Archive for the ‘A Bunk Original’ Category

Signature Service Hot Links

Sunday, 17 January 2016

Gas Can Guitar Boy

Why A Pair of Pants?

“Pants” is an abbreviation for “Pantaloons,” originally a two-piece garment, with one sleeve for each leg, both tied around the waist. The codpiece was a polite, yet not-so-polite, appurtenance. Pantaloons (with or without codpieces) were a hit in France in the late 1600s. What a surprise.

The word “pantaloons” comes from the French pantalon, derived from Italian pantalone, named after San Pantalone, aka Saint Pantaleone, aka Saint Panteleímon.

St. PantaleoneThat guy was pretty cool. He practiced medicine until he became a Faith Healer and was accused of witchcraft in 305AD. He survived being set on fire with torches, being dipped in molten lead, tied to a rock and thrown into the sea, fed to wild animals, torn apart on the rack, and a beheading. He freed a bunch of slaves, too. Once he agreed that beheading was usually lethal, he was beheaded a second time and he died.

The origin of the taunt “Liar, liar, pants on fire!” is related.

Straatsen in the Netherlands [via].

Hexaflexigon burrito. Do it. Eat it.

Some of these DIY illusions are cool.

RHNB = Red Hot Nickel Ball. Nice video collection by a guy who knows what to do with one.

El Niño – He’s a-comin’ ta gitcha, and Google Maps has you covered.

We’ve all seen ’em. They’re called dickheads.

Don’t do this [via].

Do this instead. [Top image screen-capped from that video and doctored a tad.]

The .Gif Friday Post No. 420 – Dog In A Bucket, Waves & Door Slam

Friday, 15 January 2016

Trapped In A Bucket
Waves
Snow Win Fail

[Found here, here and here.]

Another Great Gift Idea: Sweet Dreams Kitty Night Light

Thursday, 17 December 2015

Goodnight Kitty

For those of you with little ones who are afraid of being alone in the dark, this comforting night light solves the problem.

[Found here.]

Our 3,333rd Blog Post

Saturday, 21 November 2015

3333

Yep. We’ve clogged the internest with 3,333 posts as of today according to WordPress. It averages out to 1.1 posts per day since 4 August 2007, and I can’t explain that stray tenth.

Rock on me bloogs.

Bunk’s 2015 Halloween Grumpkin

Monday, 2 November 2015

151031 Grumpkin 1

Took me about 30 minutes. Looks nice and menacing, ya?
Trouble is, there’s this thing called “scale” that kinda ruined it all.

151031 Grumpkin 2.
I’ve done better, but given that we only had about five groups of sugarboogers, the amount of time and effort was not squandered.

It also looks like our neighbors’ kikmi dog (that barks all night, until I nail it with a bucket of ice water and the yappy dog’s owner gets pissed at me). The dog’s owner looks just like her dog, too.

Tacky Raccoons’ 8th Year: The Top 11 Posts

Sunday, 2 August 2015

We’ve featured the Top 11 Posts every year since this blog was whelped on 3 August 2007 and this year is no different. The numbers indicate ranking for the previous 12 months, followed by the previous year’s ranking, and the third numeral is for all-time popularity (August 2007 – August 2015). “NR” indicates Not Ranked.

Click on any image and it’ll take you to the original post.

Cute Baby Giraffe 150

No. 11/11/57 – Cute Baby Giraffe

Meet The Beetles 0.1

No. 10/nr/44 – Meet The Beetles

No. 9/nr/6 – Amy’s Motivational Poster Collection

No. 8/10/10 – 10/10/10 10:10:10

Giant Isopod

No. 7/3/22 – “Wow, Giant Isopod, Did You See That?”

StitchDog_spool spectrum 100614

No. 6/1/18 – The .Gif Friday Post No.133 – Needlepoint Dog is Awesome!

No. 5/4/14 – Babe Cannon

clint-eastwood-jag

No. 4/nr/98 – Clint Eastwood Talks To The Lucas

No. 3/7/4 – Giant Woolly Bear Caterpillar Discovered Near Las Cruces, NM, Predicts Global Warming for Decades to Come

batmobile-babe-magnet

No. 2/nr/7 – Batmobile Babe Magnet

And the Number One Post for the past 12 months is:

LOL FERRET: EPISODE 1

lol-ferret-snake

Although Bosley the Ferret passed away years ago, he still produces smiles. First posted on 8 November 2007, Bosley has staying power with a score of 1/2/2 and over 44,580 hits, despite the fact that I didn’t know there was an established protocol for posting “Lol” memes at the time (hence the font and non-meme-correct “LolSpeak”).

Thanks for all your visits and favorites, and I wish you all the best,

Bunk

P.S. If you haven’t done so already, visit
The Official Cutting Edge Tacky Raccoons Store
for trendy and stylish accoutrements. If you don’t see what you like, or you want something a bit different, leave a comment or use the “Write Bunk” link in the sidebar.

P.P.S. Oh, I almost forgot. Follow @bunkstrutts on Twitter for automatic updates with little to no commentary; ditto for you folks still using BookFace or whatever it is. Both accounts are spam-free.

P.P.P.S. Muchisimas grassyass to those of you who contributed to our PayPal Donation Account. We’re not in this for profit and we don’t beg, but that doesn’t rule out blogwhoring as far as you know. In any case, thanks a wad for your support all these years. We appreciate it.

P.P.P.P.S. Yeah. We posted this a day early. So what.

trollface

Hello, I am Ms. Twitter.

Sunday, 21 June 2015

Twitter Switchboard

Hello, I am Ms. Twitter, daughter-in-law of Mr. Twitter and wife Significant Other of Mr. Twitter II. I have been put in charge of something very important and I’ve been very important for some time.

See that door behind me? That’s the #TwitterGulag. It’s where I send people whom I decide have violated Twitter’s Terms Of Service, written by my 12 year-old niece, Denada. She hates everyone for no particular reason, but she’s still my niece, and I am still in charge.

I send email messages to those of you with Twitter Accounts whom have been flagged as inappropriate and non-compliant with my unspecified political point of view. I ensure that your Twitter accounts are appropriately blocked, banned and deleted, and that you are required to jump through tiny little email hoops to get your pathetic Twitter accounts reinstated.

It never happens.

At the same time, I allow the most egregious violators of our TOS to fly free and clear no matter what offensive garbage they post or how much targeted harassment they get away with, despite your whining complaints. That makes me laugh, because there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. Yeah. Complain to @Twitter or @TwitterSupport and see what happens, loser.

But here’s the fun part. Once I decide you’re banned, your entire history goes away and you get to start all over. It’s like you never even existed. You are nothing more than a squeezed spent pimple on the Junior High Boys’ Restroom mirror to me, and the school janitor takes care of you.

I am Ms. Twitter. Do not trifle with me.

[Image found here. Related post here.]

ROOTMAN does not like you.

Thursday, 4 June 2015

ROOTMAN

…and he’s about to kick some vegetarian butt.

[Original undoctored image found here.]

Portland Hipsters Can Eat Me.

Wednesday, 6 May 2015

EAT BUNK

No, that’s not a photo shop. It’s a real pig being fed a Bunk sandwich. With minimal sleuthing we determined that the hipsters’ porker is standing on the pristine pavement in front of BUNK Sandwiches 2017 NE Alberta Street, Portland Oregon.

This is not their only venue, and they have a Bunk Truck for catering. Why didn’t they tell me? After all, I’ve already got a cool hip logo for lease or rent:

Bunk Strutts Logo

BTW, Google Maps Street View captured this Babe Magnet parked across the street from Bunk’s.

Roadster at Bunk's Sandwiches Portland OR

[Top image sent via email. Muchisimas Grassyass, Russ.]

 

“Why, yes. It IS a steering wheel.”

Thursday, 30 April 2015

SpockRock

“It’s a modified 1924 Allis-Chalmers,” she explained as the Vulcan’s eyes drifted ever so slightly to the dual temperature gauges.
“I should step out during the next solo jam and adjust the thermostat,” he mused to himself.

SpockRock 2

After turning up the air conditioning, The Vulcan found his buddies playing air guitar in the hallway. It made him proud.

SpockRock 3

The set ended quickly and when The Vulcan returned, the truth overwhelmed him: she was gone forever. She’d downed her whiskey sours, leaving nothing but lipstick on his empty shot glass and a bar tab of 98 Federation Credits, not counting the tip.

“Hit me again, Joe. Make it a double,” The Vulcan mumbled to no one in particular. He lit up his last unfiltered Tribble, inhaled deeply, tilted his head back and blew a perfect Figure 8 at the fire sprinkler head above the juke box. For the first time in his life, he grinned – a big toothy Vulcan grin.

[Images found here.]


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