Repurposed Crab Bits

Next week we start the big move. …Again.

Long-time readers may remember that last summer, we loaded up two cars with me, my wife, our two rabbits, our turtle, my parents-in-law, and enough house plants to stock the rain-forest part of a mid-sized zoo, and drove 2,500 miles from Ohio to California. This move’s going to be different. This time, we’re moving 3,000 miles.

I’ll be gone for the next few weeks, as I down-vote people’s Yik-Yaks all across this great country drive, so I wanted to leave you with something good. One last dose of California weirdness (except for all the pictures I have saved that I haven’t shared yet). I now present to you:

Little statues made out of dead crab bits.

Goodbye, California… 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 

[NSFW] Standing Too Close to a Naked Man

To conclude “Mom, Don’t Read This Week,” here’s a tasteful mixed-media painting of a bunch of naked dude-torsos and ding-dongs that I found in one of our local thrift stores. (Look, I said the painting was tasteful; I didn’t say I was.)

Enjoy!!

Clown Taking a Sh*t

Sorry about the break last week. Here’s a painting of a clown taking a sh*t.

It’s perfect for any house that wants a painting of a clown smiling and taking a sh*t.

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I Was a Teenage Baby

Christina H. writes to us on Facebook:

“Checkout this creepy painting I saw in a tiny shop in Aberdeen, NC today. Thought of your blog when I saw it. Notice the hole under the right eye. Almost, but not quite, got the hole-in-the-eye-opening-through-which-we-will-spy-on-you-through-the-wall down pat.”

I’m also a little concerned that they grafted an adult’s head onto a baby’s body. Has science finally gone too far? (That said, apparently this is a trend not uncommon in the art world [link NSFW].)

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Don’t Send in the Clowns

“Kicking myself for not buying this at flea market,” writes Andrew Pope over on Twitter. “On back the title ‘5 Clowns’ is scratched out, replaced with ”4 Clowns’.”

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My Uncle Sam is Dead

AMERICA!!

No, I don’t even know. They had a bunch of other paintings, too, but none of them featured a pilgrim cradling the severed head of Uncle Sam, so.

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Bunny of the Night

Is that not the most ominous bunny painting you’ve ever seen in your life.*

This one’s cheating a little, because anyone who’s been to the [redacted] antiques store in [redacted] has probably already marveled over it. It’s HUGE. It takes up like half their back wall. We haven’t lived here long enough to know if this thing’s been there for years or if it’s a recent acquisition—although somewhat telling is the fact that it doesn’t have a price tag. (And it’s like the only thing in the store that doesn’t.)

Remember when I was complaining that nobody in Connecticut ever priced their sh**? (Ironic that they insist on calling them “tag sales” in CT, but no one actually puts price tags on anything.) (What monsters.) It’s like the opposite of that in Ohio; 90% of the yardsales I’ve been to so far have had everything neatly labeled, to the point where each individual book will have a price sticker on it. My theory is that they have no intention of actually selling the deranged bunny masterwork; they’re just using it to draw people in so they can sell them on old buttons and vases and things.

Either that, or the painting comes to life at night and they don’t want it to get in the wrong hands. (It’s probably that.)

* (Notice I said painting. This is pretty clearly the most ominous bunny photograph.)

Marathon in a Fanny Pack

You guys. YOU GUYS! I went to 25 freakin’ yardsales yesterday! It was the best. …At least I think it was; I’ll let you know when I’ve worked up the energy to crawl back out of bed. (Honey, when you read this post, could you please bring me some cereal?)

Selections from the three (?!?!) maps they gave us for yesterday’s sales.
Crazy-man scrawls are mine.

So it turns out yesterday was my little town’s community-wide yardsale. Yardsales, yardsales as far as the eye could see! (Well, more or less. We actually have burned-out factories as far as the eye can see, but beyond those? Yardsales. Free rusty nail with every purchase.) You could tell it was supposed to be a big deal, because they had way more signs up than they did for, say, last week’s budget referendum. Pretty sure the yardsales had a better turnout, too, which is weird, because they both primarily attract old people and angry bloggers.

They were selling maps for the sales at one of the local diners, rather than just, you know, actually telling us where any of the sales were. I can kinda get why they’d do that—after all, when you’re selling a product, it makes sense to make it as annoying as possible for anyone to buy said product. It’s the same reason why most grocery stores these days charge an entry fee and nobody really knows where Disney World is.

The first few sales I went to hadn’t started setting up yet—which is typical of southern Connecticut, where the “start time” is more of an optimistic suggestion than anything you’d want to follow—but once they kicked off, they kicked it like they were a horse and you were accidentally standing behind it. (…Yeah, metaphors were never really my strong point. It’s like yardsales are the ocean, and I’m a person who’s really bad at metaphors.)

First up:

Siege of the Pot Golem

Snot!

…

…

…I’m sorry; I just wanted to start this post the same way I started my day: with a big steaming pile of nose goblins. And they weren’t even my own. When I stepped out of my car at the first sale of the day, I was greeted by this guy just…blowing it all over his driveway. Like he was putting salt down to melt ice. I was afraid small children might slip in the alarmingly large puddle forming near his shoes, but he didn’t seem to think it was weird. Maybe I should be thankful it was just snot.

After that explosive start (at least for him), I might’ve just taken it as an omen and headed right back home, perhaps muttering some clever jokes about how “well, that’s southern Connecticut for you!” (and secretly counting the days until we move to Ohio, which I’m told is a fantasy land of everlasting sunshine [citation needed]), but not this day. Thank goodness, not this day.

Guest Post: Antique Shopping

(This guest post was submitted by my GameCola co-collaborator and perhaps the world’s most famous Nancy Drew enthusiast, Michael Gray.)

Since Halloween is coming up, I thought it’d be a nice time to talk about yardsaling’s scary cousin: antique shopping.

You can see the family resemblance between antique shopping and yard sales. Both hobbies include sorting through piles of useless old junk that nobody wants anymore. But while yard sales are run by mostly normal people, antique malls are run by complete lunatics. In fact, if you’re ever at a yard sale where the sellers seem crazy, odds are that they’re just trying to impress the antique mall scouts.

You see, antique stores are just like the government. Everyone in charge is over fifty years old, and they have no idea how much things cost. For example, $50 for a Titanic VHS tape is a reasonable price at an antique store. On the other hand, something like an Xbox 360 game will go for two dollars, because the antiquers have no idea what to do with any products made in this century.

I recently visited an antique mall in Normal, Illinois. Conveniently located in a dead shopping center, this store contains proof that their town is poorly named.

This suit would either be a great Halloween costume, or the worst birthday present ever.

About $20 for the creepy salt and pepper shakers. I think the design for them was reused in Gnomeo and Juliet.