My great invention


You've been there - the quiet restaurant, where you and your'n are enjoying a peaceful, relaxing breakfast, having a nice conversation over your omelettes and pancakes. Then steadily a low roar builds, and the building fills with the stink of Ben-Gay and Preparation H. Soon enough, you're yelling to your dining companion just to be heard over the cackles and coughs of the baker's dozen of oldsters that are milling about the tiny, low-ceilinged restaurant.

But there's no problem. You just take out your handy-dandy Geezer-Be-Gone and put it on the table. With a flip of the switch, it'll be emitting a noise of a frequency undetectable to you and your less wrinkly compatriots, but specially tuned to make a hearing aid crackle and scream like a hamster in a blender.

Like a herd of bitter, cranky wildebeest, the octogenarians shuffle and scrape towards the door, oxygen carts in tow, squealing plaintively and clutching their ears. Within minutes, you're back to enjoying your meal!

Order now! And while you're at it, pick up one of my bumper stickers!

Hurry up and die!
Move, coffin-dodger!