This scarf would make a lovely gift. It is lovely, isn’t it? So soft. And handmade.

I thought I’d love a scarf like this, until I found out what it was made of.

Possum fur (and alpaca, to be fair. But POSSUM).

POSSUM FUR.

Have you ever met a possum? I had one who used to visit my back yard to drink the black water that sometimes oozed from the compost heap. Yeah. The freakiest, most disgusting little animals on earth.

So this brings up questions. How does one get possum fur to make possum yarn?

Road kill?

Possum grooming?

Or are there…shudder…possum farms?

This scarf has raised too many bad questions in my mind for me to ever look at it the same way again. Sigh.

And it was so pretty.

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Suebob has a dog that could help her get some possums.

Did I ever tell you about when I was a young single woman, I went into a folk art shop in Vancouver and got to talking with the owner, who was a young dude that had a pretty face?  He was good looking, not gorgeous.  He asked me out on the spot and instead of say, taking me to dinner or a movie, the guy took me back to his basement apartment where we sat in the dark on his couch and watched his favorite movie: Natural Born Killers.

Yeah.

I faked a stomach illness about 10 minutes in and left abruptly.

Now, every time I see any sort of folk art, I feel as though it’s watching me. And maybe wants to skin me.

Disturbed doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling right now.

Then I found the “Watching You Poop” website and decided to have a little fun.

Naturally.

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I have never, ever, EVER understood the appeal of Hello Kitty.

Ever.

I mean, look at her. Even as a little girl, I didn’t get it when the preppy girls in my class would ohh and ahh over Hello Kitty erasers and pencils and pencil cases and whatever else they could get their mitts on that had that boring white cat on it.

I liked Garfield. Garfield was sarcastic.

I liked Tom, of Tom and Jerry. He had drive, spunk and a mean streak.

Hello Kitty just sits there.

You know what else I don’t get? Fetuses. I didn’t ohh and ahh over any of my pre-half-time ultrasounds. After 20 weeks I noticed my oldest was sucking his thumb and had feet. I was cool with that.

Anyway, you know what I don’t get today?

Hello Kitty Fetus.

WhatThaFack?

Thanks Audrey!
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Dear Human,

I have a fur coat. I wear it with some frequency. In the summer, when you are in your wee bitty little bikini, floating around cooly in the pool. I am stuck in this rank ass fur, sweating up a storm. But, in the fall and winter? It is delightful to be a dog. I have nature’s most perfect insulation.

So listen to me. LOOK AT ME. No, look at me. This crap? Has got to stop. I do not need a raincoat, a scarf, a jaunty little cap, or one of those stupid little hats with an umbrella attached. I sure as hell don’t need whatever this thing is and I think I may be having some allergy related reaction. Because, that’s right, I am ALLERGIC TO SHAME.

I’m warm enough. I am cute enough. Please stop making me wear the leftovers from your yarn stash.

Love,

Buster

P.S. That little treat in your underwear drawer? Expect that every day until the torture ceases.

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flutter has never made her dog wear anything made of fun-fur yarn. She promises.

Know what never goes wrong in the art world?  Animal heads on human bodies.  It just never fails, whether it’s kitten heads on amputees or deer heads on young women, animal heads on a human form is always unique, exciting, and exceptionally well executed.

Just look at Gladys the Owl Woman up there and you’ll see what I mean.  At just 16 inches long, Gladys is a demure reminder of everything that’s great in the art world.  Not.

Hey, everyone, how about this?

1.  Stop being creepy.

2.  Owls are over.

3.  I know you spent 30 hours on it, but it’s still not worth $600.

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Renee doesn’t hate you, she just hates your art.