YSaC, Vol. 873: What Santa brings if you’re neutral.
Happy Holidays everyone! And just to get you in the festive spirit, here’s a lot of stuff!
Holiday Lot Huge!! Deco Lot – $500
Huge Holiday Lot Up For Sale Appx 5 feet wide. Contains everything holiday and holiday parrty items. Some items have been used and some brand new. This is from a high end floral shop that is cleaning out their storage. This lot must go and is over 5,000.00 easily.Porclain Santas, Lights, Christmas trees (various sizes), high end bulbs (various sizes), floral deco assembly items, you name it its in their including vases!This is the 3 part actual pic of this lot is 10×20 easy. Also contains multiple items of the same thing (for parties)
Wow! Nothing puts one in the mood to slug back a gallon of eggnog and then stagger out into the blizzard to bellow heavily slurred Christmas carols at the top of one’s lungs to what turns out not to be the Johnson’s house down the street but rather the shipping dock for a medical supply warehouse which has been closed since 1987, then stagger off to the nearest grocery store to pick a fight with the Salvation Army Santa about the differences in overtone series of bells and wind instruments before passing out face first in a snowbank to be awoken in the morning by a vaguely incredulous garbage collector named “Earl” like a shapeless blue mountain of what may or may not be holiday-related stuff under a tarp.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Thanks for the link, Timbrely!
Merry Christo-mas.
This is an especially fine example from his Urban Tarpscapes series.
Christo reference FTW, Mlle. Lola! I had the pleasure of meeting Christo and his lovely wife, Jeanne-Claude when they did the Running Fence in Sonoma County (it crossed just above my property on its way to the ocean). So gracious, and I love their work.
Regarding the above artistic endeavor, our Sparky du jour has captured their philosophy of revealing through concealing with the swag of blue in the center. However, the haphazard arrangement of the tar paper is inconsistent with the flow of the project. Also, one of the major aspects of their work is that the project is disassembled shortly after completion to disappear for all time. Perhaps that is Sparky’s intent with this ad.
With her new crisp crimson attire, I contend our dear Lola will be at her sharpest best.
Capn, don’t cross the streams. I am seriously rethinking the fact that I have done so.
Understood.
Thank you.
de nada, mi amiga estimada
Archie, that’s so cool to have had their work near your home! The nearest I had to that was the orange things in Central Park, and I think they came down right before I moved here. 8)
This looks more like something by Vinctent Van Gogh to me, or maybe Henri Tonneau
In high school, I had a buddy whose VW Thing had an oreny tonneau (not that it kept the rain much out deployed versus retracted <sigh>)
Ooh…oreo-tonneau-envy. Please pass the milk!
Mr. mudsy had a VW Thing. It didn’t even have doors—let alone a tonneau made out of cookies.
Eek, that should have read ornery toupee (it was called toupee as the auto shop teacher’s name could be slurred into tonneau, and said instructor was overly proud of his ill-fitting hairpiece).
I’ll take what’s behind door three.
Alright, let’s see what’s behind door number three!
[door slides open]
[Donkey brays]
Aw, I’m sorry. Let’s see what you would have won if you’d picked door number one:
[door slides open]
Announcer: “A lovely set of kitty-cat oven mitts!”
I won, I won, I won, I won, I won!!!!
Now I can fulfill my life long dream of starting a Grand Canyon guide service!
Or you could make a fortune in Tijuana.
I feel a gritty reboot of Pinocchio coming on!
Ooooh! A blue tarp! It’s just the thing I needed to complete my redneck Christmas decorating theme!
Don’t forget the bungee cords to hold it onto your roof.
L-squared…I got that already…found them holding part of a fence to a tree. Hope no one misses ’em.
Deck the halls
with boughs of duct tape.
Now all I need is a rusted out car on cinder blocks to really give my yard that “perfect holiday” look.
Now all CJ needs is lights, lots of lights. Flower light, bird lights, hot pepper lights and she’ll be all set. She may also need a long extension cord so she can plug all these beautiful lights into the neighbors house.
And they have to blink, all of them, each with a different rhythm.
Which would be the hardest kind of lights to find, unless one is an artless sparky . . .
And they never come down. Not.Ever.
That’s only if you’re a Spanish speaker.
Note: Al-o Sharpton-o, no need to call! Finding houses with Christmas lights is seriously how MrEB tracked down Spanish speakers in southern California. If a house still had Christmas lights after mid-January, the occupants were either Hispanic or old.
Hobby Lobby has shotgun shell Christmas lights. But extra points if you make them yourself and accidentally add a live round or two.
EB, why was Mr. EB tracking down spanish speakers? Is he with ICE, or trying to get something translated, or…?
He served a mission for our church, and he was assigned to the Spanish speakers in an area of southern CA. (There were other Elders assigned to the English speakers, and more for the ASL speakers, and Tongan, and etc etc.) So, when just going around knocking on doors, they tried to figure out which homes had Spanish speakers in them.
I can feel the Christmas spirit taking me over, burning deep within my heart…
:burp:
No, wait; that was cocoa. My bad.
The peppermint schnapps’ll get you every time.
I think a marshmallow went down the wrong way.
Damn purple horseshoes.
What’s under the tarp? WHAT’S UNDER THE TARP? Aw, come on, what’s under the tarp?
Nothing, officer. Absolutely no stolen obos. Certainly no special t-shirts. Definitely no luxury women. Positively no red tables for sale that you can take for free. Nope, no dollar store dumpster cheese puffs either.
Please, don’t make Mr. Winkey stop sleeping under the tarp, officer! If he leaves, he’ll have to go back to sleeping in the rhododendron* bushes at my house!
*Spelled it right on the first try! Woohoo!
If Winkey is under the tarp, then who did I just water down with Wild Turkey?
Have you been trying to plant a hobo tree again, Taco?
Pay no attention to the
wizardjunk under the tarp.And especially pay no attention to the wizards’ junk.
Objects under the tarp may be
smallerlarger than they appear.Why would I care about the wizard’s junk? I’m a much bigger fan of galleons anyway.
I think it’s a full taxidermy set of Santa and his reindeer.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Ewww.
Okay … Virginia taxidermied Santa on the galleon with the wizard’s junk.
:peeks in envelope:
Man, I suck at YSaClue.
Now, young’n’s, those are my galleons, and it’s my own business as to where on my body I like to rub them late at night.
There’s an image I could have done without.
[OT] No crashes this morning so far, so that’s good. (I never got the bad request errors, just Mozilla falling down like a digital narcoleptic, and then only on my work computer, which I’m on now, so there’s that at least.) [/OT]
EDIT: Aw, it saved the name I used for my last post. I’ll have to post another just to get my name back properly.
Santa was severely disappointed to find out that TARP assistance wasn’t what he was expecting.
You mean … there aren’t piles of bailout money under there? Well that’s disappointing. I need that money! I’m too big to fail!
But it’s Santa who’s too big to fail! I mean, have you ever seen a skinny Santa?
Actually… I have.
Ditto.
(Still wondering who hires a tweaker as their store Santa?)
Someone who can only pay in meth/crack?
That’s sounds like a trustworthy individual I’d want manhandling my hypothetical child.
Spencers
Is there a bailout for a company that’s too awash in fail to get big?
It’s a tarp!
Damn it Camille, that’s my line!
*Sulks off*
My apologies, Taco. I just couldn’t help it. Please don’t sulk – I’ve got these hot coffee slices fresh out of the… oven? percolator? where do coffee slices come from?
Uhh… jello mold I think.
*Crunch Crunch Crunch*
Good batch this morning.
*Tops his coffee slice with cream cheese frosting*
*Crunch Crunch Crunch*
And indeed where do coffee slices come from? Are they in the slightly crazed smiles of the helper elves standing by to clean vomit off the department store Santa again? Do coffee slices appear whenever an angel cracks its knuckles? Or are they in the heart of every little boy who is now dangling his little sister from the second story bannister and wondering, “Exactly how naughty can I be before Santa brings me coal?” Yes, Virginia, coffee slices are there, for everyone, but especially on this most enchanted of seasons.
Coffee slices typically come from roving catering trucks. Molten hot igneous coffee is milked from their taps into styrofoam cups, where it’s brought indoors and allowed to cool until it is the consistency of pumpernickel. The styrofoam is then peeled away, leaving a cylinder of coffee ready for slicing.
| “where do coffee slices come from?”
The espresso stork?
Juan Valdez’s toaster.
Santa Claus’ younger brother Sherman rides around in a giand coffee mug pulled by his loyal espresso stork Jitters, delivering caffeinated goodness to all the sleep-deprived big boys and girls.
Well, Camille, when a Mr. Coffee and an entire can of Folger’s love eachother very much…
“Ah [coffee], a magic beyond all that we do here.”
*In my best Elvis voice*
I have a blue tarp of Christmas crap to sell you;
It’ll leave you thinking I’m about to kill you .
All the speckles of red
On the cheap Christmas crap
They can’t prove a thing
Without a dead body.
And when the blue tarp grommets start failing
That’s when those evil memories start calling
You’ll be getting a fright, when the tarp takes a flight,
Cuz I wrapped her in the blue blue Christmas tarp.
I’ll have a blue Christmas, that’s certain;
Cuz when they find her I’m going to prison,
I’ll be getting it alright
With bubba at night,
Cuz I’ll have a blue, blue backside for Christmas.
“Daddy, why is Santa covered in blood and smiling so strangely?”
“Nothing to see here, move along! Move along!”
We wish you a merry tarp mess
We wish you a merry tarp mess
We wish you a merry tarp mess…
And a happy goo beer.
Good tie-downs we’ll bring to snug all your gear,
Good tie-downs for the Tarp mess and a happy goo beer.
I do not want to know what goes into making “goo beer.” I suspect it has something to do with glue, though.
Are you guys still stuck on the glue?
Wuh-oh, wuh-oh stuck on glue, you and me baby we’re stuck on glue.
*Thinks to self, “more like they are sniffing glue.”*
Better than sniffing the goo . . .
(or rolling in the ghee)
Sounds like an exotic pay-per-view sport, Cap’n.
Thanks for the clarification Capn.
I can think of a few people that wouldn’t mind rolling Glee :-p
Since you are medicated, I’ll not ask whether you meant rolled in the refined product, or the skimmed solids . . .
Gleeroll?
Is it anything like the Rickroll?*
*I promise you it’s not a rickroll.
Oh look! It’s a toga for Jabba the Hutt. Santa must have been listening….
8)
Santa! Hay lapa no ya, Santa!
Hay lipa no ya, Taco!
Hehe…
Gain a little weight over the holiday season, Mudsy?*
*Runs!
You better run HamStir! Your mama said she’d prefer hers in a Not.A.Hippo Snuggie fabric.
Yo momm’s so fat she fell in the Grand Canyon and got stuck!
Neener, neener, neener 😛
I’d like to see the movie version of that story.
1,270 Hours?
Well, your momma’s so fat, she’s at an increased risk for diabetes, high blood pressure, and heart disease.
And your momma’s so fat she has a difficult time finding clothing that fits her in the missus section!
(Did we read the same failbook post yesterday?)
Well, well, well,….your mama’s so fat her kankles had to apply for their own passport*.
*What are we doing here kids? Whatever it is…count me in!…
8)
Oh yeah? Your daddy’s so fat, he can have sex with himself.*
*Squick. I’ll go to my corner.
Your mama’s so FAT she can’t be any larger than 4 GB in size.
Bwa-ha-ha, Taco, I think I found that funnier than I should have. And then coughed up half a lung.
Your Momma’s so ugly they changed Halloween to her birthday.
Your momma captures little children.
You know, ’cause like when she walks through a Baskin-Robbins, the space-time distortion sucks ’em into her wake and stuff.
Then the little kiddies end up swirling around the mall foodcourt for like, hours.
Your momma’s so fat NASA has to factor in her mass when planning launch trajectories.
She also fails to meet the current artificial standards of attractiveness.
This Mama is so Phat, she can rock you all night long! Oh, yeah!
Yo momma so black…*
*Actual quote from English class. We were telling “Yo momma” jokes (the teacher was involved) on day, and Tyneesha (the only person of African descent in class) spits out that gem. Really, that’s it. The end.
Yo mama so fat when asked if she wanted a muumuu she grabbed a knife and fork!
Yo mama so fat she make the shocks on her car bounce, and she ain’t even got a lowrider!
Yo mama so fat when she take a cruise, ocean liners need they own kind o’ bailout!
Yo mama so ugly cats try to bury her in the sand!
Yo mama has a face that had stopped traffic!*
Yo mama so dumb she think tampons go on yo’ shoes for rock climbin’!
* A variation on one of my past Bulwer-Lytton entries. Didn’t win.
Yo momma’s so fat her belt size is equator!
Yo momma’s so fat she sat on a quarter and squeezed a booger outta George Washington’s nose!
Alas, your mother is so morbidly obese that her doctor told her she needed a strict regimen of diet and exercise in order to lose weight, in the interest of her good health.
**hiccup**
Why yes, I have been hitting the Butterbeer, why do you ask?
Ahh, nothing brings intellectuals together like Yo Mamma jokes.
Yo momma so fat she got her own gravitational field.
Too sciency?
Yo’ momma’s so fat, the USPS gave her her own zip code.
Yo momma so fat, she’s part of the UN.
I’ve been wondering where Mr…*Ring*
“I was just thinking about you Al.”
Yo Momma’s so fat not even light escapes her.
Yeah, well, your momma’s so fat that meteorologists have to factor in her climatological effect!
Are you tryin’ to say that my Momma has her own Doppler effect?
Not to speak bad of your momma’s breath, but every time she exhales, a star explodes.
Yo Momma’s so stank she got kicked outta the skunk family reunion.
Yo momma so dumb she thought Citizen Kane was about candy.
Jenny Craig is on line 3 for … pretty much everyone.
Jenny says she’s sending Kirstie Alley over with a bucket of chicken and some Twinkies.
This has got to be one of the stupidest Sparkies we’ve had. I am puzzled over what thought processes were involved when Sparky went outside, took multiple photos of the items that would be for sale, but did not think to take the tarp off first. It’s not an invisible tarp; I can see it right there! From many different angles! I hope Sparky doesn’t try to breathe and blink at the same time, it will probably put him in a coma.
Umm…
What tarp?
If sparky had any sense:
picture 1=take tarp off to show big pile of boxes.
picture 2= picture of holiday items as an example
picture 3= picture of vases as an example
That’s because there’s bedazzled reindeer hooves under there. Santa isn’t going anywhere this year.
Sorry, kiddo. Have this stick.
In all fairness, we all know Sparkies never, ever, but never, go back and check their listings. As far as they know, those are the photos from the jockey lot/bankruptcy auction/foreclosure sale.
As far as they know, there’s an entire NYC Macy’s in that 10×20 square, gleaming and glittering like you must be on bad acid for even asking such a [redacted] question on the phone.
(Aside, been cogitating on how to abbreviate this, have been circling, vutlure-like around “Quo Sparky Demonstratum Ergo” but QSDE is not visually appeakling. “Vivi Sparky vis” (VSV) is snappy-looking, but is inelegant, lexigraphically.)
Logic has no place in such circles, sarajean!
Reminds me of the picture of the elephant inside the boa constrictor or the sheep inside the box in Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince.
That must be it; Sparky is in the Stupid Circle but I’m over here in the Logical Parallelogram. Thanks for clearing that up, mudsy.
Better a Parallelogram than to be stuck in the Logical Time Cube….
I’m the Queen of Crystal Clear and all too willing to help.
I especially like the Porclain Santas, with their cheery red hats, flat noses, and curly tails. in fact, they looks more like the Hog Father!
Yeah, well, when they played at The Dubious Optimist last week, their soundman was stoned ot the board was busted; it was a lame show, man–shoulda been blue-tarped.
Christmas decorations in a Hijab? Somethings not right here!
“I’m sure you’ll agree when you see it that it’s simply a lovely lot of holiday stuff,” Mr. Putzimmons said animatedly as he led Beek over to a large, amorphous mountain of blue tarp.
“I’m sure,” Beek said absently.
“Trees, wreaths, garden gnomes, lights, floral arrangements, vases, figurines, statues, you name it, it’s probably under there.” Mr. Putzimmons gestured vaguely to the pile.
Beek looked over at the seller. The seller looked back, smiling obsequiously. The two of them exchanged a look until it was clear that Mr. Putzimmons felt his sales pitch was complete and now he was waiting for Beek to make up his mind.
“Um, can we remove the tarp?” Beek asked.
Mr. Putzimmons looked momentarily startled as though the idea that someone would want to see the contents of the tarp had never crossed his mind. “Oh! Yes, um, well I can’t quite remove it all — it’s terribly hard to put back on, you see, but you’d like to step under the tarp I’m sure you can shuffle around inside and have a look.”
Beek gave him a dubious look which the seller entirely failed to notice. “Fine,” Beek said with resignation.
He headed over to the tarp and moved a small rock that was holding a corner of it down, then lifted it far enough for him to duck under, letting it fall behind him.
Glancing around, Beek saw that there were indeed quite a few holiday items. Several undecorated trees that poked up and made a tent-like structure out of the tarp. Littering the ground were an assortment of pretty much all of the things Mr. Putzimmons told him about, ugly garden gnomes and all. Even a life-sized Santa statue that looked surprisingly real. Beek considered buying just that for his lawn display, as it would go well with his illuminated wire reindeer, provided the seller would part out.
Just behind him, he heard the sound of the tarp crinkling and a solid thud accompanying it. Beek went over to lift the tarp but found it had been pinned to the ground.
“Mr. Putzimmons?” Beek called. There was no answer. “Mr. Putzimmons!” he called louder only to be greeted by the same silence. He tried lifting the tarp again, giving it a good, hard yank, but it wouldn’t give.
“He got you too, huh?” came a voice from somewhere in the junk pile. Beek was so startled that he windmilled backwards and tripped over a Billy Bass on the ground, which began to flop to and fro on its placard, singing a passage from Jingle Bells.
Seated unceremoniously on the ground with his hands on the ground to support him, Beek tried to locate the voice. “Wh…who said that?”
“I did,” said the voice as it edged its way around an artificial Christmas tree. He was portly, sporting a full and luxurious beard and moustache, and was dressed entirely in a red suit with white fringe and a matching cap with a white puff on the tip. It was impossible, of course — Beek knew that, but nevertheless when he opened his mouth, it was the first thing to come out.
“Santa?”
“In the flesh. Or under the tarp, as it turns out.” Santa said.
No, it was patently impossible. Santa wasn’t real. He was a construct — originally a philanthropic Danish fellow, but the chubby red-and-white-clad Santa Claus with the cherubic face that everyone knew these days was created from whole cloth by Haddon Sundblom for Coca Cola. For all intents and purposes, today’s Santa as he appeared in the Western world was little more than a soft drink shill. Yet, somehow, whether it was the twinkle in his eyes, the knowing smile or the rosy cheeks that could, for all he knew, have been caused by swilling large quantities of bum wine, Beek was inclined to believe him despite his inner skeptic beating on his cerebellum like Buddy Rich.
“But … what are you doing here?”
Santa gave a look of disgust. “The florist who originally bought all this stuff is a customer of mine. I accidentally sold her a magic hat that breathed life into inanimate objects, and I was hoping to find it here amongst this junk pile.”
Beek was confused. “Wait. You sold stuff to a florist?”
“Yes,” Santa replied.
“I thought you just, you know, made toys and stuff at the North Pole all year to give away at Christmas.”
Santa chortled in his signature manner. “Where do you think I get the money for all those toys? They don’t just grow on trees, you know. I have to buy the raw materials, pay my employees, feed for the reindeer — this is an enterprise, my boy, just like any other, so I make things for commercial vendors to sell so I can afford to keep the Christmas machine chugging along.”
“Seriously?” Beek was having a hard time swallowing it. It seems like all the stories and movies and TV shows portrayed a pretty romanticized version of Santa — not that he should have expected otherwise. But given that Santa shouldn’t rightly exist in the first place, it wasn’t something he was too concerned about the veracity of.
“Of course! Business first, son. Without the business end I couldn’t very well do the charity end, now, could I?”
“I suppose,” Beek said. “So did you find the hat?”
Santa sighed. “Yes, but fat lot of good it did me. The moment I found it, Mr. Putzimmons trapped me in here, just as he did you.”
“Well, wait, this is just a tarp. We should be able to just cut through it.” Beek said.
“Do you have a pocket knife?” asked Santa.
“Um … no,” Beek responded.
“Neither do I.”
“Well, what if we both try and lift the tarp together? Surely we must be strong enough between us to slip the tarp out from under the rocks.”
“Bad back,” Santa explained, placing a hand on his back by way of demonstration.
Beek came up with an idea. “The hat!”
“What about it?” Santa asked.
“Well, is there something we could put it on that could help us get out of here?”
Santa looked up and to his right as he thought. “I did see a styrofoam snowman back here.”
Beek wasn’t entirely sure what good it would do but at this point their options were rather limited. “Worth a shot.”
Santa shrugged and they both made their way around a pile to the styrofoam construct. Santa reached into one of his pockets, pulled out a floppy stove-pipe hat that looked to be made of felt, and stuck it on the snowman’s head.
Though there was no obvious change, its black eyes nevertheless seemed to suddenly have life to them. It was a bit of a useless observation though as the snowman began to move of its own volition, which removed any doubt that it was alive — or at least, animated.
“Happy freakin’ birthday. What the hell do you want?” it said in a distinctly Bronx accent.
Beek exchanged a look with Santa, who seemed to be thinking the same thing: This one was nothing like the cartoon. “We’d like your help getting out of here,” Santa said.
“What the hell do you think I can do about it?” asked the snowman indignantly.
Santa shrugged. “Help us pull up the tarp? Maybe find a way to cut outselves out of here?”
“Look at me,” the snowman said. “My arms are made of freakin’ twigs. I’ve got no legs. I’m not exactly McGuyver here.”
“Would you just try?” Santa said with exasperation. “I’ll put you over by the tarp, maybe you can, I don’t know, poke a hole in it or something.”
The snowman rolled its eyes — an effect which Beek found oddly disturbing given that they were made of buttons.
“Fine,” the snowman relented. “Shove me over there. I’ll see what I can do.”
Beek and Santa picked up the snowman — who was very light, but too awkwardly shaped for one person to lift — and placed him by the tarp. The snowman began stabbing its spindly limbs at the tarp and managed, after several minutes, to poke a small hole in it.
“Okay, let’s see if we can’t rip this open,” Santa suggested. Between the two of them they worked the hole bigger until it finally gave way with one loud ripping noise. They stepped out into the chill December air.
“Hey, douchebags, what about me?” called the snowman from behind. Santa stepped back and swiped the hat off its head. The snowman reverted back to its inanimate state, though not before belting out a quick, “Jerk!”
Santa stuffed the hat back in his pocket just as the two of them noticed Mr. Putzimmons come around the corner, ostensibly to see what the ruckus was about.
Mr. Putzimmons look at the two of them.
Beek and Santa looked back at Mr. Putzimmons with deep frowns.
Mr. Putzimmons let out a short, high-pitched scream and began to run back the way he came.
“I know who’s getting coal in his stocking this year.” Beek remarked.
“Not coal,” Santa said. “Haven’t used that in decades. Bad for the environment, you know.”
Unsurprisingly, yet another thing Hollywood lied about. “So what do you give the bad girls and boys these days, then?” Beek asked.
“BP stock certificates.”
Beek grinned. “That’s just mean.”
Too long, ran out of cocoa.
Who stole my schnapps?
(It occurs to me that if you ever collected the stories you’ve written for the comments here and moved them to another site, without the context of the ads and photos, it would make for some pretty surreal reading.)
Are you coocoo for Cocoa Schnapps, too?
Chunchity, chocolatey, alcoholicky Cocoa Schnapps.
(Don’t mind me. Fighting off a cough and chills that may be the harbinger of a cold.)
Oh, about the collected works — actually, I have collected them for the story blog I’m still considering putting up. I’ve prefaced each one with a link to the relevant YSaC posting and a brief tl;dr description, because I realized that they’d read a bit weirdly outside of the context they were written in.
Psh. Weirdly out of context = The Internet.
Yeah, god forbid anyone should lose the context Mindfield! 🙂
Unfortunately, context would not make them read any less weirdly.
Hey, I may be weird, but that doesn’t mean that some toyless child won’t love me. Someday, someday I will be rescued from the Island of Misfit Toys.
(EDIT: I originally said “Misfit Boys” as a play on words, but given the first sentence, that sounded way creepy.)
The movie The Island of Misfit Boys must have starred the two Coreys….
Which one played you Mindfield? The stupid one or the dead one?
What? Too soon?
Wouldn’t that help prevent pedophilia?
(I’m not entirely sure if that made sense. It made sense when I started typing, and then didn’t make sense by the time I finished. Something with the not-fitting and pedophilia. Hum.)
Given that they’re both dead, it’s a zombie flick regardless. For what it’s worth, I played myself but was only credited as Shambling Brain Zombie #3.
Wait, I could have swore Corey Feldman died.
I need my meds upped.
Shh. Zombie Feldman is very sensitive about his condition.
We all only WISH that Corey Feldman had died.
Perhaps you’re more the Kiefer Sutherland type. He’s a Canuck as well, isn’t he?
YAY!!!
Crap, no edit button. That yay was for collected stories, not dead Coreys. Though coreys have been dead around here haven’t they? I’ve seen a lot less tags. Keep the meme alive!
Twisted Fairy Tales: Christmas Edition :-p
I’m despondent that you’ve made Santa out to be a capitalistic philanthropist… might as well as called him Warren Buffet.
I’d rather call him Jimmy Buffet. Wasting away in egg nogville…..
Searching for my lost peppermint cane…
Some people claim that there’s a Spar-ky to blame,
But I think (dum-de-da-da-dum) yeah, it could be his fault.
Ah, so the tarped goods are heading for Desdemona’s Space Port–Woo!Hoo!
<form a conga line!>
Oh come, now. Santa’s gotta make his cheddar too. It’s not like people just give him what he needs to make all those presents each year. And how else will be pay for his vacations to Aruba twice a year? Man’s gotta get some R&R, I don’t care how philanthropic you are. Sometimes you just gotta give something back to yourself, keep yourself fresh for all the giving the rest of the time, y’know? Just keepin’ it real.
But.. but… what about the MAGIC ???
I suppose next you’ll tell me the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy and Father Time aren’t real people. How can I tell my child that Tony Stark isn’t real ????
You called for Magic?
*FABAMPHT!*
Here’s a Taco! Still warm even.
The “pht” sound at the end has me worried as to how the taco was warmed….
*snrk*
You’ll also need toppings!
*SPLARTLEGESPLORT!*
Cheese, guacamole, sour cream, and salsa!
Also.. still warm.
*Grin*
I’d say about body temperature…
Oh dear….
Should sour cream be steaming like that?
My wife says you’re all a terrible influence on me… and vice-versa.
Thank heavens for long-range, infrared, non-contact thermometers . . .
I usually just use my finger, but to each his own.
The guacamole feels so nice…
Taco, I had a dream last week where your family moved about a block away from me, and your wife and I became best friends and pushed our strollers around and chatted about geeky stuff.
…I think I decided that means I need more of a social life :-p
Uhh…
Awkward…
Does that mean I finally have a stalker of my very own?
Only subconsciously.
…I think Mr. Winky also mentioned something about being crouched in your bushes….
Oh that’s right. I almost forgot that it’s my turn to water him too.
*Grabs watering can full of wild turkey and rushes out the front door*
Guess that answers the question; “Quis stalkiet ipsos stalkes?”
**giggles gleefully, opens his mouth in preparation of watering**
Oh, goody, it’s that time of week again!
**clicks heels, winks at Taco**
You should know, I’m not creeping on you, I’m creeping with you.
**scurries off to find his spooning partner, Bacontini.**
Teehee.
Throwing all the tarp-covered doors I can find you freaky puppy, you.
It’s the Milkman Sketch!
Gah. I just realized Sinterklaas was Dutch, not Danish. Just stick it with the other errors in my post and file it under “not feeling well/premature senior’s moment.”
Moar slices of coffee…
EDIT: Now that you mention it, it does kind of resemble that sketch. Although mine has no temptresses.
Unless the temptress is Avarice, in the combination of Beek seeking a deal, and the cupidity of Putzimmons?
Wow. We know who’s getting an extra big stocking down his chimney this year*!
Also, I now feel obligated to post the link to a Twistmas Tale from last year of my own invention (with a lotta help from my friends):
“Who Killed Frosty the Snowman?”
*You can decide for yourself as to whether or not that’s a euphemism.
*A Mindfield inspired Limerickal tale of Claus and Beek*
Putzimmons had a tarp that was sleek.
This tarp had its own special tweak.
Anything it could wrap.
Would be caught in a trap.
For Putzimmons was quite the sly geek.
Around came a lad they call Beek.
Said, a gnome is just what I seek.
Putzimmons did wink.
Blue tarp, I do think.
Crawl under and have a good peek.
The flotsam was surely unique.
Found a gnome that’s made out of teak.
He tried to depart.
Then sank, did his heart.
Held fast, his position looked bleak.
Then something from the corner did speak.
For Claus had been held there a week.
Said, help you I would.
If only I could.
But my bones they do crack and do creak.
Pulled hard, did the young lad we call Beek.
Alas, by myself I’m too weak.
What, might one ask.
Is Putzimmons’ task?
May perhaps, to get on his freak.
Thought Beek, oh what havoc we’d wreak.
If only we’d power, not meek.
A magical hat!
I’m all over that.
Said Claus, in a voice that did peak.
The hat went upon chickens beak.
And off, it took like a streak.
Punching a hole.
Large as a bole.
And escape, they did through the leak.
Their freedom, they took with great pride.
We must go, said Beek, let’s find a ride.
Said Claus, not quite yet.
That hat I must get.
But that damn chicken’s on the opposite side.
As a professional artist* I can say for certain that those tarps are more Abstract Expressionism than Deco.
*Not true.
Mindfield is my crush du jour for this. Adores!
● Head/chest cold
● Wicked headache
● 160 mg caffeine
● 600 mg ibuprofen
● 500/5 hydrocodone
○ Arrival of silliness
Given my recent commnents:
● Arrival of silliness
Yeah… right there with you. Silliness arrived naked and with tassels spinning on its nipples.
And you just keep stuffing imaginary singles into it’s g-string for one more pretend lap dance.
Wheee!
Mmm, commnents…
EB, what did we tell you about eating comments? Do you want to have to explain to drmk (BBUH) that the errors she can’t seem to fix are because you can’t stop eating them?
This reminds me of the time Mr. Eyebrows responded to a C/L ad about a travel trailer for sale. When he arrived at [location], he found the trailer wrapped stem to stern in a large tarp. Puzzled by being confronted with an object that appeared to have been wrapped in said tarp for a rather long time (a couple years at least) and because pictures had accompanied the ad, he asked the seller to unwrap it so he could look at it. The seller became extremely agitated and complained loudly about “looky-loos” and how tired he was of everyone wanting to see his stuff. Needless to say, Mr. Eyebrows declined to purchase the trailer for the asking price of $3,000 sight unseen.
Considering it was [location], I think we can assume that the tarp was there to keep the smell of the dead bodies from escaping.
Could have been the winter bagel in it’s chrysalis.
I believe this time of year it’s known as the winter wonderland bagel….
The Winter Wonderland Bagel wakes up from hibernation in time to dance on the rooftops and steal the scarfs from all the snowmen… all the little children will be scarred from seeing naked snowmen.
Somebody cream that guy.
Snergle.
According to the Golden China menu, they refer to that entree as Cream of Sum Yung Ghuy.
Chang Sharpton on Line 4 for you.
And General Tso on line 3 for you when Chang’s done with you…
Does anybody else get really irritated with Christmas songs that are too gosh-darn-dangummit slow? Josh Groban gets on my nerves!!
Amen, EB, Amen!!
I go for the clever/funny ones myself. Ever hear Straight, No Chaser’s version of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”? Simply hilarious.
I do like listening to traditional Christmas songs. Mormon Tabernacle Choir is good for background noise, but Toby Keith’s Christmas albums are great for singing-along Christmas music. I’ve also got Relient K’s and Barenaked Ladies’s Christmas albums in my iTunes for the silly… I will have to check the Straight, No Chaser thingy :-p
I just listened to the iTunes previews of some of Straight, No Chaser’s stuff. I love it!! Too bad they’re $1.29 a track, and I only have $1.04 of iTunes credit…
EB, here’s a quarter I just found in the couch! Now you have enough! 😉
A friend of mine just introduced me to SNC as well.
Haha, that would be great if you could just hook your couch up to my iTunes account… :-p
Perhaps the snakes have some sort of USB adapter.
Well, I was thinking of our resident Utahans the other day, what with having the SheDaisy Christmas CD in the changer–for being three sisters, they have a remarkable harmony.
Get those murtherfurking snakes off this murtherfurking serial bus?
Would you lose all respect for me* if I told you that I’ve got Josh Groban’s Noel in the car CD player right now?
*I’m making assumptions here, aren’t I?
That’s the album I have. I can only listen to it in certain situations… Mostly when I’m doing stuff in the other room and want to have something Christmassy going on.
I play it in lieu of going to Mass…..brings back Holiday PTSD moments of the Christmas* program every year at St. Mary’s elementary school. Sr. Mary Joseph was a Nazi!
*we keep the X in Xmas
Doesn’t Josh Groban need his noel? Especially this time of year?
He needs no el. Especially when he’s spelling his name.
Only as they contrast the ones that are too-fast. I mean, really, sometimes I do want to sing along badly.
Every time I sing along it’s badly, regardless of how festive the music is.
Aw, this reminds me of when Grammy used to throw a tarp over Grampa and pretend he was Father Beesmas! We’d sit on his crinkly lap and tell him all the things we hoped to discover under our very own tarp on Beesmas morn. *chuckling* It was years before we realized that, of course, there was no Grampa and it was just a pile of random crap Grammy bought off Craigslist. *wistful sigh*
Dangit! Edit timed out before I could swap the “off/of”s in that last sentence. Sadly, I actually tried to fix it and added the extra “f” to the wrong word. Doh! I wonder if the magical edit fairy would help me out if I left this little wrapped package of birdseed here… 😉
Celebrating quite heavily with Beesmas nog , I see.
*ding* Your wish is granted. Thanks for the seed!
That avatar is too cute. Can’t. Stop. Staring.
True story.
I saw Mommy killing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night.
She didn’t see me creep
Down the stairs to have a peep;
She thought that I was knocked out from the schnapps she’d given me.
Then, I saw Mommy Dahmer Santa Claus
put him underneath that tarp outside;
Oh, what a trial there would have been
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy killing Santa Claus last night.
“I’m sorry, Timmy, but I’m afraid Christmas is canceled this year. Now, who wants some … turkey?”
“Santa is a very tender subject.”
O Christmas tarp
O Christmas tarp
How lovely are your gromets
O Christmas tarp O Christmas tarp,
how lovely are your grommets;
O Christmas tarp O Christmas tarp,
Thy lumps are so unmoving;
It’s not just fear I feel standing here
But also something cold and drear.
O Christmas tarp O Christmas tarp,
how lovely are your grommets;
Mmmm… grommets….
Easy there, Wallace . . . <g>
first the comments and now grommets?
*looks at EB’s pill bottle*
Hey! That’s not ibuprophen, that’s goat medicine! Quick, hide the rope and tin cans!
Wallace & Gromits!…..M’kay…
I want a hippopotamus for Christmas.
Only a hippopotamus will do.
*Good luck getting THAT out of your head… teeheehee*
All I want for Christmas is my two front tarps?
Oh come al ye blue tarps
Cover up my junk heap
Oh, come ye, oh, come ye to befuddle them;
Come and behold it
Covering my detritus:
Oh, some, feces adorns it,
Oh, some, feces adorns it,
Oh, some, feces adorns it,
Oh Jeebus Spice Christ, quark board.
Tarping through the tarp, in a one-tarp open tarp,
O’er the tarp we tarp, tarping all the tarp!
Tarp! Tarp! Tarp!
Tarp looks misspelled now.
Anyways, I’m surprised no one said that this was obviously Santa’s upgrade from sack of toys to industrial strength tarp of toys.
Is the site ‘being broken’ again? 400 error on editing a comment — at 6:44 PM.
Worked great for me all day while I was at work — first time with no crashes in a while. Never had a problem at home though so I can’t say.
I had no problems until just within the last hour (after I got home, naturally), but it’s not consistent for any scenario. Anyway… it’s weird.
I got my first Firefox error on the netbook today so I’m using IE (grudgingly) to see if it happens again. I seem to have a quota of comments I can make before it starts fritzing on me.
That’s about when it packed up for me, too. But, there was a ton of hub and node collisions going on abotu that time, too.
It’s official. I think I’m coming down with a cold. I’ve got chills, they’re multiplyin’, and I’m losin’ my lunch. Well, not exactly the last bit but I’m all disorientated and discombobulated. I’m wearing a housecoat over my clothes and I’m still cold.
I’m comin’
ElizabethNyquil!Oh no! Don’t get sick, at least not too sick to post! I mean, what will we do without your stories? The YSaC universe will implode! How could you do such a selfish thing?!?
Er, I mean, um, get well soon.
Ha ha ha.
I assure you we have no such item at Hogwarts either. I’m told they might have one in Lothlorien, though.
I’m taking amongst myself. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. It’s EB’s fault.
I’d only worry if you start answering back.
And even, there’s a pill for that. Or… something.
grr…. *even then… I miss editing.
I hope he’s not going to be like the line and keep running away.
Testing a hypothesis.
*edit* no 400 error on IE.. just FF. time 11:22 PM —and square(stupid fatfingers).
CoffDrop, you stand here, and Typo, you stand like so. Punchity Punch Punch! Uh-oh, I think I hit the quark board!
G’Night, Santa’s Village People!
Ok, that was really weird. Right before 1900 CST, had an “Internal Error, try again later” on an Adore. Closed IE, reopened, Adores worked again.
Now, it was a “high collision” situation on local routers, too.
Kept working right up to 1900, when everything stopped for me. But, I was going to go watch Nova, anyway.
Had my supper, watched Race to Absolute Zero, then fell asleep on the couch with the catulator for a legwarmer.
Got to be catulator-feeding time at 2300. Took out the trash; had run CCleaner in the interim. Fired up YSaC, which seemed to load normally.
But, now (0005) I get “Site Message: Invalid Cookie” on pressing an Adore. Unless it was one I’d not gotten to before the 400 Bad request error. At least that’s what it seems like now that it’s 0102 (was distracted by a friend having a sewer backup in their rental).
Odd.