Windex is a great brand.

The photo above is my hand.  Holding a bottle of Windex®.

Not just any bottle of Windex® but Limited Edition Windex.  What's "Limited" about this Windex?

The label.  And what's so special about the label?  It has stylized sunglasses on it.

Think about this - by this weird work of nothingness, Windex has made a startling admission:  they've created the perfect product.  Nothing to improve.  No contests.  No 'decorator bottles.'   No 'easy applicators.'  No 'travel size.'   No nuthin'.

Not even a different COLOR LIQUID.

Nuthin' but a stinkin' label change.

In other words, Windex is the perfect brand.  There's nothing to improve, schlep, razzle-dazzle or discount other than...a headline.

If you hear that angelic hum coming from the horizon, far off, in the direction of the hallowed halls of Windex, Inc., know that the Marketing Department has been officially fired.

Perfection has occurred.

Gawd bless the Chemists.

OMG! IT'LL BE SOOOOO CUTE!

"And for when the baby comes home, I'm gonna wear THESE BLUE ONES!  Yay!"

This is what you get for letting dirty old men direct the photo shoot.  

"Hey Vanessa.  Stuff a couple shirts up your dress, k?"

"Ok!"

"Greeaat..."

In the meantime, the Candies Foundation continues their tireless quest to inform, educate and elevate young girls to be the BEST they can be!

And if the best you can be is be beautiful?  Save the world and get breedin'! 

It's all in the execution.

The photo above came from a Sadvertising reader.  It's of her friend's daughter's birthday cake.  Ok, it's not really a cake but one of those ice-cream things sold by Dairy Queen.

You know, you've got to hand it to DQ - they sure do step up to the plate and try.  Kind of like parents, who enroll their kid in every conceivable sport program - you know, for his self-esteem and all - only to slump in defeat when they finally realize, "Damn.  We gave birth to a band kid."

But that's life.  And business.  When the franchisor sees the lucrative custom-cake segment going to all those little old ladies and grocery stores that have edible-ink cake printers...

"We can do that, too!"

And so here you go.  Little Cindy's Barbic cake!  In typical franchisor-minded, politically-correct fashion, too!  Why, Barbic is part Eskimo, African-American, Asian, Norwegian, Scottish...and even German Rottweiler!  And Persian Cat!

And down-on-her-luck Showgirl!

Can you imagine the party?  A flutter of little party girls giggling and talking, readying for presents and treats... mom unveils the cake...then the stunned silence and prickly psychic static generated by the wordless wondering, "What the hell is that?!"

And little Jenny starts to cry.

Then Lauren.

Then Betsy says she has to go to the bathroom.

And Cindy...sweet little Cindy on her beautiful day asks, "Mommy?  What did you do?"  Cindy points at what Mommy now will forever refer to as The Thing...

"It's..." (mom inhales)  "...$25 down the tube."

Cindy joins the wailing.

Meanwhile, far away, at a Dairy Queen, an hourly employee with no art training doesn't understand why   he's suddenly consumed with guilt.

And Dairy Queen corporate issues a memo, "We've just licensed Justin Bieber's face for party cakes!  Hurray!"