I'm a Le Douchebag

You'd think I'd know better.

That after 30 some odd years...er, 20 some odd years, in the advertising business deluding people about the incredible horsepower of a shitty compact car or shooting chemically-injected painted chicken designed to flare up over a flaming grill, I would know that you can't always believe what you see.

Of course that didn't stop me from clicking an online shopping site, whipping out my credit card and laying claim to a brand new $80 LayBag.

Lured by its vaginal appearance and its incredibly simple inflation, I was convinced I needed one of these hipster contraptions. It's light. It's durable. And it'll be perfect for outdoor activities, a comfortable alternative to those stiff aluminum folding camping chairs.

Or so I thought.

Two months after ordering the damn thing, it shows up. Shipped to me by some laughing Swedes who are now counting their shekels and picturing lame Americans trying to inflate the oversized Zip Lock bag.

Because believe me it is not as simple as it may appear in many of the company's YouTube videos.

I spent the better part of the afternoon flailing the contraption around my back yard. I ran with it. I did circles with it. I tried to gulp the air into it the way a whale opens his mouth wide and captures a ton of kelp.

All, it appears, to be in vain.

When I tried to compress the air I did manage to get in the bag and roll up the ends, I was left with nothing more than a glorified 3 foot long ottoman, hardly the canoe-length couch I had been promised.

My wife and daughters, watching from the comfort of the family room, required ice on their necks to recover from all the hilarity they enjoyed at my expense. And here at the Siegel household we put a premium on laughter.

So, in a way, I did get my money's worth.