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Unreal pumps up the volume with Blago, but it's all sucky from there 

Who Needs Paul Mitchell When There's Rod Blago Shampoo?
Unreal just heard about some employees at a Chicago radio station who received an unexpected package last week, ripped it open and proceeded to laugh so hard that some of them peed their pants.

The joke du jour:

BLAGO Volumizing Shampoo and Conditioner — For Really Big Hair.

"IT'S BLEEP'N GOLDEN!" reads the bottle.

It's no joke!

A Chicago-area company called Delta Laboratories is actually pitching the product across the country. BLAGO is available for sale on the Web.

Unreal scanned the site ( and took note of the ingredients: silk protein, keratin and panthenol (ProVitamin B-5), which are all supposed to strengthen and shine. (Sounds to Unreal like Pantene.)

Blago's fruity side is brought out with green tea and rosemary, not to mention orchid extracts — meant to, uh, stimulate.

Maybe Rod Blago will score a licensing deal and hawk this special concoction to fellow federal inmates. Or trade it for the right to keep his hiney sparkling clean, if you know what we mean.

That would be bleep'n golden.

Local Blog O' the Week
"One Brilliant Broad"
Author: The Rocket Queen
About the blogger: The Rocket Queen's 27, lives in south city and, having been laid off, is looking for a job.

Recent Highlight (May 15): Descent to Mom Jeans
Current mood:awkward
Category: Life

Fashion Designers of America,

I cannot afford to have my jeans custom-made, okay? I can't shell out hundreds of dollars per pair just to make sure I have a garment that fits me. That's fits me, okay, not "hangs on my body in an awkward fashion just because the number is vaguely right."

Once again, my favorite pair of jeans bit the dust. They all bite the dust in the same place, actually, just below the crotch on the inner thigh. It's not like I have thunder thighs or anything; my legs are still firmly in the "chicken" category. But the uppermost upper thighs, yeah, fine, they touch. They should.

But nowadays jeans are made with Lycra and Lycra is not the most substantial fabric in the world. So all my jeans wear and tear in the same place and my favorite-pair-of-the-moment wear out quickly. So yesterday I had to buy new jeans.

GODDAMMIT. Just as I write about being a Perfect 10, I have to deal with the shitty selection at JC Penney's and buy a size 12. And not Levi's, by the way, not the brand I've been buying for years and years and is an American institution. NO. Because Levi's is out of size 10 Longs, the only ones that fit me and are not priced above $40 a pair (highway robbery), I have to buy a 12 Long from St. John's Bay.


You know what those are? MOM JEANS. St. John's Bay are mom jeans. The waist is halfway to my tits and the crotch is halfway to my knees and they are MOM JEANS. Oh, Angelina Jolie spokespersoned for St. John's Bay, they must be fabulous, SHUT THE FUCK UP. Angelina Jolie is a soccer mom now. She met Brad Pitt and kidnapped/birthed a shitload of babies and lives in the suburbs and always looks constipated and she is a soccer mom.

And now I'm wearing her jeans. I knew this would happen. I knew I would turn 27 and the age would come crashing down. My face looks the same but my hips are paying the price. I am old. I'm stuck shopping for mom jeans at JC Penney (because is a huuuge hassle) and now I've reached the point of no return.

So, Fashion Designers of America, how about doing me a favor? How about designing jeans for a real woman? One of average weight who doesn't get enormouser in every single part, one who happens to be tall, and one whose bulk of tall occurs in her legs? How about making some jeans I can walk around in without getting cold ankles, ones that don't have huge asses and giant FUPA areas and waistlines that don't have to be cinched until I die? How about some normal jeans that a normal girl can wear without having to face abject humiliation in the Arctic summer-like lighting of a major department store fitting room because I'm too cheap and too lazy to drive to Macy's?!?!


Just don't make me feel like a fucking freak for a change. That's all I ask. Give me jeans or give me death.

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