They really are yawning. Photographer staked out a site and photoshopped all the yawning people he found into one image.
Still, Earth Day… yawn.
[Image from here found via The Presurfer. For those of you who are Global Warming Cooling Climate Change Fans, there is this excellent archive.]
Palm Springs, California (Strutts News Services) – Long admired yet not forgotten, Robert “Tweety Bird” Balderstien passed away at the age of 67 at his ranch home in Palm Desert, Southern California.
Robert Svenson Balderstien, hatched in 1942 in Suffolk, Massachusetts, by immigrant parents, adapted to the stage early, despite his hydrocephelitic condition. Contrary to popular belief, his medical condition did not cause his speech impediment, and for years he battled the stereotype.
Balderstien also rejected the contention that he was female, and fought the resulting insinuations and innuendos all his life before retiring in seclusion in Palm Desert, California.
“I never said, ‘I tawt I taw a puddy tat.’ I have perfect enunciation, but Warner Brothers chose to overdub my voice, and I was stuck with it ever since.”
Longtime friend and companion, Sylvester The Cat, also of Palm Desert, gave a touching eulogy that ended with, “Yeah. I’ll mith him the motht. He alwayth thought he thaw me, and motht timeth he motht thertainly did.”
U.S. Senators crack me up. Thank god they’re in office so that we don’t have to think for ourselves. Betcha can’t name the four in the photo. Betcha can’t.
[Found here.]
YupYupYupYup
Yip Yip Yip Yip
Peep… Peep… Peep… Peep
Occasionally our esteemed web miners at Tacky Raccoons run short of post ideas due to prior commitments and responsibilities (like, um, well, other important stuff.) When we run out of unique post images or topics, we resort to a simple parlor trick: Google an image of a random word, see what pops up, and exploit it for pennies on the dollar. (You wanna see LEDs on sheep? You won’t find it here. We don’t play the viral game.)
Today we’re talking new age hair.*
As we age, our bodies change in ways we only laughed about in grade school. A few long eyebrow hairs are kinda cool, but ear hair is not. Nor is the onslaught of middle age nose hair. I have all three.
Fortunately, modern technology provides the answer for two-thirds of them, and the vacuum abhorred by nature is filled by this wonderful creation:
Be forewarned that if you use this appliance for ear hair, it will change your eye color as well as the color and pattern of your shirt.
For sale here at the low price of $5.99 (unfortunately no used ones are listed.) Get one for each nostril for only $11.98 plus snipping and handling. An optional stainless steel flail attachment is available to grind out the crusties.
Not for use as a unowot, regardless of crusties.
[Image found here. Nose Hair Opinion Poll results here.] Continue reading “New Age Hair”
Whoa. Batman logo with tinyperkynipples, on a Chrysler Minivan no less. Let’s all scream, “PARTYMOBILE!” Bijonce and her sister Charlondra be gonna jump de bones of the driver of this dragon wagon, assuming they can see over the hood to appreciate the majesty of it all.
Of course the neighborhood girls are way underage, and the only way they’d see the attraction is if Bozoman personally lifted them higher than his blood alcohol level x the height of the hood ornament. Fortunately Bozoman can’t, and has to rely on subterfuge to get his prey into the Mommyvan. Fortunately for Bijonce and her sister, they’re both armed with tasers and the bone-breaking physical paybacks of the self-defense kind.
This conundrum leaves Bozoman with nothing but his two Bozofriends and a couple of quarts of beer. Since no significant otter, either outside or inside of Bozoman’s Mommyvan, can view the Batmoboil Logo, the only way the lame-o paintjob boosts this embarrassing piece of dorkness to the level of Babe Magnet is in the mindvapors of Bozoman himself.
[This image from Woosk, related by bastardized ancestry to this post, has been added to the Great Babe Magnet Archive.]
“Now… with my face tripping me, I trundle and stravaig wearily behind Mrs Bastard, and Mrs Bastard’s mammy. My houghs are aching, my arms fair pulled out of their oxter’s, carrying shopping bags the equivalent in weight of a Volkswagen under each arm. My mooth being drier than the watering holes of the Sudan. My bank balance lighter than a ballerinas fart, I am continuing to rue my words woefully.”
I’ve got little idea of what Jimmy Bastard is ranting about, but anyone who uses a phrase as delicate as “lighter than a ballerina’s fart” is okay by me. It’s somehow connected with this picture:
There’s also gotta be a pun in there somewhere. Have at it.
[Image and quote from here. He warned me, too.]
Tacky Raccoons 
