“Oh crap! It’s Betsy’s baby shower this weekend and we still haven’t gotten her a gift! What are we going to do?”
“We could get her a baby blanket?”
“No, that’s boring.”
“How about a rattle engraved with the new baby’s name?”
“That’s trite.”
“How about something with an actual smashed dead rabbit’s face peering out at you?”
“Is it expensive?”
“It’s $125!”
“Perfect.”
It’s things like this that make me hate people. That, and everything in this idiot’s profile.
I strive to be one of the Greatest Mysteries of the century. I adore things from years past and try my best to ignore the present culture. My home is a colourful blend of rock memorabilia, old books, antiques, and everything pure nostalgia. My wardrobe gives me away as a Dandy. I proudly clothe myself in vintage thrifted treasures. I’m a Mod waif with cropped golden blonde hair- all legs and big green eyes. Since birth I’ve clearly been a moody and eccentric artist. My loves of art and Music are intertwined and it’s impossible to choose one over the other. Until I met my husband I spent all my time listening to records and dressing up.
Now we do that together. He’s a sexy rockstar and theatrical to the core. Together we’re just a pair of eccentric androgynous peacocks- and we like it that way.
Clogs. We should have left them behind when rubber first graced the soles of our feet. Clogs had faded out for many years, until the advent of Crocs. Today, we see the worst thing to infect feet of the world since the wretched day that Crocs sold their first pair:
Nipple clogs.
Pierced nipple clogs.
Go. Be with your families. For surely this is a sign of the end of times.
Alternate title: Hey Rocky! Watch me pull a hand out of my vagina!
Scene: Daughter dressed in ballet leotard runs into the room where her magician father is sitting on a chair with his head in his hands.
Daughter: Daddy! What is wrong?
Father: It is no use dear daughter, people are just not fascinated by magic any more. Even when I saw your mother in half, I see them stifling their yawns.
Daughter: Oh Daddy, I still think you are amazing.
Father wraps his daughter in an embrace – obviously magicians are extremely formal, no high fives or fist bumps.
Daughter: Daddy, I have been working on my own magic trick! Would you like to see it?
Father: *sighs deeply but humours his daughter* But of course darling.
Just what I always wanted. My own little pet zombie. I will name her Mitzi, and I will hug her and pet her and squeeze her and feed her brains…
I’m all about up-cycling and re-purposing other people’s trash, but DAMN. I hope this gal has her therapist on speed dial.
Hello Mitzi! She’s ready to be your pet!
She’s chained up in the basement, but she’s got lots of stuff to keep her occupied until you can come down to play. She has a TV, fashion magzines, and of course a fancy zombie dinner!
This diorama is creepy AND functional due to the light attached to the base and a small drawer at the bottom to store all your crap in.
Well, I am always a sucker for things that are “creepy AND functional.” I can’t tell you how many times have I said to myself, “Self, you have a lot of crap. If only you had a drawer where you could store it. But not just any drawer. No, self – that’s just crazy talk. It would need to be a delicious blend of creepy AND functional to be truly worthy of my crap. Also, it should be covered in fake blood.”
Seriously, if you’ve got some time to kill (or the desire to never sleep again) check out the rest of the shop. *shudder*
Father’s Day is almost upon us and many people are looking for that unique gift for Dad. Everyone knows that many men think of their time in the bathroom as their “me time.” Time to read the paper, peruse their favorite periodicals, and generally get a respite from whoever in the house doesn’t want to breathe in toxic fumes for about 20 minutes.
Why not give them a gift that will make their time in the loo a bot more personal ?
