YSaC, Vol. 1015: Rug(s) from me to you.
We’ve seen so many regrettable couches here on YSaC, it only feels right to focus on the one thing that really ties a room together … the rug.
Real Perishing Rugs – $5500
Handmade Real silk Perishing rug with certification numbers and detail. and if you have any others questions feel free to call mike at xxx-xxx-xxxx have a bless day.
Ellen sent in this ad, saying, “The title says there are rugs, plural. The ad seems to infer there is only one. Perhaps it is too late for the other. It may have perished by the time the ad was finished. Very sad. I don’t think it would be wise to spend over 5 grand on the remaining rug which could go any minute. Just saying.”
But wait, Ellen! Before we mourn the sudden but inevitable demise of the companion floorpiece … What’s this? The other perishing rug may be safe after all!
Real Perishing Rugs – $3500
Real Real Perishing Rugs Silk Handmade with certification numbers and detail. and if you have any others questions feel free to call mike at xxx-xxx-xxxx have a bless day.
[Professor Farnsworth] Good news, everyone! [/Professor] The other perishing rug has been found! And this one is a REAL real perishing rug, not that fake real perishing rug that was in the first ad.
Thanks, Ellen!
*ring ring*
Hi, Mike?
I’m calling about the ad … no, I don’t want to buy the carpets but your ad said to call if you have questions. I have some:
Can you count?
What is a “bless day” and where can I get one?
If your rugs are perishing, why don’t you feed them or get them medical attention?
This is the Rug of Turin.
I’m looking for the outline of something mystical or spiritual but all that’s happening is I’m going cross-eyed.
I see General Pershing.
Are you sure it’s not General Perishing?
:Whispers “I see dead rugs…”:
“There’s only two of them, and they don’t even know they’re for sale”
Well, Blackjack Pershing has passed beyond this mortal coil.
Do not remember if his biography (by the now equally late Dr Frank Vanderveer*) included details on rug preferences or proclivities, though.
_______________________________
*Whose signature is upon my baccalaureate diploma.
Is it wrong that when I saw “Rug of Turin”, my mind went not to “Shroud of Turin” but to “Túrin Turambar”?
Yes.
I’m sad to hear about the pending expiration of these rugs. My sympathies go out to their families.
I really hope they didn’t have any little bath mats. Poor orphan bath mats. Alms alms for the bath mats!
[mat] Mine are made out of sheep wool. They’re called baaaaaaaath maaaaaats.[/mat]
[corey] Oooooh – a mat corey. They are VERY rare! Well done, Mudsy. [/corey]
I learned how to fill in all the bubbles correctly.
😉
This definitely gives the sales pitch “won’t last long” a new meaning.
Wow, I had no idea so many people wanted to end their days on a rug, or indeed that rugs were being specifically manufactured for the purposes of karking out on – congrats to Mike on cornering this potentially lucrative market.
Anyway, must dash – it’s a Bless Day, and the Bishop is banging on the door…
“Why Bishop, is that a crozier in your cassock, or are you just pleased to see me?”
Is he hanging? Then you have a dead Bishop on your landing. Call the church police!!
” There’s another dead bishop on the landing.”
Suffragan or diocesan?
” How should I know? ”
It’s tatooed on the back of their neck.
Should you call the police?
Call the church police!
8)
Well, [Sparky thinks] if he’s dead, he’s not suffragan any more.
“THE BISHOP!”
“The text! Don’t read the text, Vic!”
“Izzat rat tarte?”
“yes.”
“Disgusting!”
“It’s a fair cop, but society is to blame.”
New euphemism for my collection!! Yay!!
Gives new meaning to the old one about “beating the bishop”
“If you don’t know how, I can’t show you”, said the actress to the bishop.
Those rugs look like the method of disposal from that creepy urban legend where there’s a body hidden in a rolled up rug. As seen here (go to number two).
He’s getting rid of the evidence!
Dr. Kervorkian’s rugs? That’s all I got.
Not too shabby.
But when they want to go, you have to help them.
So is this a rug for keeping your perishables on, or would it just make them perish faster? I don’t want to go through the trouble of stuffing it in my fridge if it will just make the milk go bad faster.
Actually, this particular rug is for your non-cold perishables. You can use it to line your produce casket.
Lo, but my time approacheth. Soon it will be time to depart where all rugs must eventually, to that Great Hardwood Floor in the Sky. I am loath to leave you, my good, good owners, for it has been my utmost pleasure to have had you trod on my lo these many years. The feel of your feet in my shag, comforting you as you lie on me and enjoy the fireplace, proving a place for your couches and chairs, even ensuring that I mark the spots where their feet sat when you needed to move them and vacuum. Oh, and I loved it when you would vacuum, it was such a titular event.
But weep not for me, my family, no. Do not weep. For I will be going to a better place, a place where rugs are happy and care-free. A place where the floors are of the finest varnished hardwood. A place where we never get dirty, yet are still vacuumed simply for the sheer thrill of it. A place where cats and dogs are free to lie on our luxurious fibers but will find an empty, easy-to-clean area of bare floor to vomit or cough up hairballs. A place where area rugs, throw rugs and wall-to-wall carpeting can live in harmony with one another, frolic around huge, empty houses, and the fireplaces never pop embers at you. A place where we are never taken out and beaten — not that I’m accusing you, my good owners, for you have never been so cruel, although if I may be so bold in my final moments, those carpet foams and powders you use are absolutely wretched, but I am thankful the reek and the itch only lasts a few days. Also, your cat has peed on me many more times than you think, and you’re probably going to be rather horrified by the stains on your floor when you roll me up to dispose of me.
Not that I’m complaining, mind! I’ve served you in good stead all these many long, happy years, I have, never once complaining or wishing some other family with no pets and only mild cleaning agents had bought me instead. And one who had fewer parties and whose friends didn’t repeatedly come over, get drunk, vomit on me, then pass out in their own sick. And one who didn’t smoke — or more specifically didn’t allow their cigarettes to fall on me as they fell asleep mid-smoke watching David Letterman. And one who didn’t sweep dust and refuse under my corners because they were too lazy to go fetch the dustpan. And one who didn’t habitually spill food on me — I mean, that’s really not quite so bad as the adherence to the Ten Second Rule, knowing all the crap that’s stuck in my fibers. I mean, really, that’s disgusting.
No, not once did I ever complain about such things to you. Indeed, I served my duty as your faithful rug for so many years without even a single peep, as stoic during the bad times as I was joyful during the good. I mean, I have enjoyed and endured so many years with you and your family. I was there when you got married. I was there when you brought home your first child, a girl. I was there when your cat had a litter of kittens — right on me, it did. Really, I’d never been so simultaneously amazed and revolted in all my life. I was there when your first-born daughter brought home her boyfriend and had lost her virginity to him — right here on top of me. What, you didn’t know that? Well, I don’t suppose I should be surprised, it was only last weekend when you were off cavorting with friends and your daughter was supposed to be staying at her friend Tina’s.
Yes, I have been there with you through thick and thin, through better and worse, through sobering moments and that time you fell asleep with the kitchen sink running and the plug in the drain and it overflowed and it completely soaked me right through. I have been here for just about everything. I have shared your life with you, and so it breaks my heart — or would if I had one — that I must leave now. But it is just my time, a time all rugs must eventually face. I do not want to go, but I do not have a say in the matter, for if I did I would surely stay for as long as I could. But do not weep for me, for I will pass bravely into the next life, and I want you to know that I will be happy and free, so you need not mourn, not for me. I am sure you will find a new, younger, happy rug to take my place and be with you for all those future moments of happiness and joy and vacuuming and cigarette burns and vomit and cat pee and sex romps everything in between. I am sure your new rug will bring you much happiness, and though I know you will never forget me, as I will never forget you, I know that my place will be in your hearts, tucked away to be thought of only periodically as your new rug fills your life with all new memories.
Ah, but I must depart. The light … it grows dim. It is cold in here. So, so cold. Is the heat on? Maybe you light just one last fire. What’s that? You sound so distant. I can barely see you. Oh … I am falling. Falling. Is … is that you, uncle Burbur?
*appoints self Prez du jour of MF’s fan club*
You may have outdone yourself this time. Be glad you are in Canada and I throw like a girl, otherwise many, many doors would come raining down upon you.
Thanks. 😀 If you think that was dramatic though, you should have heard the speech when William Shatner’s rug died.
*rimshot*
The second ad looks like the rug is strapped onto a bed. That would be the most expensive mattress cover ever.
It’s called a Purrsian Pillow Top. So much more comfy than an Ironian Pillow Top.
Please keep the cat off the bed – there will be no ‘rolling the kitty’ on (or in) the pillow top.
Thank you for referring to it as “kitteh”.
I think the corner is under construction this morning so we’d have to send you to the basement.
Why Mudsy, whatever are you insinuating? 😉
And that’s OK – I always carry my own, emergency, corner with me for those times when I need one but none is readily available. Kinda like Lola’s flask.
Oh…a Tardis Corner. I’m waiting to get one for myself on Overstock.com
Yeah, but mine isn’t the licensed one. I got a cheap ‘Made in Bangdong’ knock-off. It works OK, but it has to be blown-up before you can use it.
A double euphemism! Another rare specimen seen today at YSaC.
But you should be careful when performing that, Grampdaddy, you could pull something if you don’t do it right…
Wait…
They had to strap it to the bed. It’s perishing because it’s being put to death by lethal injection.
( snerk )
You said ‘strap it’, ‘bed’, and ‘injection’…
Grampdaddy, you may need to get out more.
There’s a reason his family keeps him indoors.
Sparky’s marketing advice: Piling fine perishing rugs on a bed preserves the pile.
Hey! You! Bumblebee, what the HELL are you grinning at!
Too many bees!
I like my women like I like my coffee… covered in bees!
I like mine in a paper cup.
Well, I suppose in the grand scheme of things, all of us (and our rugs) will perish eventually – but it doesn’t seem to me to be a good feature to advertise.
Nihilist rugs?
Dust in the wind, all Mike’s rugs are dust in the wind.
And now I have THAT song stuck in my head. Only it is sung by Will Ferrell.
Mine is sung by Beaker
http://themuppetmindset.blogspot.com/2010/02/beaker-sings-dust-in-wind.html
Poor Beaker. The Muppets have really gone downhill since Jim Henson died. Which causes me infinite sadness.
And so I return to this : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vnywlzr7Y1o
The carpets aren’t perishing. Sparky has it wrong. These are Limited Effect Magic Carpets, and the magic has almost run out. You might be able to make one last flight to Paris before it goes, so make sure you have a good explanation as to how you got there and why you only need a one-way ticket home.
Why go home at all?
Windy – Look out! There’s a duck sitting on your owl!
The duck has an owl stuck in her quack?
Whatever.
The Owl is sitting on a parrot, so the stack is probably not finished yet.
Duck-owl-parrot? Sounds like something covered in melted cheese curd and baked in pastry and beloved of obscure northern climes . . .
oh, wait, that’s poutain . . .
We had a duck at work yesterday. I’ve never touched a living duck before… just cooked ones. It was neat 🙂
Ducks try to live in our pool when we’re not looking.
As of yet we haven’t had any build a nest and actually try to fledge goslings in the pool.
That’s good, because if your ducks are fledging goslings, they’re gonna be ugly ducklings…
*ba-dum ching!*
I used to work at a place that had an adjacent plaza with large reflecting (not swimming) pools and many if not every summer I loved seeing the mallard couple (not sure if it was the same one, but always same type of duck) that would somehow successfully nest (it was in a completely paved and landscaped area, save for a few shrubs and flowers) and hatch a family. The ducklings would start as tiny little fluffballs and by the end of the summer they were getting close in size to their parents. I miss being able to see that every day going to and from work.
♫♪ Rescue the perishing, care for the dying ♫♪♪
: picks out window seat in the handbasket:
Baptist roots..
Yeah, I have those too.
*takes seat next to LL*
Swing low, sweet Hoover
A year later…. this is the same thought I had before I could scroll through the comments. Glad that my brain is still on the same crazy train.
Are these new antique rugs or are they perishing because they’ve gone past their “Best By” date?
It’s the Auntie Q [stains] which makes for perishing.
I am imagining Mike Sparkle’s grasp of geography and history if he thinks these are Perishing rugs, from Perishi.
In ancient history classes he learned about the Meats and the Perishians, the Geek Empire, the Mass o’ Donia, the Mess o’ Potamia (TM “The Daily Show”), and the Babby-Boloneyans. Other classes covered that invading criminal Genghis Con Artist and his maurading whores, and, likewise mobile, the Roaming Empire.
When Mikey Sparky tries to talk about these things with his friends, no one knows what he is talking about, leading him to conclude that education in this country isn’t what it used to be.
And it’s all because of high-stakes testing. Filling in Bubbles is what Mike Sparkles did instead of actually studying.
(Bubbles liked it too, but she didn’t pass either.)
That was awesome, Lola@
🙂
Don’t forget about the Galls and the Phonyecians.
Those Galls really burn me up. Always dividing into three parts. And don’t even get me started about their bladders…
It was amazing that the Galls could actually accomplish anything since they were frequently stoned. Bladders? Meh, they just pi$$ me off.
@ the Lubowski reference to rugs: pi$$ing on would be more apropos.
@Galls: They were mainly bitter and felt overly indignant about everything.
A morning started with a Big Lebowski reference can only be good.
I didn’t realize Matt was a Gall… Hmmm, it all makes so much more sense now.
Which of the three parts of Gall became Contemporania?
Elebenty billion doors and a sammich for you Lola.
Mmmm, catnip sandwich. Thanks, Lara!
Mike Sparkle had a hard time studying ancient geography in high school ’cause he was distracted by the Masses o’Donia, which is what he and his classmates called the chest of the extra-endowed-but-bra-eschewing teacher. After class they always snickered about how “hard” a time they had paying attention to the lessons. It was only when Jo, the butch chick who sat in front of him, joined in the snickering that Mike realized God made everybody unique and not everybody played for the same team.
These rugs are keeping it real dawg.
Regrettable (Tim) Couch and the Perishing Rugs is the name of my Presidents of the United States of America cover band.
I have a regrettable Tim in my past, IF. I wish you wouldn’t bring it up.
Was he tiny?
I promised I wouldn’t say.
If you put a Perishing Rug into the Armoire of Invincibility does the universe implode?
Only in the Armwar of Invincibility. But it has to be filled with great aunts.
Welcome to Mad Mike’s Carpet Emporium, where we have everything you need to turn your cold, sterile floor into a warm, beautiful, inviting floor. At MMCE, we have everything from astroturf (for you baseball fans who want to turn your home into an homage to your favorite team – bachelors or want-to-be bachelors only) to the most beautiful and elegant Persian rugs. You can offset a beautiful ceramic tile with these luxurious silk, hand-woven conversation pieces. You’ll want all of your friends to leave their shoes at the door and wash their feet before entering any room adorned with these pieces of elegance.
For a short time, we even have area rugs that speak to the absolute height of luxury and opulence. The rarest of carpets, the most sought-after Perishing rug. This beautiful piece is made from silk spun by the endangered suicide moth. This silk vanishes over time. No two suicide moths spin silk that vanishes at the same rate. These insects are endangered because the unlucky moths die during metamorphosis when their cocoons vanish and they drop to their deaths. Chinese monks have discovered a subspecies of the suicide moth, termed the Russian Roulette moth by people antipathetic to this type of silk. Silk spun by the RR moth lasts the longest of any of the suicide moth subspecies, so the Chinese monks raise these moths in a small, isolated monastery.
Perishing RR silk rugs are quite rare and very valuable for a second reason in addition to the shelf life of the silk. These beautiful pieces are spun by expert weavers in what is considered China’s most deadly job. When a monk learns his craftwork, he spends years weaving with cheap, every-day silk. He must develop both incredibly artistic skill and the ability to weave flawlessly at lightning-fast speed. After 20 years of practicing with common silk, a monk begins work with the Russian Roulette silk. If the rug begins to vanish before he is finished, he must begin again. As you may understand, the level of stress produced by both the demand for such speed and the perfection required shortens the lives of these monks, but the biggest problem is the suicide rate. Monks who fail to complete more than one rug per week sometimes snap under the pressure and kill themselves. The production of these carpets is as much in danger from the rarity of RR moths as the high turnover rate of monks.
Fortunately, a very short-lived war termed The Silk War ended any demand for clothes made out of this material. The Silk War began when the emperor of a small, central European country commissioned the finest robes be made from RR silk. When his royal procession began, he wore the most opulent clothing the subjects had ever seen. As he proudly walked through his capital village, the silk rapidly perished, leaving him more than a little embarrassed and completely nude. In his anger he ordered the invasion of his weavers’ home country. Swift military conflict broke out, but was quashed by the defenders when the invading invantry, wearing uniforms made of RR silk, found themselves mid-combat with their anatomy flapping in the breeze.
If you decide to buy one of these Perishing RR rugs, consider blacking out the windows in the room where you display the carpet. Natural light seems to accelerate the vanishing of the silk. Ensuring that no natural light ever falls on your rug is an investment in the longevity of the piece, but just to be safe, consider keeping the room pitch-black and sealed unless very special company appears.
Finally, MMCE requires all purchasers of these Perishing RR rugs to sign waivers stating they are aware of the transient nature of their purchases and they will not hold Mad Mike, employees of MMCE, or ACME, the corporation of whom MMCE is a subsidiary and proud publishers of the ACME product catalog of guaranteed-to-work products, at fault should they be embarrassed by the absence of these beautiful pieces when stars, foreign dignitaries, elected politicians, political candidates, family matriarchs or patriarchs, 3rd-grade teachers, proctologists, urologists, scientologists, astronomers, astrologers, vacuum-cleaner salesmen, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Jehovah Himself, or any other guest is seen into the room only to find scraps of partially-vanished silk and dust bunnies.
Bravo, Yancy. Many, many doors.
I am particularly fond of “If you decide to buy one of these Perishing RR rugs, consider blacking out the windows in the room where you display the carpet … just to be safe, consider keeping the room pitch-black and sealed unless very special company appears.”
I prefer my rugs fully perished. I get tired of having to beat the ones who aren’t quite dead yet to keep them in place.
Rug: I think I’ll go for a walk.
See, in the house I grew up in, ‘perishing’ was a mild expletive. So if you referred to a ‘perishing’ rug it was probably because it had got rucked up and you’d tripped over it, or something.
Which means the first thing I thought was “They’re not that bad, why’s Sparky got such a downer on them?”
To lie, or not to lie: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The scuffs and debris of careless trodders,
Or to take arms against an army of toddlers,
And by opposing tidy them? To perish: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The warp-ache and the thousand natural threads
That weave is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To warf, to weep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rug;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coif,
Must give us pause: there’s the carpet
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the muddy treads & scours of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud real real rug’s contumely,
The pangs of despised stain, the law’s delay,
The insolence of offal and spurn-ed lees
That patient merit of the unworthy stakes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a woven life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller nor runner returns, puzzles the floor
And makes us rather bear those rugs we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native weave o’ resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of profit,
And enterprises of great pith and movement
With this regard their carpets turn awry,
And lose the name of Afghan.–Soft you now!
Be all my sins remember’d.
I shall never tire of the beautiful soliloquies of Wm. Shakespile.
I still think Sir Friezes Berber wrote all his stuff.
If I could, there would be an extra door for “Ay, there’s the rug”
In all fairness, that was the first line that popped into my head.
Then scuff’ed by outrageous fortune. Debated interjecting puir daft Ophelia sewing patches o’er spilt wine and crushed pearls, but remember-ed “the play’s the thing.”
So, two of the dorky references in the commentary are obvious … Big Lebowski and Futurama. I’m wondering if the third dorky reference is too obscure. Anyone got it?
Well, ‘sudden but inevitable’ is Wash playing with his dinosaurs in the Serenity cockpit.
Oooh, that was subtle.
And we shall call it… This Land!
Yup, that was it! You win …. um … well, let’s see … we have some radishes you can have.
We could give him my dad’s old truck…but it has a bee nest in it, so you need to come pick it up yourself.
Feel free to quote the song, or rework it to suit your needs. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0j4PYTQNr_k
It’s going to bring back the passion for craigslist that we all know, love, and witness people suck at!
Perfect! I was looking for a perishing rug to go under my fainting couch!
…and I replied to Beau unintentionally. Sorry for the nonsequitur post.
OT Rant-a-rific:
Sooo I pick up the phone at work (still at the pet clinic for another week). It’s the local humane society. After the usual pleasantries of greeting a fellow animal-care worker, we get down to the business of why they called. He reports that a pet has been released/surrendered to them by one of our clients.
He gave me the name of the pet and the name of the client, and I looked it up. “Whatcha need?” is the equivalent of what I ask him.
“Weeeeelllll,” he says in a hesitant sort of tone. “She brought him here to be euthanized…” Mr W (due to his last name initial) then tells me the following information.
Leroy had been urinating in the house. The owner couldn’t deal with it anymore and wanted the dog euthanized. They proceeded to tell her that they would not euthanize without a justifiable cause, such as aggression or terminal disease. The owner proceeded to fill out the form and change her reasoning to Diabetes.
The shelter took the dog and called us because A.) the pet had NO medication dropped off with it (diabetic dogs are insulin dependent) and B.) her suddenly changing her reasoning was suspicious in itself. They had good reason to call.
Leroy is NOT diabetic. And I am furious that this woman would lie to get a perfectly healthy dog euthanized. There aren’t any words to describe how utterly despicable this person is. I surely hope their other dog doesn’t come down with any undesirable traits for fear they’ll come up with some sort of lie to kill him, too. If you can’t deal with potty-training your dog, don’t just lie to the shelter to have it killed to save you face. Be honest and let someone who actually gives a damn take care of the dog.
Next time you make me a cactus, Taco, sew some hypodermic needles into it so I can punish the shitheads of the world.
/OT
I feel awful for that dog. What was left of my faith in humanity (present company excepted) has just perished along with the rugs. 🙁
I could send you a real cactus if you like, Lyle.
Was there nothing either of you could do, SL? 🙁
Well, by confirming to the shelter that the dog was NOT diabetic, I secured him a place in their adoption lineup. Hopefully someone will adopt him soon. He’s a cute dog, and really nice.
You mean, this woman is going to get away with this? How despicable.
Sadly, not nearly enough, well, for want of a better term, “people” are not given nearly enough opportunities to lick poison dart frogs on dares.
Even worse, such . . . “people” will also have offspring (and in similarly whimsical and unintentional ways) with equal difficulties in hygiene education.
I can only take solace that, in the Great Canine Hereafter there is a Purgatory for such as SL outlines above, and there will be an eternity of rolled up newspapers and having noses rubbed in and much shouting of “Bad Human! BAd!” for those trangressors, no mater how oblivious and uncaring today. Their tears will be rivers and more than enou to air condition Paradise.
What a story these rugs could tell if they could talk. But first break out the LYSOL®
It has arrived—the long rag rug
multiply folded. On top, one alien hair.
I put my face to the folds and smell despair
palpable as salt air
in all those rooms and houses, small and smug—
enclosures I passed through on my way where?
Whoever did the weaving appears old
in my mind’s eye. I can’t make out her face,
can only conjure up the faintest trace
of an abstracted grace,
clack of the loom. Does she know they’ll be sold
these precious things, in some unheard-of place?
I perch her on a hill, precariously
beyond the reach of waves’ daily boom.
Sun blazes overhead, but her dim room
(no bigger than the loom)
is proof against the violence of the sky
From it I further spin what I once called my home:
Endless horizons fading into haze,
the mornings dawn came up so rosy clear;
snails in the garden, sheep bells everywhere,
the brightness of the air,
terraces, valleys organizing space
and time’s cessation. So this package here
I’m now unwrapping, in New York, today
(rugs like rainbows, woven with a grace
my strands of language barely can express;
dishrags of dailiness
dispersed and recombined and freshly gay)
comes to me imbued with images,
slowly and faithfully across the water,
across the world. It represents a time
I myself snipped and recombined as rhyme
as soon as I went home,
if that is where I am. These rugs recover
the sense of stepping twice into a single river.
By Rachel Hadas
Mindfield, carve another Punchity Punch Punch in your headboard! Between the Public Notice and the Rug Cemetery.
G’Night, Ahmadinnerjacket!
The juxtaposition of Persian rugs and pillow pets has a most unsettling effect. Did the pillow pet deliver the almost-fatal dose of poison to its uppity floor-mate?
sniff
I’m all alone in the lounge today. Crumbs of banana bread, and 2 day old coffee are all that’s left (thank goodness for the microwave).
I was just looking through my old books thinking the Perishing Rug would be a fabulous Edward Gorey title.
:waves:
It’s dead, Jim
*sniff* The freaky puppy *sniff*
AAAUUUUGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
There you have my recap of being in Las Vegas for the weekend without access to the Intertubes.
Rugs? Well, saw a few really cheap ones in Vegas, and not all on the floor.
kelli, you made Vegas more fun than expected, and you landed in the box for Sunday! You Rock! Punchity Punch Punch!
Good Morning, Hair Club For Men!