T-Shirt Rack Diving

One of my favorite racks in the thrift shop holds t-shirts. You never know if you're going to find six hot pink shirts commemorating the 2004 Johnson Family Reunion or a handful of brewery tees retired after a single night on a bar wench's torso.

Here are a few memorable finds.

Found this one in Size XL:

Might start by sharing that fourth hot dog.

And this creamsicle beauty:

Looks like somebody skimped on the translation job here.

And then this head-scratcher, merging two seemingly dissimilar elements:

"Business in the front, party in the back" sounds like a typical mob business.

There's really no telling what you'll find on the rack...

Power of Seduction

It's been a great night. From the moment she stepped into that overpriced Italian restaurant for your date, you could feel a desire to eat breakfast together stirring in your loins. Her infectious smile and silky voice only cemented that desire into an aching need.

But you can't count on scrambled-eggs-for-two; truth be told, you want her because she is not guaranteed. She's a strong, intelligent woman with high standards and there's no telling if you can hold in your idiosyncracies long enough to close the deal.

So when she slips away to "freshen up" in your bathroom, you quickly thumb through your guide to seduction.

Sliding this one on and off the shelf feels a little dirty. 

You're confident that by the end of the night you'll be engaged in illicit activities.

But you realize there are a few steps between now and then. Perhaps you should start with a massage?

Best review the chapter on massage techniques first. (Claude Serre)

Playing Ketchup

We all have bad days. Days so full of stress, disappointment, and despair...that our only solace comes at bedtime.

Apparently this tomato seeks refuge in dreams of his own sweet death...

There will be no sugarplum fairies dancing in this thought bubble.

Though I suppose when your corporate overlords praise overindulgence in their customers, you're bound to see honor in death by puree.

This also applies in some pantry organization systems.

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So this post was written is in fun, but if you're struggling to make it through the day PLEASE talk to someone. The Suicide Prevention Lifeline is open 24/7/365 and there is NO SHAME in asking for help (1-800-273-8255).

Hot Diggity Dog!

Yeah, so this joke has been run into the ground...

How to beg and how to play dead.

And yet i'm posting it.

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Because I found this:

Comes with a bowl for ketchup or the clotted blood of your enemies.

Spine Reading

You might say I'm a bit of a reader. (Though, full disclosure: I was a couple books shy of my 40-book goal for last year.)

I'm not picky -- I read billboards on road trips, storefronts in town, realtor mailers featuring the inexplicably popular fist-under-the-chin pose, etc. And when I'm near a bookshelf, you best believe I'm going to peruse the titles.

Hilarity often ensues.

So big it's 72pt.

Sauntering through shelves of books, I discover a strange juxtaposition of elements.

An authority on fiction.

And seemingly-significant adjacencies.

Bake poetry at 350°F.

Other times, it's a blend of confusion and intrigue:

Probes & Prayers.

But all too soon, my waltz through the words is over.

[Insert pause here.]

My attention quickly returns to my appetite.

Om nom nom. Repeat as necessary.

The Curse of Roommates

Humans are weird. Roommates most of all.

Maybe your roomie keeps himself barricaded in his room all day, only to start moaning like a dying cat around 2AM. Perhaps she drinks milk straight from the jug and keeps a jar of pickles underneath her bed. Honestly, there's no telling with these weirdos.

Apparently this same rule applies in thrift shops: 

Porcelain skin, porcelain heart.

Now I'm not one to bash on the goth crowd -- it might not be my thing, but I've met plenty of great people that subscribe to the counterculture -- but given the expression on her shelfmate's face, I'm willing to bet there's more to this little lady than a pale face.

Cellophane cannot contain this fear.

What do you imagine is this ghostly girl's backstory? Does she have literal skeletons in her closet?

Intimates in Hell

So I've been asked by two friends in different social circles to revive this blog. I've thought about it a few times before, when my reason against it was "but you'll just let it go dormant again after a short blaze of activity at the start". But even a flash of light is better than darkness, so here I am.

An undetermined amount of time ago, I was walking through a local branch of hell and found myself in the "intimates" department. Which, in a place like Wal-Mart, just doesn't feel right. Case in point, these panties that make me feel and warm and nauseous inside:

Why is there a mouth on my camel's lips? I feel like someone might get confused.

There's also this pair in blue:

Well, I mean, I guess that pairs wins for better wording. I am still not sure about the face sitting on my pelvic bone. I mean, face-up? Kinda rolled a natural-1 there, didn't you, Cookie Monster?

This last one took the cake, though.

 

Two things. One: What the hell? Two: I've heard of a mustache ride, but a unibrow ride?