The Chinese Make a Lousy Gas Can

Yup, I said it – the Commies do not know how to make a gas can with a vent or a bendable spout which does not spill or burp gasoline every time you try to fill your lawn mower’s gas tank, or your weed trimmer’s fuel reservoir.  It’s pathetic and it’s environmentally disgraceful!

There I am, in my own backyard trying to pour a copious amount of petrol (time is money and I don’t have the time or patience to trickle it in) into my grass-cutting machine and gabloop chug – a gurgling squirt of precious and potentially grass-killing fossil fuel regurgitates onto the mower engine and deck. The gas can-designing genius who ignorantly designed this can, left off the vent.

It’s a travesty.  Just try to find a fuel container designed by the Japanese.  Good luck – as if luck has anything to do with it.  The industrious Japanese (thank you Dr. W. Edwards Deming) raised their standard of living to the point that they cannot compete with the Commies in the gas can arena anymore.  Of course, all red-blooded Americans hated “Jap-junk” as it was called, but now we know and realize their stuff was actually an improvement over what we had initially created.  They ingeniously copied our stuff and improved it.

This is evidentially not the case with Chinese imported products.  They discovered that all they had to do was flood our market with cheaper products, regardless of the quality of said products, and they could eliminate the competition – and, we deal-hungry Americans would buy it regardless of a drop in quality.  And they were right.

Heck, we didn’t even notice.

The day after Thanksgiving is named “Black Friday”.  The reason for this goes something like this.  Back in 1966 the good folks in the City of Brotherly Love (the city with the most murders per capita) were out of control buying selling and celebrating Capitalism (spending money on Christmas presents) and the cops called it a Black Friday.

Supposedly these days, business owners go from being in the red to being in the black, or a place where they pass the break-even point.  Us product-savvy lemmings call it Deal Day and we rush out in record numbers and charge our credit cards up to get the great deals, only to pay interest down the road and end up getting the deal for more than the original price – and then we repeat it next year.

Mercifully, the National Retail Federation’s marketing web site SHOP.org invented a way to extend this frenzy for cheap Chinese inferior imports by inventing Cyber Monday.  Whoosh – ka-ching!  Another credit card gets punched, but this time it’s online, so its an even better deal.

Almost everything we buy falls into the same category as the gas can.  It all comes from China, is cheaper than the competition and pushes its way to the top, leaving us with fewer choices for quality goods (if it says NIKE on it, it MUST be good stuff). 

Buy a lawn mower or dishwasher and in 3-5 years, they’re both junk – throwaways. If you opt to have them repaired, it’s often cheaper to just buy a new one – another Chinese made sub-quality piece of short term junk. 

My Chinese-made gas can has a straight semi-ridged spout, so when I try to bend it, as I pour gas into my mower’s tank, it squirts the gas over the top of the fill hole, then it burps because the plastic can does not have a vent.  I’m weary of this.  I’m going to take an awl and poke a hole the top of the can behind the handle and cap it with a pencil. 

That’s all the control we got left in this country over products.

The Six I Got Are Awesome!

Like literally millions of other Baytonians, I was at Wal-Mart this past Friday morning to get the deal of the century. It is our duty and right as good citizens to spend credit cards like there never will be a reckoning and spend we did. I have to tell you, it was a madhouse at the electronics counter and I came away bruised, but successful…and grinning. I only lost two teeth.

You see, I was after the much coveted XBOX 360 Arcade Console with bonus Guitar Hero game and guitar for the droolingly low price of only $199.00. Knowing I was going to face another Black Friday shopping frenzy, I envisioned Johnny Weissmuller preparing for one of his famous Tarzan challenges; only my bride wouldn't let me attempt it in a loincloth, so I adapted. I knew I had the skills to easily beat everyone with the exception of another commando shopper. I must train.

Donning my urban camo hoodie, bright red Steve Zissou beanie, neon green Spandex XXXL cycling shorts and twenty-two dollar Payless brand sneakers, I sprayed WD-40 liberally onto my corpulent lower frame in anticipation of the rush to the counter (it paid off big time too). Friction can be a major problem when you shop in the manner I was planning.

I contrived to be first at the game counter and if it got rowdy, I planned on showing them rowdy in the true spirit of gritty Capitalism. In other words, I had on the standard knee and elbow pads and the gloves with the fingers exposed. I thought about wearing my old Karate headgear, but it would give me away (that and the smell of the WD-40 are standard ploys which alert other savvy commando shoppers). I planned on using a Ninja approach, as of yet untested here in B-Town and I NEEDED the WD-40.

Thursday afternoon my bride taped Wal-Mart's Black Friday flyer on the garage wall (after she had pulled the Sonata out so I could train) with the XBOX 360 motivational Ad in plain view. I began an exhaustive regimen consisting of multiple sets of squat-thrusts, elbow-swinging, low-tackles and clothesline arm swings. I would need all of these strategic athletic moves simply to get from the parking lot to the front door, but there is more, so read on.

The more I thought about the tricky parking lot, the more I realized I was going to need a drop-off driver and I couldn't think of anyone more unwilling to do this task than my bride of thirty-one years. So come 0hhhh-455 military time, my fellow urban commando clothed lady drove past the entrance doors and I rolled out in much the same fashion as John Goodman in "The Big Lebowski". My extra rotund bell-bottomed mass helped out considerably as I only flipped twice and coming to rest on my kneepads (a gravitational advantage to being heavy-ended), I low-crawled past the shopping carts and by many of my fellow (and less Black Friday sale-knowledgeable) shoppers.

This is when the squat-thrust exercises paid off like a bacon breakfast. Since I didn't use them to cross the parking lot, I launched into a series of squatting and leaping towards the electronics counter that was so exhausting and distracting that those shoppers who were also after an XBOX 360 simply froze in their tracks. I'm telling you I was pulling out all the stops.

Hanging from my neck was a turkey call and if an added distraction was needed, I was going to use it with vigor. Thank the heavens I didn't have to, as while hopping; I deployed my patented clothesline arm swings I had diligently practiced.

Incidentally, this combination of arm swings, squats and thrusts works best after downing three Redbull energy drinks and four MoonPies. The MoonPies keep the Redbull from eating a hole in your stomach and actually act as a sugar catalyst to increase the distance each thrust takes you in the store. I figure I was moving about thirty miles per hour.

With one final noisy effort, sweat flying, I bounced into the Electronics counter and my G-force landing blew out the heel on right Payless sneaker. The only thing that kept me from injuring myself was I ninja-rolled and crashed squarely onto the well-padded midriff of another urban commando Black Friday shopper and knocked her square out, thus allowing me to rapidly recover and plop six, yes six XBOX 360's on the counter.

With a quick glance at the Pepto-Bismol pink sweat suit-clad and semi-conscious form of my fellow commando shopper (I noticed she had deployed the less than successful rolling offense ploy and had actually knocked her own self out on the corner display. She should have remembered the WD-40), grabbing a cart, I rolled my way past the less gifted shoppers, heading for the entrance.

Now the good folks at Wal-Mart know a possibly hostile situation when they see one (but reward shopping skill when they see it) and before I had reached the front doors, I had the entire Deli-Section lined up in front of me performing the classic football "Flying Wedge" and we blasted through the front doors knocking over everything with the exception of a pregnant woman eating a donut. Dang the torpedoes –we are shopping!

Tossing my major haul into the Sonata, we sped away like Bonnie and Clyde – except legal. I've never felt such a spirit of victory in all my shopping days. Note: When I saw all the people and the full parking lot, I bought an XBOX 360 online.