresses, Dave. In Poland, the chain is called Thank God It's Tuesday.
Lisa Mushinski is secretly Monica . . .
We can't run your entry, Mr. Kirkland, but we were wondering if you'd be willing to sell Matt your e-mail address.
The same thing happened to me last month, only I spilled the hot coffee on my thin rayon shirt, instantly turning my skin into a 50 flesh/50 poly blend.
But look at the upside, Chuck: 1) You weren't wearing a sequin bra underneath. Right? 2) If your flesh is 50 percent polyester, you can change in Macy's without a permit, no towelettes required.
"Don't go out without your Shout"? Just who is this ad's audience supposed to be? "Please don't leave the house without your Depends" could be another One Show candidate. And what about "Look, you drooling idiot, don't begin eating without your bib and eye patch."
That's not nice, Chris. That's what the nursing home attendant says to the Hathaway Man every day.
Anyone that can fold a shirt into a perfect circle like that can be excused for lacking in sartorial splendor. I'd like to see how she handles her unmentionables.
Well, we know how Giuliani would handle them. With sterilized tongs and rubber gloves.
I want to know how many pedestrians Lisa wipes out while she's sipping and spilling when she should be driving.
Not as many as Matt's been bouncing off his fender while he's unzipping and spilling.
When you rearrange the letters of Lisa Mushinski's name, you get I MILK S. HUSSAIN.
You, sir, are a genius. Allowing for a minor spelling variation, you have brilliantly refocused the topic of the day to those most diabolical weapons of mass destruction, the "Milk Mustache" ads, which we understand will continue to be produced for the next five years in secret underground bunkers outside Baghdad. You'll be pleased to know we have given 30,000 yellow legal pads to a homeless man on the corner of Lexington and 57th, who has built a very nice studio apartment. He's calling it Kuttan Tower.
this month's contest
Win a lifetime supply of Calvin klein turtleneck sweaters!
Vicks Chloraseptic spray. Not exactly a product you'd associate with a couple dozen extra-long pushpins stuck in a woman's neck, but what do we know? Headline: "Fast, lasting relief from a prickly throat." That's a prickly throat? The tag: "5 sprays for instant relief that stays." You have to spray it five times? You need to buy five of them to get relief? It comes in five flavors? Tug our uvula at [email protected] Contest not open to . . . ah, screw