Necking

It's been a pretty bleak week for curiosities, with nothing noteworthy to share from my regular haunts. I do believe I'll have to expand my search area next week to refill my photo supplies. That being said, here are a few relatively tame (compared to my last two posts) tees featuring wild animals.

First up, an elephant training for the animal kingdom version of the pole vault. It seems the red bird on his trunk is his tough-love coach, while the too-cool-for-school giraffe gets relegated to sports equipment. (Giggity?) Not quite sure what the sea serpents are doing in the picture...is the competition occurring on a sheet of glass (if so, I applaud the animals' ingenuity in creating an athletic arena which allows for water-breathers spectators ... and I give props to the elephant's ability to maintain traction on the smooth surface)? Was the T-shirt artist trying to expand the subject matter to a wider range of creatures...or was (s)he just trying a little too hard to diversify the color palette in the composition?

 

At this point, you're probably feeling for the abused giraffe. But consider the plight of his long-necked friend:

Just because it's old doesn't mean it's worth my time, Grandpa.

Some people suck at flower arranging; others are terrible at assembling displays in antique stores. We're all hacks at something.

I admittedly read too much into disorganized items while shopping. I chuckle to myself when I find discarded merchandise on strange shelves, and I smirk when fate finds the time to bring together two things destined to be together forever. But antique shops take things to a whole other level. An antique mall near my house has about a hundred different stalls with personal collections of a whole bunch of weirdos. (I take that back; there were probably 15 collections that didn't scream INSANITY the instant my eyeballs lighted on them. Maybe 16.)

I am going to attempt to interpret a few pictures I took while cruising (I am definitely not buying these "antiques" -- I'll spend pocket change for a stupid book on teaching your cat tricks but I am not going to throw away $75 on a pinstrosity or bad life decision).

First up:

Um...

Welcome to the Miami Heat locker room?

This next one's going to take a little bit more creativity.
 

So, what do we have here:

• Old wheelchair
• Cocktail Hour sign
• Helmet
• Shiner Bock sign

So you figure after mixing beer and liquor crazy things are gonna happen. An hour in, your friends insist you put on a bicycle helmet in case your unsteady feet fall out from underneath you. Keep in mind that while they'd rather you didn't bust your head open and kill the mood, they are simultaneously laying the concern on pretty thick and laughing at your stupid ass at the same time as you strap that helmet on. (Can't you see how retarded she is?) By the time you and your flock stumble out of the bar (last call, out of money at 1am, etc.) you're all pretty much wasted. Someone glimpses a rickety wheelchair near a dumpster and dumps you into the chair (none of the drunken crowd realizing it's soaked in urine until you wake up the next afternoon). They take turns pushing you as fast as they can...until you come to the curb, where you're promptly dumped out into the street. Thank God you had that helmet.

Secondhand Sex

These days, JT is all about dressing to the nines...but once upon a time, he brought sexy back. So why not brush off the dust, disinfect to high heaven, and consider those thrift shop purveyors who brought back their sexy items? No suits and ties here (though I just now decided ugly ties are going on my watch list), just a few things that make you go "eww".

First up, a book whose cover art suggests missionary is the only way to go:

The font alone tells me that this book was a dried-up (abstinent NOT by choice?) guy's attempt at broaching a topic in such a way that both he and his mother (living in the same house, no doubt) could discuss its contents without embarrassment. Way to make sex boring, dude. I doubt there are even any photos in here (aside from, possibly, a sketch of the vas deferens).

I've got to wonder: Was this book purchased for personal use -- some sod looking to score some extra tail by "studying up"? I imagine this tome had a place in his nightstand...right underneath a huge bottle of lotion.

 Maybe it was a gift from a sponsor to someone struggling with sex addiction?
 
Or, more likely perhaps, a gag?

But I suppose I should just stop creating backstories for this book when it's pretty damn simple to do an internet search and discover it's a damn textbook (currently on its fourth-edition) with pretty good reviews across the board. The truth is always less exciting than the world inside my head.

Here I go again, getting all analytical. All I really wanted to say was...

Yes, please.

I'll try to stick with the quick punchlines next time. (Note that I said "try" which -- if you've read a few posts aside from this one you know -- really doesn't mean a whole lot here.) 

Palate cleanser?

Catchy name for a bread machine cookbook. When you realize what you're actually looking at, your gaze suddenly drops to your shoes and you shuffle away to find an innocent book of recipes for your new bread machine.

Once again, I'm making shit up. This isn't, in fact, a book dedicated to Monistat customers. (You really think the manufacturer's lawyers would let that happen? That's like Philip Morris' president volunteering to sing a song with the tracheotomy cowboy in the newest TRUTH commercial.) I suppose there's a mention or two of the condition; but Amazon's blurb and reviews identify this book as an argument against including yeast in your diet. (Enough reason for this Carb Queen to shuffle away to the cookbooks.)

Moving on...

My monogrammed bag says EAR, so I can relate to the less-than-ideal initials. But this bag is good for only one thing -- a travel kit full of lube and sex toys. I suppose it's not a bad holder for a bachelorette gift...

So I guess what all of these "finds" are telling us is:

Not a bad idea, even if this message is courtesy of 1999.

If the genius who wrote the line "Chickity China the Chinese chicken" endorses the idea, I'm sold!

I...love...springtime!

(Before he was a clueless gamer, CoCo poked fun at games Late at Night.)

I find that tangents are often best placed before the meat of a blog post, before the soup bowls are empty and the dinner guests have switched forks. Other times, I like a nice peppering of non sequiturs throughout a meal. How will I season this piece today? I suppose you'll have to sit down and suffer through the whole thing -- unless you'd rather skip dinner and spend your evening in your room, naughty readers.

[insert segue here]

So spring seems to have done that thing that tightly coiled wires are known for. It's time for husbands to mow the lawn and for wives to lounge around in the sun. As much as I sometimes wish the traditional gender roles still held, they do not. I am as likely to be pushing the Honda around the backyard as the Mister.

Much to our neighbors' dismay, we are putting off our yard's first haircut as long as humanly possible. It's not that we're attached to the weeds littering the lawn (a la a mother reluctant to cut her baby boy's curls), but more a mixture of unaligned schedules and a seeming inability to complete the lawncare quest in single-player mode. It would definitely be easier to get the job done if we had one of these:

I can see it now...just a few chords and your yard is perfectly groomed. Try a powerful guitar riff if you're not concerned with slaughtering the rosebushes; pluck out a classical tune for a more polished look. Grab Edward Scissorhands for backup and the two of you could do wonders to The Cure.

With all the hard work done outside, you're now free to play with your tools.

After you're through, wash your hands. Then check this out.

I found this very lightly-used toy table at Goodwill, suggesting that kids are just as freaked out by it as I am. I mean, the Cookie Monster Wrench is one thing...

Yes!

But what the hell happened to Ernie?

Yahtzee!

I believe I've finally reached the end of my word game binge. Okay, that's a lie -- this whole blog is a word game, if you look at it from the right angle. I guess an accurate statement would be that I've stopped clogging up my husband's smartphone with Wordfeud games and that I haven't played Words with Friends on Facebook for over a week.

Just in case you're unaware, let me spit some gaming history at you (camel-style). I'm seriously oversimplifying and not too obsessed with factual accuracy (consider the source material) so don't file this information away for Jeopardy or anything.

Alfred Butts was desperate for cash to fuel his drug and sex addictions. (It is unclear whether young Butts' sexual preferences included ass-play.) Sources are divided on whether the heroin or the punani sparked the idea, but in 1938 the game of Scrabble was born. Well, its whore mother anyway -- there were a few other hands in the tile bag before it hit it big.

Most frequently played word: B-U-T-T. Lecher or narcissist?

Turns out I'm a bit of a purist. It's Scrabble no matter what name you put on it -- and yes I realize that IN A COURT OF A LAW evidence could be presented to prove otherwise (different positioning of bonus squares, different scoring for tiles, blah blah blah) but just give me this one because otherwise I'll never get to the blog post.

This is me, assuming you're accepting my claim.

(Meanwhile, that is you, unable to do a damn thing about my party at which I'm crying because I want to.)

We begin the Scrabble tour with some salty snacks:

Note the proximity of the word "Baked" to F-U-N.

Then we move on to a light meal.

Soup? Or, if you're my parents, ICE CREAM.

And we'll round out the meal with some dessert. Combine cacao with some wordplay!

Unless you'd rather some ass-play. (Cacao optional.)

Okay, so maybe not the best meal. But I had to structure this post somehow, and I couldn't find an entree that fit into the theme. If you come across something that belongs with these three offerings, hit me up.

Now for some heroin to heal my soul food to appease my growling stomach.

I should be ashamed!

So...

 

...I found this shirt at the same time as another tennis-themed tee, so my initial interest was along those lines. I thought it might amuse the tennis players in my family so I forced myself to enjoy its message as well. My best effort was saved in the file name: Ormaybeyourcompetitorcantkeepupwithyouoryoureplayingracquetball.jpg. Yeah, so the racquetball shit was mildly amusing, but definitely too socially acceptable for my taste.
 
Flash forward to an autumnal visit to my local thrift store, where I found an old issue of JET magazine.

I chuckled a bit as I considered the marked drug use and [alleged] pedophilia attributed to the featured singers (and somehow overlooked the secondary story, "How Blacks Differ from Whites" -- missing out on my chance to check out how Michael Jackson factored into the whole thing). I may have even shared the photo on Facebook. But I didn't really think about it after that. 

Until I started purging my Picasa photo albums and the two photos above converged to form a new picture:

 

Use the force, Conan.

Conan's in the ATL this week! I should have pulled out all the stops (compare my ignorant interpretation to the actual origin of this phrase at the bottom of the post if this is something you care about) to get my ass in one of those seats, but alas I did not. I will have to settle for staring at this Obi-wan Kenobi Pez dispenser...

I miss bearded Conan.

Serious eye candy.

BALDERDASH TIME!
 
Pulling out the stops means:

• Physically pulling out STOP signs from the ground, to precipitate traffic anarchy
• Removing the brakes from someone's vehicle, in order to precipitate their death
• Removing stoppers from numerous bottles (of bath salts to precipitate the zombie apocalypse?
• Pulling out the knobs (called "stops") that control the flow of air in pipe organs, to precipitate a Mass with musical mass (turn it up to 11)

Look for the Bear Necessities Elsewhere

Yesterday had a cutesy format, which may have disguised the wealth of crap I presented to you. Today, I bring you crap on a platter IN YOUR FACE so you can't help but stare at the insanity before you.

For all you Pinterest fans:

1. Acquire inexpensive tee (expensive styles will not work for this project).
2. Spend hours making a doily (see another site for directions).
3. Attach doily to tee with adhesive of choice (needle and thread, hot glue gun, duct tape, etc.).
4.  Attach googly-eyes and beaded nose with adhesive of choice (chewing gum, nipple clamps, etc.).

And for Jewish sports fans:

Fun Fact: Israel has not qualified for the FIFA World Cup since 1970. (Maybe 2014 will be their year?)

This last one's for the music fans out there:

Oh wait.

Bear Country

When I was little, I preferred stuffed animals over any other toy. I didn't give a shit about Barbie's dream house or Polly's Pocket or anything else advertised on TV. (I'm sure my parents could cite an exception or two, but they would definitely agree with my obsession with teddy bears.) I had about a hundred stuffed animals, many with complicated family trees and personalities and "memories". I could have made a teddy bear soap opera with all the plots I had running simultaneously.

It turns out that I'm not the only one with a love for teddy bears. We insist on anthropomorphizing them all these years after Roosevelt's burial, reinterpreting these powerful beasts to downplay the danger innate to all wild animals.

Whatever works, I guess.

So, I'd like to invite you to Bear Country...

Some of us are just content to hang out and enjoy the view.

But we've also got a burgeoning labor force determined to make our city the best and brightest.

 

We're quickly becoming a popular vacation destination!

Just don't feed us after midnight.

Yes + other maritime symbols

This is the nautical flag indicating the affirmative. Not sure how useful it's going to be on land or if just on wide individuals that can be seen from the sea. I'm going to have to advise the wearer of this shirt to avoid dark alleyways, because although Baa means no, this flag definitely doesn't.

My research introduced me to a few potentially useful symbols (which I've deemed more interesting than trying to find more to say about the Enabler tee). They all have potential, but it seems that 

A		Alpha	I have a diver below, keep clear at slow speed. It's only a two-passenger vessel, but you're welcome to watch.
B		Bravo	I am taking on, discharging or carrying dangerous cargo. Tharr she blows!
C		Charlie	Yes or Affirmative Faster, damnit! Ramming speed! Affirmative!
D		Delta	I am maneuvering with difficulty, keep clear of me. This "never" happens to me.
E		Echo	I am altering my course to starboard. I think it's your turn for some rug burn.
F		Foxtrot	I am disabled, communicate with me. I still live with my parents, but pr0n is not working for me anymore.
G		Golf	I require a pilot. It's been a while. I do believe I'll lower my standards tonight.
H		Hotel	I have a pilot on board. Taken (forever, for the night, until I fuck this up).
I		India	I am altering my course to port. I think it's time I take the wheel.
J		Juliet	I am on fire and have dangerous cargo, keep clear. Don't touch me.
K		Kilo	You should stop your vessel immediately. I'm not in the mood and you're embarrassing yourself. Just stop.
L		Lima	I wish to communicate with you. Why can't we ever just cuddle?
M		Mike	My vessel is stopped, making no way. She's not in the mood.
N		November	No or Negative. Not. Gonna. Happen.
O		Oscar	Man overboard. Skeet skeet.
P		Papa	All aboard, proceeding to sea. Swim, my children!
Q		Quebec	My vessel is healthy, request clearance into port. Clean bill of health, scout's honor.
R		Romeo	The way is off my ship. Get off me.
S		Sierra	Moving astern. Getting into position.
T		Tango	Keep clear, engaged in trawling. I'll be playing the numbers game tonight.
U		Uniform	You are running into danger. Psycho straight ahead. Abandon ship.
V		Victor	I require assistance (not in distress). Well, don't just lie there like a cold, dead fish. Gyrate or whatever it is that you do.
W		Whiskey	I require medical assistance. What the fuck did you do?!?
X		X-ray	Stop carrying out your intentions and watch for my signals. You're doing it all wrong. Let me show you how it's done.
Y		Yankee	I am dragging my anchor. When you've got an anchor like this, what other option do you have?
Z		Zulu	I require a tug. Can you give me a hand?

Before I identified this as a maritime symbol, I misidentified it as the flag of Thailand. This line of thinking led me to discover this story about a startling fashion trend in Thailand. Not really pertinent, but strange (as things from Thailand often are).