Found this nice package lounging around on the Family Strutts Butcher Block. (The FSBB is just another flat surface where a lot of unrelated items collect.) This caught my eye last evening, and I thought, “Wow. A ‘Fruit Medley,’ and precisely 1.90 ounces of it.” So I did what any one of you would have done. I took it to the bathroom.
I stood on the bathroom scale and noted my weight (including clothing, trenchcoat, mudcaked chukka boots). Then I weighed myself again, including clothing, trenchcoat, boots, AND the package labeled “Fruit Medley,” and subtracted the difference. I found that the “Fruit Medley” weighed in at 2.046 ounces. “What a windfall,” I thought. I couldn’t wait to find out what was in the package, and without flushing, ran back out to the kitchen (after washing my hands of course). I opened the box and found this:
Looked just like the package photo. I gotta admit that the package also says, “Our Family’s Best Since 1906,” and I imagine that a bushel of fruit from over 100 years ago might look something like it.
But that’s not the point of this post. Daughter Bunkessa showed me this:
It’s a bag of bread, labeled “Baked Bread.” Forget that it’s apparently made from wild berry flour, it’s baked bread. I’ve had the other kind, and it’s a lot like a cold bowl of Hormel chili.
But that’s not the point of this post either. While I was in the bathroom weighing the “Fruit Medley” I noticed this on the counter:
Think about this. If you wash your face with facial cream, and the cream gets dirty and disgusting, what can you do? This product solves the problem.
Is this a Great Country or what?
Although Bunk would prefer that y’all stay here, sometimes it’s necessary to open the door a crack and let ch’all go out and play. Just be back here by midnight.
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The Rock-A-Teens, 1959, “WooHoo” here.
The 5678’s “WooHoo” here.
Clever advertising here.
Photos found at a swap meet of an unknown family who probably owned a liquor store here.
Coffee, oddness and live podcasts at Rockhoppers. Get wired and laid back at the same time.
I don’t know why you’d want to do it, but if you have to, here are step-by-step instructions on how to “Purple Wash” your dolls.
I reuse my calendars. mini-contest-best-short-joke.
Some websites are updated every 60 seconds. One of them can be found here.
Funky time wasters here and here.
The Museum of Scientifically Accurate Fabric Brain Art here.
Speaking of Fabric Brain Art, check out Clay Pigeon. Kinda like the Onion, only better.
A very addictive time waster here. (I gave up after level 16.)
How many of States in the USA have you been to? Give your answers here and it’ll show you a map of them in case you forgot where they were.
Tuscan Whole Milk 1 gallon 128 fl. oz. is still available at Amazon, with over 900 great customer reviews. (Caution: If you read the reviews while drinking a tall cold glass of it, Tuscan Whole Milk will come out your nose.)
Much absurdity may be found here from Bunk’s previous life as a stray poster for SNTC. In those days Bunk only posted once every coupla weeks or so, before he jumped face-first into the blogpool with Tacky Raccoons.
This is a Maraca, to train schizophrenics with rhythm to cooperate with his- or herself without fighting. Or not. [Image from somewhere in here.]
But then, there’s also this incomplete twinning. [Growabrain is looking for the source.]
Some images are just too cool to caption, but so what.
R2D2 [steam powered beta version] was a mechanical dork even back then. “Tweep Pleeeert REEEP,” means only one thing in droidland, and it’s not nice.
[Image from GadgetConcierge. Related posts here and here.]
Springtime is here, or almost is, and something about this photo fascinates and disgusts me at the same time, kinda like goth/emo laundry. I’m not sure if these are squid or octopi, but either way something just isn’t right. Obviously they’re being dried for either food or rain gear, but these sentient denizens of the deep don’t deserve to be humiliated like this.
This image has been lounging around in our “What to Do With This” file for a long time, way before we began tagging the images with their sources. We’d be happy to post the real story if only our crack team of webminers could determine the original source. Comments?
[Welcome Ectoplasmosis readers! If you liked these octopi, you might like the RoboSquid. Feel free to crawl slither hydropropel yourselves around here as long as you want. Just leave a trail of bread crumbs slime crab shells to find your way back.]
[Ditto to Tonmo & WHI readers!]
[UPDATE 22 March 08: ORIGINAL SOURCE HERE! (via here). Our crack team of webminers just got an extension on their contracts.]
Yet another visual insult for Ford’s industrial designer who came up with the ubiquitous Country Squire. Long before the SUV, Ford was promoting the Family Utility vehicle, even as early as 1947. It was known as the FU for good reason:
“Dad, the FU door didn’t latch, and the heat from the FU vinyl is fusing my Red Ball Jets to the FU plastic floor mat.”
“Well, first, shut the FU, son…”
But back to the grander aspects of this recyclable FU Babe Magnet. It’s obvious that the owner of this prize was awarded the FU when his dad got tired of providing taxi service for Bud Junior’s part time job lobbing Grit Magazine to all the subscribers on Rural Route 4 between Cozadale and Mainesville Ferry at 5AM.
On Bud Junior’s 17th birthday, Dad handed over the keys and title, forgetting that Bud’s Christmas present was a carton of Camels and a belt sander. Bud went to work immediately to un-woosify his ride. He buffed the windows to a fine shine with cornstarch, sold the hubcaps for gas money and ground the cream finish paint down to primer… in stripes. Pure efficient genius.
These days people point and stare at Bud’s Sled ‘O Love. “What the heck are you drivin’, Bud?”
Bud only glares back. “FU.”
[Image from here.]
Russian compilation of animations done with Post-It Notes and a nice dixieland/ska soundtrack. What more do you need?
[Found via X-Blog. If it doesn’t play, go here.]
[If it doesn’t play, go here.]
Nice collection of odd and excellent .gif animations set to someone’s idea of music. The music fits, though. (Some parts are PG-13, might disturb some of the younger folks. Ay cuidado.)
[And if this one doesn’t play, go here.]
Hullaballoo–1960’s television at it’s worst and best. Cameras always focused on the dopeydancers, while the band of the minute (in this case, THE YARDBIRDS, covering Muddy Waters‘ “Mannish Boy.”) were trapped on a closet-sized stage lip-synching to their latest 45rpm hawk job. This band of the minute was way ahead of their time.
[If THAT one doesn’t play, go here.]
The YardBirds were covering Muddy Waters, just like every other British Invasion band, including the Stones.
Tacky Raccoons 