Mr. Lung Face Person Cushion

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Um, ah, you know, sometimes the words just don’t come easy when trying to describe something like Mr. Lung Face Person Cushion. Repulsive and attractive at the same time, and when you tickle him, he coughs.

Or maybe it’s Ms. Pink Apple-Shaped Windshield Face Person who just came into contact with a bloodless blue leaping newt at 50mph, and they both turned into a collectible plush toy.

But it could also be a comfy sanitary example of incomplete twinning en utero.

Oooh! Wait! It’s Cherchez “Churchy” LaFemme from Walt Kelly’s POGO looking at himself in a mirror!

I dunno, Babs, but I do know this. Someone thought this up, someone designed it, someone picked the colors and fabric, someone sewed it together, someone marketed it, and some folks are buying it, for someone else, for some unknown reason.

Some mysteries should just be left unsolved.

[Image from Chiquiworld.]

R2D2 Pukes

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StarWars emesis. And all this time I thought R2D2 only craps pepper in my salad.

[Image from here. Oh yeah, speaking of emesis, Diesel’s still hawking his book at MattressPolice if you’re looking for a last minute Christmas gift. He promises to deliver it in person if you order by midnight tonight. Otherwise, you can read it free on his website. Go figger.]

Yet Another Great Gift Idea

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Just imagine… You have a holiday get together with your neighbors (the ones you actually talk to, not the one that has that strange odor coming from his house, or the ones with the 45-year-old son who never left home and lays face-down on the lawn across the street when you go to get the mail, or the one with three hearses in the driveway.)

A nice holiday gathering. A Hawai’ian theme complete with the apostrophe. Huge yellowfin and shark steaks are on the grille, and YOU bring out the salt. Not just any salt. Alaea Hawai’ian Sea Salt.

All your invited neighbors are visibly impressed with your obviously refined taste and culture.

Except for me, you dork. You bought into this? But I won’t tell it to your face. I’ll just smile and compliment you on your obviously refined taste and culture. Then I’ll make an innocuous comment about global warming and how OUR household is stopping it by changing the incandescent lightbulb outside our front door to a fluorescent lamp.

But tomorrow, I’ll have a good laugh with the 45-year-old neighbor’s son while we lay face down in the grass in front of the house with the three hearses next to the one that smells funny, and we’ll watch you get your mail and change your lightbulbs.

[Don’t creep out, it’s all in fun. “Salt-of-the-Month-Club” is available in limited quantities from The Onion. Looks like a great gift idea to me. I’d host the block party if I got it, fer shure (hint hint hint). —Bunk]

Another Great Christmas Gift Idea

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Helps children to improve self-esteem, at least for the one who goes first. Boys go first on the blue one; Girls go first on pink (not shown).

[Image from EatLiver.]

Forget Turkey. This Rocks.

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Established over 50 years or not, I want the “Non-Traditional” kind with my peanut butter. Who is this Bradley guy that thinks this is food? After 50 years, you’d think he’d know better.

“WAIT MARGIE, THEY’RE READY TO EAT! FORGET THE TURKEY! WE GOT EELS! AND THEY’RE THE TRADITIONAL STYLE!”

[Photo from Liver.]

UPDATE: One of our crack webminers here at TR bleated apologies for not informing me that the Jellied Eels photo is NOT photoshopped, and that the treats are considered a delicacy in parts of London. The exact same photo, with description, can be found here. (Bunk sincerely apologizes to Mr. Bradley for thinking he was a closet Japanese foodmaker, and to all Japanese readers for thinking that you would stoop so low as to eat jellied eels. Bunk forwarded his documentation to Steve, an authority on matters like this.)

Before You Open Up a Can of This…

… you better have a good reason and know what you’re doing.

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If you stupidly decide to mess with a Veteran, understand that Veterans each have at least one can within arm’s reach at all times, and they all know how to use it. Comes with experience.

For everyone else, you can create your own can labels here. Give a can of Whoop-Ass to someone who’s earned it.

Faith Enhancer

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Just in time for All Soul’s Day.

Yes, folks, we’ve all seen it on TV, the one and only “Miraculously Pepper-Minty Faith-Enhancing Breathspray.”

Made from habanero chili oil, all it takes is one little squirt into your mouth, and you’ll be yelling, “OH GOD! O MY GOD!” and praying that there’s some milk left in the fridge.
—————-
Habanero chilis make you smarter.

I’d read about them. A friend had given me five little orange ones he’d grown himself. Something that small and pretty couldn’t be that bad, I told myself, and I dared myself to try one, or rather, a small part of one, and I ate a fingernail-sized slice late one night several years ago.

I have a deep and profound respect for the habanero.

It was sweet, pleasant at first, until it jumped up and filled my entire field of vision. Flaming sweat was spitting out of my forehead when I took a lick of salt (one remedy) and I jammed my fist into the refrigerator for the quart of milk without opening the door. “OH GOD!” I yanked the milk out by its udders ignoring the jagged metal that cut my forearm.

I drank the whole quart, and finally the pain subsided. Whew… at least I could say that I’d eaten the habanero. But I found out that it wasn’t done with me yet.

Relieved, and with natural endorphins jumping around in my brain, I headed for bed, got my night-chonis on, brushed my teeth. Then I took out my contacts. “OH, GOD!” A minute amount of the habanero oil had not washed off of my fingers, and now my eyes were shooting flames.

I took the contact lenses, washed them thoroughly, dumped them into the little canister with the magic cleaning tablets, and went to bed.

Next morning. Forgot about the habaneros. Fetched my contacts from the little canister. Put them in my eyes. “OH, GOD!” I decided to ride it out, and it subsided, leaving me red eyed.

And I learned that the habenero wasn’t done with me yet. Later that afternoon while sitting next to the bathtub… “OH, GOD.”

—————–
True Story, and I learned from it. Hope you did too.
[Photo source: Chiquiworld.]

R2D2 Craps Pepper in Your Salad

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StarWars excreta. May the farce be with you.
[Source.]

Mrs. Jenkins

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Mrs. Jenkins. Everyone knew her by name, yet she knew none of ours. She never spoke, except when we walked down the line pretending to stick our fingers down our throats.

Mrs. Jenkins was The Lunch Lady, and she had a hair net and a mole. She worked the serving line in the Maple Dale Elementary School cafeteria serving up fluorescent orange “sloppy joes” on buns that were more like pancakes; warm egg salad; green orbs with orange cubes (both having the consistency of PlayDoh) labeled as “peas & carrots;” and cheeseburgers consisting of a rectangular piece of asphalt roof shingle with a triangle of Velveeta. Oh, yeah… macaroni and Velveeta was available everyday.

EVERYBODY REMEMBERS MRS. JENKINS.

And now you can purchase Mrs. Jenkins, The Lunch Lady Action Figure just as you remember her and make her eat that garbage.

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The Lunch Lady Action Figure comes complete with steam table inserts for Mac & Velv, PlayDoh Peas, Mystery Meat, and all the other choices we shunned as kids. (Honest, I’m not shilling for them, but it’s available here. Other photo from here.)

It Just Doesn’t Get Any Better Than This.

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From now on, everything you sit on feels like Mr. T.
Ugh.
More cool and very excellent Mr. T stuff can be found on SNTC.