NSFW

 ...unless you work from home or are using your boss's computer.

Yaarrr!

Scurvy and Insanity Run Rampant!

Danube right here, right now.

Admittedly, this is so low-brow that not even kids are going to laugh.

Well, maybe kids at heart. (That's what they call old people. I'll be 29 in a few days.)

But I found something even gayer.

 

That's right, the album "Void where Inhibited" from the ambiguously homosexual dance troupe, Gotham. (I was both surprised and impressed by what I found at that link, so maybe I'll have to forget I ever saw this terrible album cover and give them a listen.)

With such songs as...

...this group is a winner.

(In other news, there is another album out there with the same title by a funk group called Belizbeha that is likened to Jamiroquai on their Amazon listing. Might have to check that out.)

But don't hit replay too many times because you might get a nasty surprise. (Unless you're into that sort of thing...)

I'd really rather not, thanks.

Derp.

Well, whatever cup of tea you're craving, sip deeply.

Picture Things

So I've been knee-deep in the a little consumed with lolcatz lately. (But none of that silly "cat talk" full of intentionally-misspelled words like teh and hai and kitteh. That's a disgrace!)  This sudden craving for feline photos is, in the words of the wise Fergie: "so 2000-late." Consider me a soccer mom who got obsessed with Beanie Babies last year.

But I digress.

I found the perfect art for my all-too-bare walls.

It's unclear whether this is Morris, the 9Lives cat, or some supermodel cat who lives in a château. Whoever it is, (s)he's brilliant.

I'm serious.

I initially approached this picture with a snarky why-the-hell-would-someone-own-this and today find myself approaching it with a dear-lord-why-didn't-i-buy-that. Grab a dry-erase marker and just make your own Lolcat on the fly. Let your friends jot down a lolcat greeting when they visit on Thursday night. Hell, let them draw penises all over it (don't think I don't know who you are).

So I've effectively established that "Morris Posing Sexily" (the official title of this photograph) needs a place in my house. Not so much for this next one.

What do Jimmy Smits and Dennis Franz have to say on behalf of milk, you ask?

Turns out roughing up punks ain't really necessary. On account of most guys and gals hurt themselves by not getting enough calcium. So reach out for 3 glasses of milk a day. Your body will thank you. Especially if we don't have to tell you again.

Okay, that's a pretty nice slice of the late-'90s. If eBay's slew of search results to the query "milk ad" are any indication, the only reason I'm not seeing more badly-matted Milk advertisements in thrift shops is because everybody is hoarding them at home. (Is this you? You may need help.)

Now for a classic.

...Made considerably less respectable by the dated frame and the fact that the reflection of the fluorescent fixture makes her facial expression somehow more smiley. (I may have just added that last bit for dramatic effect. Or it may be true because I say so.)

Neeeext!!

Aw, sad panda.

I actually picked up this piece of trash admirable cross-stitched letter "C" with the intention of buying it for my friend Cheryl who is a reported beast in the gymnasium. (No, that's not a sexual joke. But it should be.) Someone -- ahem -- seems to have dropped it. That someone was torn for a moment between her dedication to the idea of "you-broke-it-you-bought-it" and her knowledge of "i-visit-you-enough-and-blow-enough-money-on-tchotchkes-like-this-[now-]broken-one-that-no-one-is-going-to-buy-anyway-that-you-can-just-let-me-have-this-one".

Is that a bad philosophy?

Maybe you prefer something more along the lines of "it-was-only-$2-which-really-doesn't-put-anyone-back-to-work". Or perhaps you would rather look down on me for it for the rest of our relationship (be it forever and ever or just until I put a period at the end of the statement that I'm eventually going to finish making right now).

Look down on me, then. I'm shorter than many people.

Well, folks, that's all I've got. Get prepared for tomorrow, when we'll look in on some pretty epic album art.

*Fun Fact: The word "folks" feels like syrup in your mouth.

Mc-WTF??

I met up with a friend for some fine dining at McDonald's.

I wasn't very hungry, so I prepared to order an iced coffee. But before I stepped up to the counter, I caught out of the corner of my eye...

How could I resist such an offer? I mean...*blushes and coyly looks to her feet*...you're so silly, McDonalds! Right here? Where everyone can watch us?

Well, that just makes too much sense.

Turns out sex is selling milkshakes these days.

And this Mighty Kids Meal box is thrilled.

The Camel

I was looking through the t-shirts at a Goodwill precisely 64 days ago, and found this blue and yellow option. The color was vibrant, I knew for certain that it had never been worn nor washed in its lifetime. Suddenly, as my eyes slid over skillful embroidery, I understood why.

Poop®: Now Available in NAVY!

Turns out this unfortunate shirt was courtesy of Peeps®, the marshmallow treats most often experienced during Easter.

Peeps® brings you...Poops®!

Exactly 7564.2 seconds after I found that shirt, I located this piece of art.

Prints Now Available: Nowhere.

So what do we have so far? We have a t-shirt with a pile of poop embroidered on its front panel; we have an inspiration drawing that shows bare ass. What else could we need?

How about the plumber himself?

[Insert laughter appropriate to how funny you thought this progression was.]
[Possibly cicadas chirping.]

Now that I've reached the end of this post, it occurs to me how badly (if at all) planned my composition was. I picked three mildly amusing pictures just stuck them to a big piece of digital posterboard.

Round, Vacuous Holes

Recognize this gal?

Birdo's biological sex is irrelevant.
(I mean, look at that snout!)

My caption ensures you now have a name for this creature. Click the link above for more info if you need it, as there's no time for a biographical tangent right now.

Birdo's my character-of-choice when it's time for Mario Party, though I really can't point to a reason why. I'm sure a psychoanalyst could come up with something Freudian, but that's yet another tangent that'll have to wait for another time. (Comment section, mayhaps?)

Over the last few weeks, I've discovered that Birdo's unique mouth-nose arrangement...doesn't seem to be quite so unique anymore. Exhibit A:

"Fill me with your bath toys, battery-powered or otherwise."

In case you can't tell from this photo, this is a ceramic dog in swim trunks. This beachgoer has his head flung back in joy -- apparently thrilled that his tracheotomy went as planned and that his doctor cleared him to hit the beach. Yes: you are staring into the deep, dark hole of a stoma.

You can throw up now.

Exhibit B:

"Yee-haw! It's not Halloween!"

"Put something inside me. Candy...other things, whatever."

Okay, maybe this one doesn't qualify. Its gaping hole is on the back side. (Teehee.) But where else am I going to put this Halloween atrocity? Lord knows I won't remember this photo when the holiday comes around.

Exhibit C:

I'm a cow.

I am the proud owner of a dairy cow creamer pitcher thingy. (That's the technical term, I promise.) But I found one at Tuesday Morning [on a Wednesday afternoon] that seems a little weird when you look at it straight-on:

Moo.

 Gaze deep into its hole.

Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

It's like looking into a black hole. *shudders*