What I Found at the Flea Market: Part 1

Before I left for my recent trip to Kansas, I was given a secret mission to find the cheesiest, gaudiest, crappiest crap thing at the flea market and bring it back as a gift. Finding such a thing was not a problem. Narrowing down the field of crap was. There is no shortage of crocheted tissue box covers, beer signs, or nude action figures with shaved heads at flea markets in Kansas. Do you like decorative samuri sword sets? Come to Kansas! Seashells glued to fake flowers and arranged in a vase made of doll heads? Kansas. Here is what we found in our search for crappy, crappy crap...

This is a rare sighting of a non-migratory species of lawn flamingo. Behind the privacy screen so that he can easily get into costume.














Is it a monkey? Is it a baby? Is it a baby dressed as a monkey? Or is it something that will come to life after midnight and eat your children?














I would have actually paid money for this sign, right there among the kitchen supplies. The flea market equivalent of, "Hey, bitch. Get on out to the kitchen and fix me somethin' to eat."














Don't worry, guys. There was a sign for you too.














Probably the best thing I've ever seen. A basket made of beads. Filled with flowers made of beads. The best part, however? The price tag: $16.50.














For the literary types, here is a book of poetry. Is it Langston Hughes? Emily Dickinson? Nope! It's John Boy.














I have no words for this except, "Oh, my god. Someone framed their Procol Harum 45 of "A Whiter Shade of Pale." Hopefully it will stay in quarantine forever.














Sheriff Rooster. He's the law 'round these here parts. I spent an hour looking around for a lawless turkey dressed as a gunfighter, so that there could be a face off.














But all we could find were some chef pigs offering to sacrifice themselves so that there could be sausage in the world. As soon as they get back from the beach.














Sausage. And more...

And more crap from me in my next post.

Sometimes It's Fun to Do Evil Things and Then Giggle About It Secretly

Just now, I used the last of the toilet paper in our work bathroom. Did I bother to replace the empty roll? Heck, no! That would be nice of me. And I just don't feel nice today.

This is not normal behavior for me. Normally, I'd be all over that empty toilet paper roll like Martha Stewart on a spotty napkin at a dinner party. But for some reason, I thought it was funny to imagine the next person looking at the empty roll in exasperation and then grappling around frantically for the new roll sitting on the back of the toilet. Pants down around their ankles. And a brief flash of fear in their eyes, wondering what on earth they'll do if all the paper is gone.

I go through evil phases sometimes. I think it's because normally I'm so responsible for things. I mail the rent checks on time every month, I lift the top of the stove to clean up spills instead of just sponging up around the burners, I refill the soap dispenser, rather than just adding water to it. All that responsibility weighs a person down after a while. So, while some people might see my disregard of the empty toilet paper roll as an act of laziness, it's actually a deliberate work of wickedness. Were I a Bond villain, this would be my pilfered nuclear warhead.

In addition to my frequent acts of slight terrorism, I have extremely wicked thoughts sometimes. The other day, on an airplane, I thought how much I would like someone who invented the crying baby muzzle. As cruel and unnecessary as an invention that completely evaporates the water supply. And yet, just the thought of it makes me cackle.

So the way I see it, as long as there is actually a roll of toilet-paper-in-waiting and I don't leave anyone stranded, I should be allowed to practice my works of nefariousness. But if I begin to construct a vocano lair or start crocheting baby muzzles, someone may want to stop me.

If you can...

As I Gear Up for the AIDS Walk, I Think a Lot. Here is What I Think.

I bought some shoes. They look like this.


I bought them because I hate AIDS. Do you hate AIDS? Maybe I hate AIDS more than you do. I bought new shoes. What did you buy? Nothing, I bet.

This is the second time I bought new shoes in two months. The first pair I bought gave me a big blister where I had a hole in my sock. It looked like this: O. Only big. And full of pus. Why didn't I just buy new socks, you ask? Because I spent all my money on the shoes.

Those shoes were purple and silver. I thought they were pretty. Pretty shoes are evil. My new shoes are ugly. They are lime green and gray. Just looking at them makes me thirsty for Gatorade and performance enhancing drugs. If I do performance enhancing drugs, maybe I can do the AIDS Walk in under 15 minutes.

If you are a woman and do performance enhancing drugs, you will grow a mustache. It's true. I will grow mine really long so that I look like an old-timey villain. Then, I will laugh like this: cackle cackle cackle.

They say that you should eat lots of carbohydrates before you exercise for an extended period of time. I'm going to eat 6.5 doughnuts. That's one for every mile I have to walk.

Some people spell doughnuts like this: donuts. Those people don't own dictionaries. I think it's because dictionaries are big and take up lots of shelf space. Kind of like blister-making shoes that you don't plan to wear again.

If you look up "shoe" in the dictionary, you will see that it is "an outer covering for the human foot typically having a thick or stiff sole with an attached heel and an upper part of lighter material (as leather)." If you look up "evil," you will see this.


Maybe there should be an Uncomfortable Shoe Walk to raise money to stamp out foot blisters. Wouldn't that be ironic?