figure 1


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figure 3




Enclosed you will find photos of the fan I purchased some 13 years ago. It was the summer of '93 and man was it hot. I remember living with my mother, I was a junior in high school, and one hot summery day, our AC system died.

My mother slid me a finsky and sent me up the street to the local Peoples. Now, I say Peoples because if anyone knows me, they know I like to keep it real. And Peoples, now CVS, was the place to buy all of your fan-operated cooling machines.

So, with money in hand, I bought two of the badboys you see above (see figure 1). The fans came unassembled so we vigorously put them together and plugged 'em in to get a little heat relief. She kept hers on her dresser facing her bed and I stuck mine in the middle of my bedroom floor aimed at my bed.

So, once again, all was well in the world of JKREW. I developed a habit of turning on the fan at night to not only get a refreshing breeze going, it was also a way to create a little noise in the room so I could rest peacefully. Now I know what you are all thinking... Keeping a fan on like that continuously for 10+ hours a day really puts the fan through it's paces right? You bet your asses it does and that little fucker didn't stop once. God bless 'em, he just kept on spinning away like a champ.

Summer of 1994 came along and I was off to college. The University of MD to be exact. I was housed in Easton Hall which, if anyone is familiar with U of MD, Easton was one of the biggest party dorms on campus. We were all crammed on the eighth floor with (god bless MD), boys AND girls. After a few weeks of settling in, I found myself entertaining a group of new friends in my room including a fine little philly named Sasha. Sasha was a junior at MD and was living on the same floor as I as an RA (floor monitor).

So while we were all watching a movie in my room, Sasha asks if I could massage her neck and of course, being a freshman I jumped on the chance as 95% of the male population knows, massaging ALWAYS leads to sex if you have the four magical ingredients fall together all at the same time.

Boy + girl + dorm room + black light + (Mazzy Star/Coldplay/Dave Mathews optional) = guaranteed booty.

And of course the neck massage eventually turned into a back massage all the while happening right in front of several of my male friends who were failing horribly at trying to seem like they were 100% engrossed in the movie playing in my room. I attempted my patented move of "hey, this would be easier without your shirt and if I sat on your butt" and wouldn't you know it, it worked like a charm. As we were on top of the bunk and the friends were below on the floor, Sasha threw off her sweater which then caused 7 pairs of freshman eyes to immediately look up and see me with a smile larger than Cameron Diaz on top of a half naked junior female. And then it happened, this one very moment that would quite possibly change my life forever... I saw her underwear. Now this wasn't normal underwear, this was different. They didn't seem to cover her ass all the way like normal underwear. No my friends, this underwear had this weird string attached to the back of the waistband. And they weren't white, they were black. To me, this pair of underwear was crafted by the devils temptress herself to only be worn by junior-level college females to snare unwitting freshman males. This underwear even had a special name.

The thong.

How can something so small be so big in terms of naughtiness? God bless the person who developed such a piece of clothing.

Now, why did I tell such a story you ask? Well, after the massage (and small makeout session), Sasha looked down at the floor seeing the Windmere fan and asked if she could pant it. Now, why did I throw in the part about the back massage and the making out? Well, to prove that my pimp hand is mother-fucking strong. Moving on... She would later paint swirls on the fan blades (see figure 3) that we thought looked hella-cool under the black light but in reality, it would only look cool if the fan turned at 6 rpm not 600.

The front guard of the fan would later be used to not only a guard our fingers when we were drunk and clumsy but also to detach and be wedged under the window to hold it up. That was until I had one too many bottles of adult beverages and threw up every hour on the hour for 8 straight hours from my eighth-story window, knocking the fan guard out to the murky depths of cement and vomit below. I never saw it again.

The Windmere fan later spent a few years at my fathers house as a workhorse for creating a breeze in the hallway only to be rescued by me when I graduated college and moved to my own place in Virginia. There, it took the role of creating noise while I slept just like old times.

Your quality product has been with me through eight girlfriends, four places of residence, 12 burnt meals in the kitchen, two summers without AC, four experiments with smoke machines and one chameleon named Sneaky Pete who met his demise in Savannah, Georgia where he lept from my caring hands to his death by way of decapitation. R.I.P. Pete.

Thank you Windmere. Your fan has been used for a minimum of 8 hours a day, almost DAILY, for the past 13+ years without fail. It gets a little noisy every 4 years or so but with a little disassembly and a nice blast from the air gun to blow the dust out of the magnets, it becomes tip top once again. The tension screw broke the 6th year in but when aimed upwards, it still works without problems.

Three cheers to a quality product good sirs! God bless you Windmere and God bless you whoever you are for making the thong. Thank you for giving hope to male freshman college students everywhere.

Sincerely,
Jason P. Kress