YSaC, Vol. 942: Worst. Geocache. Ever.
2011 March 11
massage lube + glitter lotion
LIQUID LOVE: the lube is like new. one of those if you blow on it, it gets hotter type. edible.
EXOTICA: lotion was new but most of it spilled. i never used it since i’m alergic to glitter.
message me. i will be leaving them outside in the bushes to your left.
you MUST take them BOTH or i will get fined for ‘littering’
serious people only!!!
thanks
OK, serious people only. Right. Who is the most serious person I can think of?
Thanks, RP!
I know there’s a burning bush joke here somewhere…
If it continues for more than four hours, seek medical attention.
And Moses spoke unto the Lord, “Really? Glitter is the best you can do?’
“Shut up. It’s a burning bush if I say it is.”
“Right, right.”
“Blow on it, and it gets hotter.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Please?”
“Look, I have to get back to my goats.”
The goats like to refer to it not as ointment, but saaaaaaaalve. Good thing it’s edible.
I think they make a
lotionointment for that.If you blow on it even more, it will assume the shape of a bear, or maybe that of Hulk Hogan with noodle toppings.
Seriously, though, used lube? Looking in a bush for same? That could have been a scene in a John Waters movie.
So many, many questions. Here are a few;
1) Why would Sparky buy glittery lotion if they are allergic to it?
2) If Sparky never used it, how did two-thirds manage to “spill” out of a closed tube?
3) How can you be allergic to glitter? It’s just tiny bits of shiny plastic.
4) What else is going to be waiting in the bushes for the idiot who answers this ad?
I believe those were four questions too many.
I have others, but they mainly deal with the feasibility of making pancakes in the toaster.
I’ve often wanted to know how to make moonshine in my Mr. Coffee. Lemme know if you run across the answer.
Here you go, Muddy! You can use the Mr. Coffee for some of the steps, such as boiling the water:
How to Make Moonshine
I didn’t realize there was so much reading involved.
I wonder if you can distill coffee.
#5 Why would you even want glittery private bits?
Isn’t that what happens when you have sex with an emo vampire anyway?
Wasn’t Private Emobits one of MF’s characters from that army story he wrote?
Private Emobits was the mascot for failed breakfast cereal GlitterBits.
Was that the stuff with Mariah Carey on the box?
I thought Private Emobits was the first draft of the mascot for Don’t Ask Don’t Tell repeal?
There are worse things than glitter.
You can’t make me click that link!
I clicked on it and was mesmerized for hours.
I suppose it should have been self-evident, but that link needs a NSFW/NSFE (not safe for eyes) tag.
NSFM(ind), too. There’s some serious banana hammock going on there.
“Pray, do not mock me:
I am a very tarnished HamCan,
Four more and upward, not an inch more, or less:
And, to pecil plainly,
I fear I am not in my perver mind.”
King Leer: Methinks I should know this lube, and know this glitter lotion.
Since you asked:
1) Why would Sparky buy glittery lotion if they are allergic to it?
Was a gift by Spark’s sex partner.
2) If Sparky never used it, how did two-thirds manage to “spill” out of a closed tube?
Rolled over; trodden upon; flung across room after “¡GLITTER! You [expletive]!”
3) How can you be allergic to glitter? It’s just tiny bits of shiny plastic.
[corey]Allergies have a strong psychological component.[/corey]
Sparkies can sense this, but only being as mentally-equipped as they are, then manage to get that wrong, too.
4) What else is going to be waiting in the bushes for the idiot who answers this ad?
Hungry bears with ursine concrete, and from a handy winter bagel nearby.
It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the lube again.
If you change the e in “message” to an a, this ad gets a lot weirder.
Considering the subject matter, my brain forced me to read it that way until I took a closer look at each letter in the word. Usually I don’t read in such a detailed fashion; it allows for faster reading combining what the words look like and what the context is. But in this case, I had to slow down to avoid squick. Which happened anyway.
The lotion is already in the bushes? Is it near the window? If so, this spells nothing but CONVENIENT!
:squints at picture:
Is that a squirrel costume under that ivy?
Being stupid enough to buy sh*t you are “allergic” to? $0
“Spilling” the contents of something never used? $0
Attempting to give away two bottles of highly-personal products by hiding them in the “bush”? 11 on the squick-scale of 0 to 10
I think Sparky/Sparkette is just looking for a date – other than Mr./Ms. Hand – and won’t admit it.
“will not admit it” leads to a number of badly-expressed psycho-sexual conditions, and even disorders. And, that with the non-sparky population.
Which does also suggest that Spark’s “allergy” could be contact dermatitis from that flora-of-concealment, too.
“Welcome back everyone! Today on Urban Trapper, we are after the most elusive game of all; the wild Pervert! With the introduction of Chris Hansen into their enviroment, these elusive critters have a tendency to scurry away at the slightest glimpse of a camera, but I think we can catch one today.
We’ve posted an ad for free lubricant on our favorite website, CraigsList, and my assistant Jim has set a bear trap in these bushes and will be standing by with the dart rifle and taser. Let’s watch!”
At least Sparky didn’t say, “…or i will get fined for ‘glittering’”
What would the fine for glittering be? Would you get points on your sparklepire license?
LoL! In kharmicaly-just world, it would be realizing you had hitched your 16 y/o “self” to a 147 year old “wagon” . . .
For for ever (or anything longer than about 62, 63 minutes, at 16 years-of-age).
(Or for that quotient of time being male and holding a “here, hold this a minute” purse in while outside the dressing room in “women’s intimates” at the store.)
You have the purdiest way of saying things I find difficult to understand.
Really, tell me (no, please don’t) – what’s more pervy than poking around the bushes in somebody’s yard looking for sex lotion and lube.
Using the stuff once you’ve found it.
Doing so dressed as Barney the Purple Dinosaur.
While seated in your favorite Starbucks, watching women who are carrying designer purses.
…and making pencil notations of their Vancouver license tag numbers and clutching a giant blow up banana and wearing a black spiderman suit.
OR…
wearing a squirrel costume….
…or a very sad-looking mint green dress…
…don’t ask…
Mudsy, I think you meant “pecil.”
Hey! Here’s an idea with an old tried & true concept: For glitter pukes sake, simply throw the shit away!
Just reading this damn ad made my carbon footprint throb—and not in a good way.
Yeah, what she said.
If you’re not even trying to get money for them, why go through the effort???
The equivalent of:
cat can lid (salmon variety) + cat can bottom (salmon variety)
PUSSY LIKKENS: the food is like new. one of those if you leave it out, it gets crustier and drier type. edible (barely).
FISH BOTTOM: contents were new but most of it spilled. i never used it since i’m alergic to chicken lips and fish scales.
message me. i will be leaving them outside in the bushes to your left.
you MUST take them BOTH or i will get fined for ‘littering’
serious people only!!!
thanks
Is it wild salmon?
It’s salmon that wears a sock over its eyes. I have no idea if that’s good or bad but if I had to guess, I would say it’s, at the very least, demented.
Well, if Spark’ is watched so closely as to be done for littering, then the trip All The Way [giant-teenaged sigh] To The Trash would be IMPOSSIBLE [teenaged sulk].
Why, they would just DIE if they were seen!
(The odd, glittery, stain in the carpet next to the bed being of no real concern (Except to Honestly![parent]!, who continues to harp on the smallest of things.)
Sparkette put lube underneath a bush
When you blow them they heat up your toosh
They’re on the corner of 34th and Vine
Take the little bottles of
Love lotion or she gets fined
I told her that I was a flop with chicks
I’d been this way since 1986
She looked at my hairy palm and made a cross like sign
She said “What you need is
Love lotion, you’ll be fine”
Instrumental version performed by Burp Alpert and the Tijuana Ass.
like new?
I just threw up in my mouth a little.
I think “Gently Used Lube” is IF’s Sex Factory* cover band.
*If you know who “Sex Factory” is, you win!
I know a bass player looking for a gig; I’m going to suggest that they use “Gently-Used Lube” as a band name. Unless they decide to go more “metal” in which case, “Hard-Used Lube” might be more apt.
Things Not To Buy Used, Part …
What part are we up to again? I don’t really want to go back and check, but I know we’ve had dentures, pantyhose, and an enema table. Will Sparkies never learn??
This was highly irregular. Pud was feeling quite uncomfortable about this. I will leave it in the bushes to your left, the man had said, just outside my house. Here’s my address. Remember, take both. He had always been to embarrassed to buy it in the stores; he couldn’t face the knowing smirk of the cashier when he brought it up to the checkout. Somehow, she — and he knew it would be a girl — would know that he would be the only one using it, and that made it worse. This opportunity of someone giving it away free, online, would be just the thing. He wouldn’t have to face anyone.
But this was highly irregular. The man, who wouldn’t identify himself likely for the same reasons Pud wouldn’t either if he were in the same situation, wouldn’t just hand him the stuff in a nice, anonymous brown paper bag. He hid it in the bushes beside the front door to his house. Now he got to look like a bum looking for spare change or a discarded meal, or a thief looking for where the owners might have hidden their spare key. He had to wait until it was dark before trying. Fortunately the man had left his porch light off so he had some cover under which to conduct the operation.
Operation. Like this was some sort of risky covert extraction mission and he was Tom goddamn Cruise. Pud mentally rolled his eyes as he scanned the house from the safety of a dark alley across the street. The house was dark and set far enough back from the sidewalk that the street lights cast shadows long enough to obscure the bush he was to infiltrate. Being that was just after one in the morning, the streets looked pretty empty, and not too many cars drove past as he observed. This was about as easy as it was going to get, so he figured he might as well get to it.
Leaning his head out from the alleyway, he checked down both directions of the street. Both traffic signals, at least a few hundred feet to either side of him, were red and holding traffic back. There were no pedestrians. As nonchalantly as he could, he walked straight across the street to the prescribed house, unlatched the waist-high gate, walked through, closed the gate behind him, and immediately dropped to a crouch. So far, so good.
Which a quick glance over his shoulders, he hunkered further down into a crawl and slowly slunk his way up the path to the steps leading up to the front door, veering off to his left, to the treasure-bearing bush. With another furtive glance over his shoulders, he reached his arm in and rustled around in the shrubbery until his fingers touched something un-bush-like. It felt small enough to fit in his palm with a neck at one end. From the description, that was what he was really after. He grabbed it and snaked his arm back out from the bush.
Liquid Love, the label said. Warming Lubricant. This was the stuff, alright. But Pud was no dummy. He didn’t come all this way just to be taken in by some prank. Pud unscrewed the cap and sniffed the contents. It smelled kind of cinnamony. He could work with that. But he wasn’t done. Placing the cap on the ground for a moment, he poured a few dabs in his hand, then set the bottle down and rubbed it between his palms. The smell of cinnamon grew stronger, and his palms started to feel warm. Apparently, if one blew on this stuff, he would get warmer, so he blew on his palms. They did indeed get warmer. It felt quite nice. Blowing again and it got warmer still — it was giving him a tingly sensation up his spine. He blew again, starting to get a little giddy.
Pud had never been a trusting sort, and so he had certainly considered the possible outcomes of this scenario had it turned out to be some sort of prank or, at best, not what he expected. The lube could have been mixed with sand or some other abrasive, it could have been replaced with glue, or it could have had a liberal amount of pure capsaicin mixed in. This was highly irregular, after all, so he was prepared for this to be someone’s idea of humour. That’s why he wanted to test it first on safer parts of his body before applying it to more sensitive bits.
Pud’s disaster scenarios didn’t extent to the lube spontaneously bursting into flames, however. Strangely, even as Pud was pretty sure lube wasn’t supposed to do that, he also suspected that this wasn’t a malicious prank, though it was probably why the man wanted to be rid of it. He was still dishonest for not disclosing this undesirable property of the lubricant, however, though he was probably just as surprised to discover that lube could even do that. But that was a matter to be considered at some other time, as the more pressing issue at the moment was that Pud’s hands were on fire and it was starting to freak him out.
In a panic, Pud stood up and started waving his hands around. Small fireballs flung themselves in just about every direction. He was just feeding the gel more oxygen to burn. With an inarticulate whine, Pud then wiped his hands on his pants, but he quickly realized that this idea was even dumber as he was just spreading the gel around, and now his pants were aflame. Pud turned to run back out onto the street and let out a yelp as he nearly ran straight into the police officer that had let himself in through the gate.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” the cop asked.
Although he was perfectly serious, Pud was a little too occupied to consider how it might sound when he responded with, “Burning!”
—
Having been awakened by the commotion, Finch peered out his window and was greeted by the sight of a police officer wrapping his jacket around a smoldering gentleman in the middle of the street. Clearly, the man had come for the lube, and just as clearly, he decided to try some before he left. Goddammit, Finch thought to himself. He was hoping whoever came to get it would just take it and leave so he would be rid of it. Buying that lube was an absolute disaster. Both he and his girlfriend still had bactine-soaked bandages wrapped around their nether regions. He was afraid to throw it out though, just in case the infernal stuff caught fire in his bin.
A thin whisp of smoke drifted up past his window, and with a sinking in the pit of his stomach, he realized it wasn’t coming from the man in the street. He opened the window and pushed his head against the screen, trying to peer down the length of his house. Several small spots on his outer wall were burning.
Finch ran to grab the fire extinguisher and dashed down the stairs, still in his underwear. A complete bloody disaster. That was the absolute last time he took second-hand lube from some stranger who wouldn’t even hand it to him in person.
Lube is a burnin’ thing,
And it makes a fiery feeling
Bound by wild desire —
I caught my thing on fire.
I fell onto ground to put out the fire —
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher,
And it burns, burn, burns,
The thing on fire, the thing on fire.
The taste of lube is sweet
When things like ours meet.
I felt like a slip-n-slide —
Oh, but the glitter was wild.
I fell onto ground to put out the fire —
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher,
And it burns, burn, burns,
The thing on fire, the thing on fire.
::sheilds eyes::
Close your tags, man!
You tell him, girl!!!
Tag?!?!?!
The politically correct term is HTMLterosexual.
MF! I love it!
But, I kept expecting there to be concrete bears. You know, they only move when you aren’t looking at them (like those creepy, creepy statues in that Doctor Who ep?), so you’re not sure they are really attacking until it’s too late?
Do they appear in the second chapter?
I don’t know why my reply is down here and has no edit. I blame stupid IE at work.
It would be really funny to give the address of your friend (or enemy) for the items. I heard that other fodder for free items to be picked up at your friend’s house are a free monkey and a free donkey powered chicken plucker.
Of course you’ve only heard of this practice, right? Never actually engaged in such shennanigans, have you? Hmmm?
I have never, ever used a friend’s/enemy’s email to sign up for copious amounts of email news, advertisements, and pornography.
Never ever!*
*This may not be true.
I never signed up for magazine subscriptions or cigarette offers under the name Glen Danzig.*
*This may or may not be true. You decide.
I’ve also never mailed back one of those prepaid envelopes you get in snail spam after I’ve filled it with carboard, rocks, and old candy.
Nope, never.
**takes notes**
The youth! We have corrupted it!
Mr.EB has never taken one of those prepaid envelopes, ripped up every single other spam thing from them, and mailed it back.*
*This is definitely not true. Multiple times.
I haven’t done that either, EB 😉
I think I will never someday take my pure, unopened junk mail and mail it to an RL Spammer in one of those pre-paid envelopes.
Astro, the only problem with that is then they might have your information, from the junk. Mr.EB blacks out anything identifiable, including barcodes, and THEN rips it up to mail :-p
Did I say I was going to do it?
EB – you mean the mister would do that if he were so inclined, right?
I tend to randomly grab one of those pre-paid return envelopes, and fill it with all of the other junk mail I have received that day…
I think of it as widening their horizons…
EDIT: and I should refresh before I respond…
“hotter type. edible.” will be the entire text of my next singles ad…
BTW how does Sparky know the bushes are to my left? Is he following me around?
He never said he was hiding them in his bushes.
Captain Destructo was pissed. He paced his lair fuming at this recent turn of events. Ever since the jocks in high school harassed him, he started planning his revenge. He decided in college that he would study computers and programming so he could wreak havoc on the internet. His plan was to cause humiliation to his tormentors and generally vandalize other people through the net. He was so focused on his plans, that his course of actions had brought him here. He turned down good opportunities, but it was worth it if his hard work caused the humiliation and confusion for which he’d hoped.
But somehow, each of his cyber attacks ended up backfiring. It all started with the pictures of fellow WalMart customers. His intention was to embarrass those who weren’t that style-forward. One of the bullies who picked on him dressed like the Fonz even though it was the 80s. The community of high school geeks all comforted each other by talking about “the Fonz” behind his back, so Destructo figured this would continue. But the cool people ate it up. They turned the site into pictures of very extreme fashion sense and entertainment. The people in the pictures were supposed to be embarrassed by being 30 years out of style, but the people in the pictures enjoyed the attention and got to showcase senses of style that were very far removed from the mainstream.
Fine, but he figured out another way to post humiliating pictures of his tormentors. He created a website where viewers would vote on whether a person were hot or not. But there was some special code that he added to the picture uploader to change some of the facial characteristics. Those who were so absorbed in looking good ended up average, downright ugly in some cases. He was really proud of this script, because it reversed the facial characteristics of his victims. That backfired, too. The good-looking ones got to laugh at each other, even at themselves when they saw what the pictures looked like on that site. They even turned it into a game. Whoever submitted the best picture of themselves usually ended up looking the worst, so they started keeping score. Whoever was voted the ugliest in a week won. At least there was one positive side effect. Since this reversed general facial characteristics, some of the more plain-looking people ended up looking like models. They got a real confidence boost seeing their “hot” score going up. That was great for his friends, but somehow still caused real anguish to him. He turned and looked at the framed picture of his senior prom. He’d taken Emily Fefferman, who was constantly told by the “in” crowd how ugly she was. He fell in love that night as she sobbed on his shoulder. Looking at them in their glasses and rented clothing, he could still feel the warmth of her tears on his neck. Stuck to the corner of the frame was a wedding announcement. Chuck Williams, “Big Bill” as he was called when he was the captain of the football team and biggest stud on campus, saw her picture on the hot/not site. It was her, but of course supermodel her. Big Bill remembered her kindness when he needed a tutor, so when he saw her online he contacted her to apologize for being a prick. Well, now she was Mrs. Big Bill with two little Big Bills and a little Big Feff on the way. Destructo slammed the picture frame against the dirt floor of his lair.
That taken from him, he decided he’d create a phony online encyclopedia. He would leave it open-source so other tormented souls could post embarrassing faux articles about their bullies. It worked great at first, but then one geek shared the URL with the wrong person. It absolutely exploded in popularity. Experts could share info about their fields of study. Major discoveries in the scientific field could be shared with researchers and the general public almost immediately. The encyclopedia took on a life of its own, and since anybody could update articles, it was becoming a quite authoritative resource for everybody. Sure, he could open up an article and change the content, but almost immediately somebody more knowledgeable would come along and correct it. He was completely ostracized when he made himself and Emily homecoming king and queen. Or at least he thought he was ostracized; Emily herself corrected it almost immediately without anybody else noticing.
When he saved enough to buy Photoshop, he really started abusing photos of his classmates. Destructo had hours upon hours of glee vandalizing photos from his yearbook and circulating the pictures among his fellow geeks, but once again one geek shared it with the wrong person. Now people were using his site to post disasters from Photoshop. Users of the site got feedback on how to be better at Photoshop and viewers of the site got to laugh non-stop.
Then, he found a way to both embarrass the bullies and disrupt their online commerce. Destructo had helped a friend named Craig set up a local online auction site. He told Craig he’d do it for free. He put a back door into the programming code and then added a little bit of mischief. One bully went on to be a wildlife photographer who occasionally sold pictures online, so Destructo tagged his name with code that would change the text for his posts. Who would want to buy a picture from a guy who called the striped big cats lions? Well, that worked once, but backfired afterward. The tag malfunctioned, so now random ads about tigers, regardless of who posted them, had the text changed to say “lions”. Some people laughed at the photographer who didn’t know the proper names of big cats, but they stopped laughing when they saw his stunning photography. His business started booming.
Destructo really should not have set up the auction site for free. He was left out in the cold when it went national. He kept vandalizing Craig’s auction site to work out his frustration. He added code that would randomly replace dollar signs that were followed by numbers with the word “free”. He set up fake ads to get strangers to call his old classmates, but that didn’t seem to work. He didn’t know that nobody wanted the types of stuff he listed, like the boat that had decayed so much, it was just a boat-shaped sandbox. The bot he created to trick bullies into asking his computer for a blind date appeared on his end to be working, but just came out as gibberish. The only things that seemed to work as designed were segments that changed spelling, word order, and pictures associated with an ad. Those ads came out as complete gibberish, but that victory was short-lived. Sitting in front of him was the site that turned his success into yet more failure. Destructo got up and, staring at the site that poked fun at his mangled ads, began yelling “You suck at Criagslist? You suck at Craigslist?! No, YOU SUCK AT CRAIGSLIST!!!”
Just then the door to his lair opened. A gravelly, old voice boomed down the rotting stairs. “Dickie? Hey Dickie! Are you going to work today? Those pizzas aren’t going to deliver themselves!” His mom took a few steps into the basement and was shocked. What was once her sewing room had been turned, but by neglect and intention, into a dark, gloomy cave. ” Son, what’d you do down here? That’s it, I’m not using my retirement check for your internet no more!”
Well played, Yancy, well played.
I ♥ Captain Destructo.
Inspired by Professor Chaos, btw.
OT: And a true story (rant)…
Welcome to another edition of “You Suck at Help-Desking”, brought to you by our corporate IT department, and their crack deployment team (yes, may the gods save us they do call themselves the “deployment team”).
About three months ago I became the POC (point of contact, did I mention this industry is military-driven and heavy on the acronyms?) for the remote download and install of IE8 for the site where I work.
For three months I’ve been getting stupid, insipid, “Jeannie made coffee for the deployment team today, yeah!” type e-mails that droned on and on about the timeline, progress, etc for the new version of Internet Explorer and how my entire life would be changed once it was installed.
I began to feel like I did when the Segway was introduced – all that hype for a classic Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot moment, sigh…
So, fast-forward to this past Tuesday and the BIG DAY has arrived. We all dutifully place our computers in the proper configuration to RECEIVE THE SMS PACKAGE.
Wednesday morning I come in to work and……………….nuttin’
I can see the package in my control panel’s program designated for these things. I try to load it…it takes SIX hours, gets to 7% and fails. I have other users try. One person gets to 21% after NINE hours and it fails.
I call the head of IT…screw starting with the Help(less) Desk….I’m going right to the top.
What ensues are about 137 e-mails all telling me how to do what I’d tried three times already.
Really? Is this thing even on?
By late yesterday afternoon I was beyond pissed at the whole process when I fire off a final reply to the IT manager who had, once again, told the “deployment team” to call me.
It was one word…okay, one word repeated and capitalized and font increased…a few times. The word? Really.
That’s when he sent me an e-mail with THREE separate links to a special help desk, the war room (sigh…yes, they call it a ‘war room’…just don’t ask), and a person assigned to field calls.
Oh, really…after all this time, 137 e-mails and stupidity that knows no bounds, NOW you are giving me the information we all needed prior to the beginning of this whole fiasco?
Really?
Long story longer – my SMS package finally uploaded on its own last night…it has to do with bandwidth and blah, blah, blah.
Sigh…grr….what was my point? Oh wait, no point…just “OT” for a Friday.
[/end OT rant]
Can you stab them in effigy?
Or douse them in self-immolating lube?
I’d like to stab them in their collective effigies…that’s for damn sure.
:deploys Lola’s flask:
:empties flask:
Please, ma’am, may I have some more?
*Uses tractor beam to make thier coffee go cold*
*Dons the Taco stewardess outfit*
Coffee slice, darlin’?
TeeHee!
I love this kind of story. How come it didn’t start with “Once upon a time…?”
I think you summed everything up just beautifully CJ.
Thanks, mudsy….just another week-in-the-life around here…sometimes, these people, sigh…
:looks into next cube:
CJ? That you?
We have an IT dept, and a deployment team, and numerous war rooms (whatever conference room happens to be handy during a “crisis”), and enough acronyms to need their own glossary volume…
Of course, I work for a TLA…
I feel your pain. So much so that I wiped the corporate image off of my laptop, rebuilt it unto mine own image and then connected myself to the damn domain…
passes flask again
It’s a trap!
Well gee, Spark’ I was going to send my flippant bonobo over to help you out . . .
I can send some severely-repressed Calvinists over, but they will feel compelled to disdain you for the littering. And it will be silent severe disdain, too–you might prefer the fine, instead.
The Flippant Bonobos are IF’s Monkees tribute band.
I’ve seen Calvin, and he’s anything but repressed.
Hobbes, on the other hand…….
[Entirely OT]
So, during lunch today I found this pattern on one of my bi-weekly crochet haunts (don’t judge me).
Anyway, while I am not a horse or unicorn enthusiast, after a short time looking at the pattern with mild interest a project formed in my mind: use black yarn and crochet some flames licking off the hooves.
Yup… Ima crochet me a Nightmare! It’ll keep Camothulhu company. *beams*
[/ot]
EDIT: Also; Windy, I’m looking for a home to place a spare crochet’d Cthulhu. I’m told you might know somebody who would be interested.
Sometimes it makes me giggle that TacoMagic is a hooker.
I can do limited amounts of needlepoint too.
I tried to make a pun with that, but it’s really hard.
My theory is that I can claim it’s a cool hobby because I only make Geeky things like Cthulhus, video game characters, and the odd RPG inspired project (Ala Nightmare). Oh… I need to get some silvered black thread and make a Blackguard to ride the nightmare.
As long as you don’t start making socks for your um…
Feet. Yeah, feet. Let’s go with that one.
**Phew!**
My rooster has been complaining that his feet are cold in the morning. I should make him some socks!
Rooster? Ooh no Mr. Smarty mMagicPants I’m not even going to ask about how your rooster wakes you up in the morning…
With his typewriter.
He really bangs the keys way too hard.
I’m still trying to figure out the difference between the horse and the unicorn. There’s not a single piece of corn in that picture to indicate which is which.
If only the two were different in some way…
The difference is conceptual. The unicorn can only eat one corn, while the horse can eat as much as it wants.
Who would have thunk crocheting could get so cerebral?
*makes notation in One of These Things is Not Like the Other Notebook*
[horse corey]as long as I don’t have to follow said equine, you go ahead and give it all the corn you want[/corey]
Cerebral crochet.
I’d be hesitant to follow too closely behind an equine regardless of how much corn it was fed.
sj: ummm…how come that’s not on Regretsy? 🙂
SJ: Do you know how easy it would be to turn that hat into a stuffed Krang?!
*Adds to his crochet project list.
That’s an awesome hat! I might have to figure out how to make myself one.
http://www.instructables.com/id/The-Summoning/
:prepares for Tacosplosion:
*TACOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS-*
…
*Pokes Himself*
Huh.
Cool pattern! Too bad I don’t have the Cute Creepy book; though I have perused it in the book store a few times.
Dang it SJ! From that pattern I somehow managed to navigate to a site with a pattern on how to crochet a Lorenz manifold.
Now I’ve got a big project on my list.
My Boss walked up behind me while I was looking at that article and read some of it over my shoulder.
“Are you seriously reading up on how to crochet a Lorentz Manifold?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re such a nerd, Taco. … Can you make me one too?”
I love my boss.
Oh! Oh ohoh! Yes, Mr. Magic, Sir! I do know someone. 8) I’ll private message you on FaceBook with the address. Thank you!!!!
*steeples fingers*
Eeeexcelent.
Remember to show us any pictures of the squirrel suit any securities systems you may have pick up when he goes to stalk you!
True Story, one time I was giving my PO Box to some information collection person, and without really thinking about what I had given him, he asked, “and how long have you lived there?” Yeah, buddy, me, husband, two teenagers, some cats and birds and unicorns, all in a regular size Post Office Box. It’s a little cramped. He didn’t even flinch when I said that last line.
I think the first person is a double agent, and the “lube” is actually a secret formula that can be decoded by the agent’s handler. (Heh heh, handler.)
Either that, or I’ve been watching too much Alias lately…
“I lube the penguin at midnight.”
“I rub lotion into the walrus.”
…
“Also, ew.”
*DISCLAIMER*
Taco does not endorse lubing animals.
*pauses greasing the pig*
Why? What’s wrong with that? Don’t you judge me!
*continues greasing the pig*
Sorry poochie! Nobody can outrun a greased Scotsman!
And that’s why Taco is no longer welcome at the zoo.
Except on Cinco de Mayo…
Cinco was yesterday’s post.
And the annual Running of the Snarks.
Gonzaloalves was in a jam.
And not merely for being named Gaonzaloalves Montenegro Indefatigable Erskine-Saint Johns either, being the scion of really old money can be difficult. Gonzo–yes, it was a dumb contraction, but better than his sister, Berkshire Persephone Hampshire’s nickname–Gonzo, he knew he was not the brightest bulb. Maybe it was from all those scantrons that never quite got filled out right. But, really, it was not his fault they had decided to stop in Indonesia on the way to Thailand (or maybe it was Timbuktu, Gonzo always got them backwards).
So, after a dozen too many Singapore Slings, Biff, Clyde, and Webster-Marianne had said they wanted to go find hookers. But, they were all too drunk (or pretending to be; they’d done that to Gonzo before). So, it was down to gonzo to give instructions to the nice man in the very-clean taxi.
Was it really Gonzo’s fault he’d drunkenly confused Thai and Tamil and message and massage? Really! They were in a foreign country after all–it was bad enough just going to the ski places in Vermont, and really, Gonzo did not lisp that,/em> badly; no worse than any of his friends, surely.
Still, you’d think that places ought to be labeled more accurately. The cabbie had assured them they were in the right place when he expelled them from his cab (honestly, Webbie did not vomit that much–a total over-reaction by foreigners once again!). Still, the cabbie could have warned them. So, when Biff came back with a note, that said to go around to the back door and reach into the bush (Gonzo still had his doubts that is how the note actually read). So how was Gonzo to know that it was a violation of Indonesian law to have lubricants outside a convent? Or that dropping them was littering too?
Biff, being Swiss, had vanished under some sort of deplomate immaturity (or some such); Biff had eluded the Police (but there were posters with his picture everywhere. Really, though, the trial had been rather straightforward. And caning did not sound that bed, Gonzo had been caned in his boarding schools–just like everyone else he knew (someday, he promised himself, he’d ask a poor person what a “kindergaten” was). But, that confidence was spoilt when they took Clyde out to the post. This was no school caning–this was Serious!
So, Gonzo was fretting, and doing so like someone who actually knew what “fretting” meant, too. Webbie kept saying he had a plan, but he needed a computer and someone named “Craig” (what an odd thing to call a person; Gonzo was not sure that was a name or a title). But, every time Gonzo’s thoughts steadied into some sort of simple coherence, Clyde’s shrieks would send them into a tizzy (whatever a ‘tizzy’ was). Gonzo really wanted Webbie to either shut up or find that computer.
Gonzo was in a bind.
I’d like to ask a poor person what a “Kindergaten” is, too.
**asks self**
No clue.
**runs back into Snark Lounge**
He didn’t know.
Slap some bread around this. Begins with jam and ends with bind.. I declare that you’ve got yourself a sammich.
I love Gonzo’s given name! Mindfield has some serious competition right-cheer!
I’d have liked it better if he could have worked “Montalban” in there somewhere, but otherwise, a very respectable, wholesome Swiss name.
[process of construction]
Thought about that; but Montalban is “Monty”; and there was a recent personal experience with meeting a person who was the grand child of trust-fund grandchildren, and saddled with handles ancestral that seemed more descriptive than proper nouns for names. (Also had to interact with a Saint John-Stropshire [sin JIN stahf SIGH ehr] not terribly long ago.)
And, having dealt with some born with platinum spoon (silver spoons are for the service help) orally applied, a git of goring of the upper and ‘better’ class seemed mete and wont. Especially those sent to boarding schools before prep school and then to some horribly exclusive college–and never gained an academic honor beyond “passing” in all that.
All too possible to have all the benefits and possibilities of having been born a posh toff and still be a thickie (and the ones actually aware enough to recognize their own thickness being right rare, too).
Call a roll off a roster sheet enough times and just about every possible thing to call a person will be seen at least once.
Even adjectives (had to explain the other day why the Russel Crowe character name in the gladiator movie makes me laugh to this day).
Geocache.
All day I’ve been wondering why that sounded so familiar to me. Could not place it.
As soon as I got home, had a friend ask if the kiddo and I wanted to Geocache with them tomorrow. Aha.
But since it’s not real cash, I’ll leave the treasure hunting to others. I’m afraid that I would find something worse than a half bottle of glittery lotion.
One of my coworkers belongs to a large Geocaching community. He loves it. Any vacation he takes, wherever he goes, he’ll plan out hiking routes around geocaches in the area. Not really my kinda thing, frankly, but then I’m not a very outdoorsy sort of person, so I suppose that stands to reason.
If this stuff ends up to the left of the bushes, you’re not using it right.
George Walker or George Herbert Walker?
Oh, I think we do want to put it to the left of Dubya.
Heh, heh, heh.
He came up from Crawford Texas
Took him three days on a plane
Lookin’ for some people to vote him
Back into office again.
But now he lives in an apartment
He takes care to watch for gunk
He’ll hang out in the parkinglot
And check your bushes for junk.
Can’t you see him rummaging, honey?
Can’t you see him snooping around?
You’ve got Bush to the left
Bush to the right
And he’s the only Dubya ’round!
Oh oh
Oh oh
Bush to the left
Bush to the right
And he’s the only one in town!
You’re savin’ up all of your money
Want to buy some lotion soon
Maybe Love Potion 9 and some glitter’d be fine
But you’re scared to leave your room.
Can’t you see him rummaging, honey
Can’t you see him snooping around?
You’ve got Bush to the left
Bush to the right
But he’s the only Dubya ’round!
Bush to the left,
Bush to the right,
And he’s the only one in town!
That made me laugh. Thank you.
Anytime, Astro 🙂 Anytime.
Damn you cold-medicated brain! All this lovely snark and I can’t get past “She hid lube in her bushes, bwehehe.” >.< I'm going to go sit in the corner now and make coo'ing noises at nothing.
Winston has some splainin to do!
Ah, that was from his wild and care-free youth, where he grew up on a segregated farm. He got loose and sowed his wild oats. Lots and lots of wild oats in lots and lots of different ways. His Penthouse Forums letter was epic.
I guess you’ll have to add his 43 muggle children into the story…
Pyotr Vasectimov, known to his friends as Chico (don’t ask), was mightily pleased with himself. What could possibly go wrong he thought. Simple, just reach in the bush and get it, right? Pyotr tapped at the flask in his breast pocket. He never knew why he checked if it was there, it was always there. It was his good luck flask after all. Not that it ever brought him any luck, and it did bring him a couple of DUI’s. Nevertheless, he always packed it around with him never knowing when a little liquid encouragement would be needed, and he always seemed to need that encouragement in any of his endeavors, no matter how trivial.
Arriving at the designated house, he partook of said courage. He stepped briskly up to the little gate. Hmm, nice, he thought, a little white picket fence with a picket gate. Could use some paint. He didn’t know why that thought had leapt into his head, stuff just did sometimes. That’s when he noticed the smell, something recently burnt near here… No matter, it was none of his concern.
As he approached the house, he mentally ran through his instuctions once again. It’ll be in her left bush. No, wait, my left, her right bush. Hehe, the nice lady said to just reach in her bush, he couldn’t stop giggling. Giggity, giggity.
He reached in the bush and his hand went ‘splortch’. Hmm, that explains how a new lotion could be spilt, there was no lid. Retrieving his hand, he gave it a little sniff. Mmm, minty. Gathering both products, he wondered which of them was the edible one. No matter, he’d have fun finding out.
Another shot of courage later, he found himself on the road, headed home. Where did those bees come from?, must be about a truckload of ’em, and what are those shiny things behind me? No, not shiny, blinky lights. Cripes, its the cops. Just then, he noticed the bees swarming in and around the open container. Explains why she had to get rid of the stuff, he thought.
Dutifully pulling over for the ‘fuzz’, Pyotr had to think fast, he just couldn’t tolerate another DUI. The police, the Weaver brothers as it happened to be, weren’t the brightest gerberts in the jar, so to speak. They approached Pyotr together and leaned in his window. Pyotr reacted, fast, and tossed the open lube in their eyes. Effective, good as pepper spray he thought, and made a mental note of the new-found use for the stuff. I really must finish that book on lube uses he pondered, but just for an instant. Deftly, he bound the Weaver brothers and tossed them in the back.
When they once again could see, the Weavers found themselves in Pyotr’s basement. Bob, the elder, was tied to the water pipes, while Doug, the more diminuitive, was hanging over a vat of vinegar. Before Bob could speak, Pyotr blurted out “don’t worry Bob, you’re gonna live”. “But Dougie here, ain’t”.
“Why’s that”, they both exclaimed in unison.
Pyotr went on, “well, you know, Psycho doll just must have a sacrifice”.
“Why me?”, cried Doug.
Pyotr just chuckled to himself as he pulled on the chain allowing Doug to descend into the vat, for Pyotr knew that old adage.
One must always pickle the lesser of two Weavers.
Speaking of pickles…
One of our “Mobile test beds” (An old military Humvee) returned from being repainted this morning, it was just slightly the wrong color military green. Someone commented that is looked like a pickle, using masking tape a I made big letters on the side that said, “Dill Rod.”
Summons a horde of trebuchetteurs to fling brickbats at that horrible pun.
Fiddlesticks, 4 minutes to edit was only 02:24; ergo:
During WWII the famous Britch spy harry Lime contracted a rare but curable eye problem. But, the only extant specialist was at Walter Reed Hospital, an ocean away. Since he was a spy, complete secrecy was required, so an American submarine was detailed to take him to the U.S.
While there, the sub skipper sent Harry off to his doctor’s appointments. However, Harry’s reputation as a gadabout preceded him. Harry was so indiscreet as to have some of his female ‘friends” drop him off on the pier.
The skipper had cajoled, then warned Harry on this. The skipper had tolerated enough, and would tolerate no more. And gave Harry quite specific instructions:
You are to go directly from the sub, Lime, to the Reed Occulist!
LimeLolly, I hope you didn’t have too much trouble shareing the box with DGiovanni. He only drops in to pick up a shirt and a fresh beer. Or Something.
Here’s your Punchity Punch Punches! Wheeee!
G’Night, Mount Sinai!
Thanks WR,
For once, I had a decent nights rest. That would be due to the pain meds, of course. Where did you learn that double roundhouse kick?
Oldest trick in the book. Instead of paying for Adwords and using search terms to get targeted marketing done, this guy has found the loophole. This is basically the 21st century equivalent of the box/stick/string trap. You think there isn’t a rope loop in those bushes to snare the interested party by their foot? He gets the freaky crowd to come to him, because I don’t think any other crowd is gonna bite on half full glitter lotions, snare them with crude loop rope ankle trap, re-use the bait, and repeat. After three or four days he has enough freaks to get a three on three freak basketball game going in his dungeon nerf court. Phenomenal use of free craigslist classifieds.
Who ISN’T allergic to glitter?
Besides Ke$ha.
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