Stop Staring at Me!

Short and sweet, as I've got to be in to work in less than six hours and I still want to get a little reading done. Being a thrifter of some frequency, I tend to see emerging patterns in store stock across the board. I found this little kitty at Big Lots:

Meow. (Translation: With my x-ray vision, I can see your nipples. Only two? How strange.)

 

I found this big-headed vampire at a local Goodwill and was fully prepared to pass him by...

...until I realized his mouth opened to reveal:

Bloodsucking is old news. I flash people instead.

Finally, we have the gator who is both happy to see you and fully-caffeinated to get the job done.

How you doin'?

Day Three, Take Two

Yeah, so between staying late at work and hanging with the in-laws, I was unable to keep up the streak. But we can't all be regular all the time.

Just ask this guy.

(While you've got pooping on the brain, check out this smartass bloggery my Google image search turned up.)

Somewhere in between these paragraphs, my mouse decided to die and my devious plan to go in to work 45 minutes late failed...so there are obviously forces working against my blogging efforts. I generally laugh in the face of such things, but since I gotta work to get paid, I'll be experimenting with this thing called minimalism.

The other day, I was perusing the toy section. I thought I might get lucky and score an eyeful of sweet underage child, but, alas, that wish was not fulfilled. Instead, I found this pack of "magic" finger traps. I never really understood the appeal, until I noticed the quantity included:

Unless you're a dactyl, you've got one finger trap left over. Whatever could these sweet underage children be using the sixth one for?

Baking...Little Boys

Won a game of Hearts last night, lost Spades by 120 points, and was the first to go out on Magic: The Gathering but it was a good night with good people (except for that Shaun; he's terrible). Moving on to self-amusement (anything more is just a bonus):

I was a bit shocked to find that this cookbook required a 120/240V oven. I was hoping for some new recipes I could try out at my hearthstone. I guess I'll just stick to charring marshmallows over the campfire and frying eggs on the sidewalk...

Speaking of non sequiturs...

"God made hugs, smiles and little boys" ... but the devil made dem hoes.

(Still trying to find the second piece of nursery art in this collection, I might add.)

If you like the previous joke's structure, you might also like

Organic

So I seem to have taken a hiatus again. It occurs to me that part of the reason it's so difficult to keep up the blogging habit is because I set myself up to unreal expectations. I can't be hilarious every day to every person (though I sure as hell make myself laugh on the regular). And I surely can't write an essay every day of the week (at least not until I put some real effort into finding freelance work lucrative enough to allow my full-time retail job to become part-time). I read somewhere once that it takes 21 days to start a habit, so I'm going to shoot for twenty-one consecutive days of posts so I can test that theory. These posts may be 2/3 crap, but this goal is FOR ME more than anyone else so I can tolerate inferior quality to start with. I know in my heart that I can write stuff worth reading, but I've never really committed to PRACTICING so it's time to get that ball rolling. (I used to practice during my adolescence, before I realized what I was doing. At some point -- school? -- I learned that my creative writing "play" was a form of work and everything became more difficult. Now I realize it's supposed to be difficult if you're doing it right, so I'm seeking a happy medium.)

Else I talk to myself for another 15 minutes, I will proceed to today's humble photo:

The GREEN movement (or whatever the hell it's called) has grown into all sectors of business. There's "organic" produce and all kinds of health food that's supposed to be better for you because it lacks hormones and pesticides and horse semen and whatever. There are even organic cotton t-shirts so the pesticides from your brand-new Hanes tee don't seep into your gaping chest wounds (here's looking at you, meth head). But I guess it was too much to ask for women to shell out $10 for the opportunity to bleed on organic cotton...because a Big Lots had a whole shelf full.

Are these on your reading list?

For those who don't know me, I majored in English and -- true to type -- rarely have my nose out of a book. That being the case, it's strange that I haven't featured books in this bloggity bloggerson. (The previous statement was false, but let's pretend otherwise...as the challenge of rewriting this intro might defeat me and this post altogether.) That changes today.

First up, a book that I initially scorned...because I have prejudged the Fifty Shades series to be a bad thing because I semi-consciously cling to the puritanical idea that erotica's status as a genre is a baby step away from romance and shouldn't be lauded, let alone discussed in public by grown adults (or, God forbid, by their preteen daughters). Truth be told, I feel like my initial disinterest (which, embarrassingly enough, is crumbling under the stress of self-driven reverse psychology) stems from the fact -- if it's even true -- that the books were originally written as Twilight fanfiction. (Which is as fictive as fiction can get, if we're going to be honest.)

Just occurred to me that I haven't shown you a photo yet.

After having stepped away from this one for a few weeks, I'm now a bit anxious to check out the book again. (Not that I need any chicken recipes at the moment; I've got my hands full with cookies right now.) 

Extra points for F.L. Fowler writing a book about fowl. It seems I've screwed things up for myself by marrying a Chilean -- single Emily could have written about palm trees or palm reading or religious pilgrims...but what the hell is an Abarca supposed to compose?

Moving on.
  

I love the cover of this book (such enthusiam!) but he doesn't appear to be puzzled. No, he appears triumphant, or possibly bat-crazy (are bats as crazy as colloquialisms would have you believe?) after having spent an hour trying to find one stupid word.

Another crazy book (on sale for a mere $20 at the local thrift store):

 

In case you can't read the small font, the book is called Character Sketches from the Pages of Scripture Illustrated in the World of Nature. Whose highdea was this? ("Dude, Jesus is totally a woodchuck because he could have chucked through the wood of his cross but he didn't because his dad told him not to.")

Get ready for another helping of crazy!

Good ol' Screech, proving that some things do not get better with age. Has anyone told him yet that's he's not a magician?

I appreciate the fact that the key word of the subtitle is "behind the" label. (I take pleasure in the little things.)

Damn, I am definitely letting the team down tonight. I had 11 more photos in the queue and am too sleepy to continue. (Damn you, Dustin Diamond!) I suppose we can all point out at least one reason why a 15-topic blog post is a bad idea (not enough nudity, for one) so I'm going to assume that you're okay with this arrangement. Off to bed where my crazy noodles up top mix these four topics. 

The question is, WILL IT BLEND?

Everybody, do the locomotion.

Gobbly goop.

Who needs an intelligible opening statement when you're me?

Okay, you got me: I'm lazy. Moving on.

If you haven't strolled through the toy section recently, let me tell you: that shit be fucked up.

Case in point: the Thomas & (suspiciously absent) Friends "Thomas at Pirate's Cove".

Before I get into my spiel, let me draw your attention to the placement of the apostrophe in the toy name. Apparently this cove only houses a single pirate...who is somehow able to maintain a large ship by himself.  In researching this toy, I discovered how this single rapscallion managed this incredible feat: a cannon appears to have destroyed the majority of the ship (check it). But now I'm left wondering how the pirate kept the shell afloat (especially with the added weight of a locomotive).

Returning to Imaginationland, where Thomas is on an intact ship...

What the hell is a locomotive doing on a sailboat?!? I'm pretty sure that if steam power is an option, pirates are going to choose that over sails -- unless there's a Windfinder available...but now I'm crossing my fictional(?) universes. And in the case that Thomas has been sent back in time to a world before the technology running his innards came into being, those seamen -- - what with their enterprising spirit and all -- are going to turn their barnacle-encrusted ship into a steamboat. Thomas, I do believe you're gonna die. If you're lucky, maybe your wonky face will be their new figurehead. 

If our little trip to the cove left you wanting more Thomas-time, check out his other offering:

The Thomas & Friends Phone.  It took me a minute to place this blue plastic monstrosity, as Thomas' wheels are missing and his face seems to be turned in the wrong direction. He's either a covert Transformer or got in some serious trouble with the mob.

And if no one else is brave enough to pose the question, I will: What the hell does a train have to do with telephony?!? If they insist on making this connection, they should at least use a rotary phone since the circular dial adapts much easier to Thomas' native biology (wheels or face, your choice). NOT TO MENTION rotary phones are as obsolete as steam engines these days!! Arrrr.

(Sorry, the pirates from the previous toy must have rubbed off on me.)

While we're on the topic of transportation devices:

Sure must be nice to have a job where you drop acid then brainstorm toy ideas. 

I'm going to act out of character this time and let you assess this bus without me (I can't do everything for you).

 

Okay, so I hear you singing "One of these things is not like the other" and I'm with you: Farmville is incapable of locomotion (though it's sure great at getting people to sit in one spot for hours on end). But I figured a hippobus led pretty well into a game entitled Hungry Hungry Herd.

 

Growing up in the Midwest, I caught a few glimpses of mealtime on the farm. Cows of all hide variations pretty much chew cud all day without any regard for the ticking of the clock. Horses are grazers too.

So my money's on the pig to win this thing.

After all this talk of hunger and transportation (as classic a combo as PB&J), I feel like nomming in front of a viewing of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Who's got a copy they'd like to share? (I'll bring popcorn and sarcasm.)

Nitpicking is fun (and FAA approved)!

To the untrained eye, this is just a P.O.S. travel kit that will probably stay on this peghook at Big Lots until the plastic decomposes (long after the zombie apocalypse has killed or assimilated you and I) or until management gets sick of looking at it and just donates it to some charity or just throws it away. (At which point we'll either pollute the earth by putting into a landfill or by expending energy at the recycling plant to break it down. Not sure why I'm getting all "crunchy" with you; I am not actively looking to preserve the environment as I'm still young and have trouble looking into a future that doesn't include me. #justsayin) 

In reality, this item is intended for those with friends / family / acquaintances / that weird guy a few cubicles down who nibbles on his baby carrots like a rabbit and challenged Seinfeld's Elaine's dance moves at your last work "party". It's not a getaway kit that will allow YOU to stow your hygiene products in the carry-on luggage you're taking to some tropical destination. 

I repeat, THIS IS NOT a getaway kit. NO, it's a get [SPACE] away kit. This is what you shove into your friend's / family member's / acquaintance's / weird guy's hands just before you kick him out of your house / family reunion / baby shower / cubicle. Furthermore, the label on this product suggests that kicking the recipient out of the area is not enough; the packaging demands that the kit's owner get far enough away from the gift giver to require an airplane. Ha! 

I struggle to come up with the cartoon equivalent, though I'm sure you in your brilliance can offer a fictional character from the funnies that gets kicked out on his tuckus. (Consider the inherent humor in kicking an annoying houseguest out of your realm, friend. Homelessness is not funny, nor are bad hosts, generally. But revoking a bad guest's welcome is hilarious. Why is that?)

Alternatively, I suppose you could offer this beautiful (but, regrettably, environmentally-comatose) product to your getaway driver before your next bank heist. (Mentally Photoshop one of these babies into your favorite heist movie for hours of ROFLs.)

I should also note that the manufacturer chose to withhold the company name from this product's packaging. Perhaps someone at the factory realized how low-quality this product is and the erroneous label is meant as a command to the product itself. Maybe these little "get away" kits bankrupted the company (which, I should add, chose not to claim ownership by including their logo).