something for ya youth – $100
do you like woods starting in setp all they till jan with ya kid
Say, Joey… do you like gladiator movies?
Thanks, Brandy, for this…. whatever it is.
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I thought this was for a beauty product… at first.
Hey, in this economy, people do what they have to to help ends meet. What’s the matter, you never saw an Avon/Mary Kay lady named “Bruiser” before?
Next Capitol One commercial: Vikings going door to door to make ends meet with little pink suitcases.
“What’s in your wallet?”
“Well, I have this gorgeous fuchsia blush…”
I get the feeling Sparky’s trying tell us something….
Something. For.
Ya youth.
$100
Do you.
Like woods?
Starting in setp.
All they till.
Jan?
With ya, kid.
Oh! I get it now! Wait, no…no I don’t…
I think I got it …
It was Colonel Mustard, in the Library, with the Candlestick!
Sheesh.. and here thought I couldn’tread.
I’ll spend all the time with you from September thru January in the woods.
..That’s the best I can do on short notice.
I gotta go shower now. I feel like I have Uncle Creepy’s oil all over me.
Uncle Creepy’s Oil is IF’s Midnight Oil/Marylin Manson mashup cover band.
You know … for kids!
Won’t someone please think of the children?!
Please think of the children…in the woods.
What about the children….of the corn?
I try my best not to think of them.
So it was The Children Of The Corn, in The Woods, with … Uncle Creepy’s Oil?
Or was it it was Dorothy, at The Tin Woodsman’s Hut, with the Oil Can?
Dammit, now I’m all confuzzled.
Tiger Woods?
James Woods?
Golf woods?
Hundred-acre wood?
I’m stumped. (No pun intended.)
Stumped? That’s what happens when you axe too much.
Also, when you Axe too much, any innocent bystanders suffer.
Amen, sistuh!
Suffer also from Axe™ “too little” too . . .
[ow, my eyes…]
:puts on Critic Hat:
I found her delivery to be rather wooden.
I guess I didn’t realize this was such a poplar subject.
You wood think that, woodn’t you…
This makes me pine for the good ol’ days.
Life can be a real beech sometimes.
Just stay away from the world’s shade-y characters, and you’ll be fine.
It’s got to be in code. Let’s see: Do like starting setp they jan ya. Er. Alright, you woods in all till with kid. Ew.
Pedobear tilts his head at you, unsure whether he should look into this further or not.
I thought that pedobear wrote this ad?
I don’t want to know what pedobears do in the woods. I’m not entirely comfortable knowing what regular bears do in the woods.
Looks to me like a message from the wolf to Little Red Riding Hood.
Camille, it’s not your fault, but now I have Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs’ song, “Little Red Riding Hood” worming through my brain. Should make for an interesting work day.
Windrose, it IS your fault that now I have the Sham-Wow song worming through my brain. My co-workers will blame you, too, when I start singing.
Now they’re BOTH in my head. “You’re gonna love..what big teeth I have?”
I’ve got the chorus of “Re: Your Brains” going through my head now. Not sure how it got there from Sham-Wow + “Little Red Riding Hood”.
Looks to me more like a message from a “wolf”, to Little Red, riding wood…
Whoa! The line was lulled into a false sense of security here lately. Look at it go!
Twofer in the box today, a lovely set by Lola and Mindee. *psst, kelli! Time to go!*
*waves hand*
This is not the job you are looking for.
Hi, ESP. So, what do you use to keep your dentition so pearly white?*
*Should I be afraid to ask this question?
Tide Ultra with midi-chlorine.
This is actually a really good deal. Apparently these people will take your kid from September to January for only 100 bucks. Not sure where they’re taking them, or what exactly they’re doing with them, but that’s a hell of a daycare deal!
In daycare, as in medicine, the best deal is not always the best idea…
“You don’t really need that lung, do you….???”
Guys, I have no excuse for my absence aside from deep seated laziness. It was actually too much work to come up with fresh snark every day. But I have a new health regime, which includes daily walks and at least 15 minutes of snark every day. I’ll get those sarcasm muscles back into shape in no time!
And if that doesn’t work, you can try getting a hold of some snarkroids… but you didn’t hear that from me >.>
:waves:
Don’t forget to stretch first!
I have the same deep seated laziness. On those days, I just lurk…
In the forest, nobody can hear you wave…
I have deep-seated laziness. I figure if I lose some weight off my asp, my seat won’t need to be as deep.
My seat’s so deep it has a Master’s in Philosophy.
Meredith — I’ve had the same problem lately
This is my doom,
My humiliation.
Setpember, not Jan,
And it’s woodland vacation.
Dang it, is setp a new scripting language? Am I $100 behind the curve and lost in the woods again?
Hey, these [breadcrumbs[ are Shiney . . .
Ya-Ya Ma (Ya for short), the flute player, is the lesser known kid brother of Yo-Yo Ma. He’ll be available to perform for youth groups from September to January for a $100 fee.
If I’m reading it correctly, this is a plot summary of Kevin Smith’s new horror movie, ‘Red State’.
So my cousin Tony came over from Italy. I took him to the Olive Garden! Fresh pasta, fresh salad, and breadsticks you would give that guido over there cement shoes for. It was fantastic.
But my cousin Tony, he’s real unappreciative, see. So nows I got him in my trunk. I called up Barny “Thumbs” and we’re gonna show him how its done in America. It’s only buisness. You follow straight with me, kid, and we’ll have a good, long friendship.
Not like my cousin Tony here. Tony’s coming out to the woods with us, kid.
Speaking of which, shouldn’t Creepy Puppy be regaling us with a Mafia story just about now?
If not, I’ve got a nice carpet we can roll him up in.
Good timing. But not a mafia story. Something much more … different.
Good job, SalsaSage! Now say, “And shouldn’t all my friends get a million dollars?”
Sunlight filtered down through the canopy of trees, dappling the forest floor with glowing spots and points that danced and shimmered as the leaves swayed in the breeze. There was little more Baub could have asked from the day — except maybe a GPS, because he was utterly lost. Baub liked to think that he had a pretty good sense of distance and direction, and he knew the basics, like which direction the sun moved, how moss usually grew on the north side of trees in this part of the world, and so on. He was hardly a survivalist, but he made sure to read up on some fundamentals of wandering through forests.
Not that it did him much good at this point, as while he knew these things, he failed to pay any attention whatsoever to them as he set out. It was only when he became completely lost that he felt his meager knowledge would have been useful had he only thought to employ it from the outset. About all he could say with any degree of certainty was that he had parked on the south end of the forest and was currently, and very generally, north of there, which was about as useful as knowing that he was very definitely not in Alaska.
He hadn’t seen another soul since arriving, either — not that this surprised him in the least. It was a big forest, and a large part of the attraction to wandering around a forest, other than being closer to nature, is the ability to get the hell away from other people. Apart from whomever you chose to go there with, that is, but Baub chose to go alone, and he chose not even to take his cell phone, because he felt that defeated the purpose of getting away from everything. Now he understood that the real advantage would have been the ability to get back to everything.
Well, there wasn’t much point in belaboring the obvious. The only thing he could to was start walking as near to south as he could until he ran out of forest. Then it was just a matter of figuring out of he was east or west of where he wanted to be. He’d only been walking for, what, two hours? Three? He couldn’t imagine he’d made it that far, especially since his venture in was slow and meandering, while his attempted return would be deliberate and measured. Baub started to feel better about this now that he was bringing his fears down to perfectly rational levels using reason and logic.
“Pssst!”
Of course, there were other things in the woods to fear besides being lost, Baub reminded himself involuntarily. He stopped in his tracks and looked around furtively. He wasn’t sure what made that sound — could have been a snake, could have been an aerosol can — but whatever it was, he didn’t want to step on it — or worse, walk straight into it.
“Psssssssst!”
Not a snake. The brief plosive at the beginning had a flatulent quality to it, and snakes don’t have lips. As far as he knew, there were no monkeys in this forest, either. He wasn’t even sure if there were monkeys in any forest in this part of the world; this wasn’t exactly a popular longitude among lower primates.
“Oy! You!” came a voice that appeared to be coming from behind a tree, now easier to pinpoint than the quieter hissing.
Baub cautiously approached the tree where the voice appeared to be, and a small man stepped out from behind to greet him. It would not have been very politically correct to have referred to him as a dwarf, but that was nevertheless the first thing that came to mind; he stood all of about three foot with a stocky build and wiry orange hair defiantly unfettered by the fascist restraints of follicular organization.
“Uh, hi,” Baub said meekly, still startled by the encounter.
“You like woods?” he asked. Baub assumed it was a he, just as he assumed it was human.
“Um … sure. I guess I like the woods,” Baub replied.
“Good. You like woods.”
He had a curious accent Baub couldn’t place. It definitely sounded some flavour of European, but beyond that Baub couldn’t say. “Yeah.”
The little man stood there, nodding to himself and stroking his orange goatee which, in contrast to the rest of his hair, grew neatly to a point. “You like youth?” he finally asked.
Baub wasn’t sure he understood the question. “Um … what? Like, being young?”
“Youth.” the man asked. “Youth. You have ya kid?”
“Children?” Baub replied. “Um, no. No kids.”
“Shame,” the man said. “No youth.”
They stood there in awkward silence for several moments, the small man looking at the ground, shaking his head as if disappointed with it.
“You want woods?” the little man finally asked.
In spite of the bizarre nature of this entire encounter already, the question still struck Baub as odd. “Do I … want … woods?”
“Yes,” the little man said.
“The woods?”
“The woods, yes.”
“These woods?” Baub was trying to get as specific as possible.
“Yes, yes! These woods, you want these woods you like?” the man asked.
“Like, to have?”
“Yes, for have. Little while. ‘Til January. Hundred dollars for you.”
Baub had no idea what he was going to do with a forest other than what he was already doing, and being as it was a public forest, he wasn’t sure what difference actualy owning it in some way would make, especially if it was only temporary. More importantly however, he had no idea who this little man was to have the authority to sell it to him, and a hundred dollars to own a forest even for a little while sounded absurdly cheap.
“So you, like, own this forest?” Baub asked.
“Is my forest!” the little man replied with what Baub thought was a little too much defensiveness.
“So, um, how did you come to own in?” Baub asked.
“I buy from man,” the man said.
“From some guy? Which guy?” This was sounding like a bridge deal.
“From man! Man with pork!” the little fellow replied, agitated that Baub was questioning the provenance of his dominion.
“Pork?” Baub asked.
“Pork! Pork!” the man replied, excitedly gesticulating in a manner that did nothing to help visualize the idea of pork.
“Look,” Baub said, knowing that this conversation was only going to get stranger and more awkward. “I’d like to help, but I don’t have any money on me.”
“No hundred money?” the little man said, looking a little crestfallen.
“No. No money,” Baub repeated.
“You like woods. I give you fifty dollars!” he said, his former enthusiasm returning.
“No, no,” Baub said again. “I don’t have any money. At all. Zero dollars.”
“No money,” the man said flatly. “Such a shame. Such nice woods.”
Another awkward silence ensued as the little fellow once again stared his disappointment into the ground.
Baub needed to be moving on. “So, uh, I’ll just–”
“You have pork?” the little man asked suddenly.
“Pork?” Baub asked again.
“Pork! You like woods, I like pork. You want woods for pork?”
As Baub had never considered the possibility that he may one day have need of some pork products with which to barter, he tended not to keep any on his person. “I have no pork.”
“No pork!” the man exclaimed as though shocked that anyone would be caught all the way out here in the woods without even a single bit of pig.
“No pork,” Baub repeated.
The little man’s disappointment had now fully consumed his face. “No pork,” he muttered sadly, letting out a small sob. “No pork for Barklin.”
Oddly — as oddly as anything in this whole encounter had been, anyway — it never occurred to Baub that he didn’t think to ask little fellow’s name. It didn’t really matter at this point, though. Baub sighed and took advantage of the lapse in conversation to take his leave. “Look, it’s getting dark, and I really need to try and find my way back now.”
“Fine,” Barklin sniffled and, without looking up, pointed off to his side and a little behind him. Where he pointed, the trees suddenly parted with loud creaking noises. He could now see a clear path, and at the end of it, off in the distance, the parking lot where he had begun his trek.
Baub’s eyes widened. He gaped alternately between the path and Barklin. He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t. The answer, provided one would be forthcoming, probably wouldn’t make any sense to him anyway, and he’d already disappointed the little guy. There really wasn’t any going back now.
Silently, and still in awe, Baub walked down the opened path. The trees that had bowed out of his way ahead of him righted themselves as he passed. He wasn’t actually that far from where he parked at all, and it only took him fifteen minutes to get there. He passed the last tree, which stood back up with a wooden groan, and approached his car. Another man also appeared to be packing up to return home, and he noticed the look on Baub’s face.
“Hey,” the other man said, absently pointing at the forest. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Baub could only look at the man and nod.
“Well,” the man said, dropping a cooler into the back of his car and slamming the trunk shut. “I hope you enjoyed my forest.”
You do have a pork fixation, don’t you?
This was pretty cute…good use of visuals and it wasn’t terrifying. I was wondering, in the beginning, if Baub might not end up being eaten by some hungry band of YA Youths.
Yeah, wasn’t going for any scary stuff here, just odd. Kind of the mood I’m in.
I don’t know that I have a particular fixation on pork (apart from the universal love of bacon), but for me, “pork” is an inherently funny word, and in this particular usage, a little bit absurd, especially given the context.
Yes, well any food product would be absurd…and aren’t brussel sprouts just as funny?
Pork products seem to hold a special place in the hearts of most men. 🙂
Well, in all fairness, we are the half of the species that gets to use that word as both noun and first-person verb.
/He said from his corner.
Brings whole new meaning to the words “pork produ…” Nope, not even going to go there.
I’m now considering naming my next pet Baub. Not to be mistaken with my twice-ago car BoB… it was an acronym for Bucket of Bolts.
“Hide the sausage?”
I’ll be in my corner…
Aren’t peas the best plant for Pork fixation?
I’ll have to get my gardening book…
[OT]
Damn it, EB. Because of your blog I’ve been spending my lunch looking at Ninjatoes’ papercraft. I do NOT need another crafing hobby, EB!
*Grumbles as he walks away to go buy high quality paper*
[/OT]
Bwa-ha-ha. Ha-ha. Ha. :-p
Hehe. Now you are getting perilously close to Chthulhu’s hobby. He has built many of the Ninjatoes’ models.
In all honesty, my mild phobia/aversion to adhesives makes paper craft a “wish I could” craft for me. Even thought I can control my distaste/fear to some extent, being around as much glue as papercraft would require makes me squicky at the thought. So I’ve always passed on the craft, no matter how cool the end results are.
I got so far as making a material list this time. But then I sat there looking at the word “glue” and ended up just deleting the list.
Where does the hundred dollars come in? I’m not sure whether to take this seriously and figure it out or just chalk it up. I assume that that ad was up and the person who put it there was trying to say something? Well? I have questions. This isn’t even supposed to be a funny comment. I’m just confused. Do you leave your kid with this guy? Is it a four month trip? Is setp supposed to mean September? They-the way? I’m done, my bad. This really confuses me. Because he said “youth”, not yoots or yungans, and everyone knows the term ‘youth’ is one that responsible adults use? If this is a kidnapping plot, I respect his boldness, but not the intent to kidnap. That’s not cool.
[OT]
o.O
So there’s this co-orker that works here out in the warehouse doing shipping. Very outgoing and cordial fellow, friendly and all that, married, son, generally an agreeable sort. He’s a back slapper. You know the type. “Hey, man, how’s it going?” *back slap* But a solid back slapper — he just doesn’t fool around with those slaps. If it doesn’t raise a welt, it wasn’t sincere enough.
So I walk into the break room today to nuke my lunch, as I do so often, and he’s there first and has to nuke his. So he does the greeting and attendant back slap, then, in a new wrinkle, follows it up with a brief but deep-muscle back massage as I’m unpacking my lunch on the counter, which included some sort of knuckle run down my spine.
Awkward.
[/OT]
*shudder*
I second that shudder and raise you a shiver.
I’ll see that shudder and the shiver, and raise you an “EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW”.
Maybe he was trying to communicate like a horse…
Horses will scratch another horse in the same location as their itchy spot, so maybe he was trying to tell you he needed a deep-massage from you?
I’d still avoid him at all costs, even if it means gnawing off your leg!
Yeah, I think when I go into the break room now I’m going to do so by sliding along the walls. I may or may not also invest in a Taser.
[Also OT]
This has to be the most hilariously sad picture attached to a sad (in that pathetic way) and hilarious story I’ve seen in a long time.
I can’t tell if he looks heartbroken because he superglued a tiny sequined hat to his head, or because they told him they’ll have to cut it off. I’m going to go with, “Nooooo, me tiny hat!”
[/OT alzo]
Formerly fashionable????
OMG…and thanks for today’s sinus enema.
Is it just me, or does he look like a very young (pre-zombie) Bill Murray?
I’m guessing “formerly” in this case means “in the flapper era.”
Also, I was thinking he had bit of Martin Short in him. (…and Martin wants it back. *rimshot*)
Formerly Fashionable is IF’s Men Without Hats anti-band.
AHAhahahahaha. This made me giggle at my desk, which is quite a feat today. Did you watch the video? The British accents just make it awesome…
I can’t watch the video at work (no sound) but it’s on my to-do list when I get home.
I still can’t look at that picture without giggling.
It’s actually the intro. to Glenn Beck’s newest “literary” venture!
Well, I have to commend him, his grammar has improved since last time, so he’s got that going for him. Pretty soon he might even be able to write at a 3rd grade level.
Umm…
::tilts head::
::squints::
::adjusts angle of computer screen::
Nope, got nothing.
Sure, Mr. Sparky, of course I want to go, just let me tell my parents, because of course they’ll be willing to let me journey into the woods unaccompanied with a strange man I’ve never met who wants to know if I like wood and will [error: verb not found] with me from September to January.
Bird watching is sure losing popularity lately.
Except at my house. 8)
I’m pretty sure you didn’t write this ad, though.
*covertly stares at Windrose*
*stares back through field glasses*
You’re destroying my view of your naive innocence, Astro.*
*This may not be true**.
**It’s not.
I was young once…..
YOUTH POEM By: Samuel Ullman
Youth is not a time of life – it is a state of mind,
it is a temper of the will,
a quality of the imagination,
a vigor of the emotions,
a predominance of courage over timidity,
of the appetite for adventure over love of ease.
Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years.
People grow old only by deserting their ideals.
Years wrinkle the skin,
but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.
Worry, doubt, self-distrust,
fear and despair – these are the long,
long years that bow the head and
turn the growing spirit back to dust.
Whether they are sixteen or seventy,
there is in every being’s heart
the love of wonder,
the sweet amazement at the stars
and starlike things and thoughts,
the undaunted challenge of events,
the unfailing childlike appetite
for what is to come next,
and the joy and the game of life.
You are as young as your faith,
as old as your doubt;
as young as your self-confidence,
as old as your fear,
as young as your hope,
as old as your despair.
When the wires are all down
and all the innermost core of your heart
is covered with the snows of pessimism
and the ice of cynicism,
then you are grown old indeed.
But so long as your heart receives messages
of beauty, cheer, courage, grandeur
and power from the earth,
from man and from the Infinite,
so long you are young.
I still get some wood once in a while………
ESP, you’re on TV!
Are you getting royalties?
So, are you giving my youth $100? How youthful do I need to be? Or do you mean “youth” as in children? I have 3 and I am sure I could talk the neighbor kids into $100 each. But, I don’t think they will all stay in the woods for that long.
Well, early night again. Lola, you know fanboys all too well! Punchity Punch Punch!
And Mindfield, great spinner of tales and interview scenarios! Punchity Punch Punch!
G’Night, Boreal Forest!
The google ads on the main page of YSaC is providing me with knitting and yarn supply stores. My work here is done.