That one line, “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,” has started quite a little industry. The Christmas market is endlessly reduplicative–there’s only a finite number of symbols that really say “Christmas,” so you have to really milk every new noun you have. So, merry christmouse.

This isn’t the best photo, but Autosharpen just couldn’t keep up with the demands, and when I used “Despeckle” the image just…vanished. Hang this combination wreath and mouse on the front door to set the tone for the Christmas party–awkward shuffling, muttered questions of “what does it *mean*?”) and, just possibly, a really big cheese plate–but strictly cheddar and Wheat Thins, this is a nice party that doesn’t put on airs. Only gingham.

Those eyes, like two felt cataracts. I’m not sure what it’s vaguely gesturing toward. Maybe it’s hoping someone will get it a Wheat Thin.

The Christmas Mouse tradition–note the iconography of the bow-around-tail–continued at a nearby Goodwill.

Better to zoom in a bit though, so you can see him in all his Christmas glory.

Not a happy mouse. Someone woke him up. And he doesn’t care if it’s Santa, the Tooth Fairy, or even the Pope, they’re going to regret this poorly-timed mouse call.

Not real sure what’s going on in his hand. Maybe a candle stick. Maybe a bong. Looking this closely at it, yeah, that red thing is probably a candle, but really it looks like one of the stripes of his pajama is inexplicably trying to reach closer to god, like an absurdist upraised pinkie. And usually candlesticks are brassy or wooden. Really, I’m thinking that particular shade of purple-pink is more reserved for adult items of an unusually intimate nature, though the shape really says “little Christmas mouse hash pipe” to me. You’d hope he’d be more mellow.

And nothing, nothing says “Merry Christmas” like maimed labradors.

All together! We wish you a broken puppy, we wish you a broken puppy. We wish you a broken puppy, with a truncated rear!

These were part of my post-holiday bargain shopping a few years ago, found in a big pile with all their other broken brethren, a small scattering of lost and forlorn body parts underneath. The sign said “50% off,” but to be fair, I think it looks more like only about 20%.

…so named because he was discovered by NASA for the space program. I don’t know.

This sad state of affairs very nearly came home with me. What says “Kid, give up on all your holiday dreams, you’re getting socks this year” like a dead unicorn in a glass ball? It’s like something Voldemort would hang up with the tinsel.

Put this one up next to an ornament showing a Department Store Santa cashing his paycheck for three bottles of Jack Daniel’s, and maybe a very small, festive treatise on the Historical Jesus. Go for a theme this year.

And lastly, what’s more seasonal than a Christmas Goose?

Don’t worry, Mr. Bear. It’s only once a year, it’ll be New Years soon and the booze will take the shame and humiliation of Christmas away in a nice, champagne-colored haze.

Puffy Quilted Christmas Mouse from the Salvation Army on 1325 near Round Rock, painted, surly Christmas Mouse from goodwill on 2222. Maimed labradors from Goodwill near 620 on 183, dead unicorn ornament from Savers on North Burnet near 2222, and Quacky the “Take It!!” Christmas Goose from Goodwill on 2222.

Angels! They come in swarms of thousands around Christmas, drifting in clumps through card shops, idling in Wal-Mart like flocks of chickens, and, of course, hanging out on the most celestial shelves in Goodwill. I’ve seen more headless Santas than any one man should, but there’s something whimsically tragic about a maimed angel that never ceases to make me smile.

Particularly when they start getting into weird Christmas fetish behavior.

I have never, ever seen an angel with pierced nipples before. But I have to say, she completely made my day when I did. That sweet, innocent little face, you’d never imagine that she’d be combining gingham and bondage in one celestial package. “Hi! My name is Beatrice! When I’m not baking cupcakes for disadvantaged children or reorganizing my embroidery floss, I like to go down to The Chain Gang wearing nothing but a star and a smile! Oh, and this cute little bow that I made to go with my favorite skirt, but if black goes well with everything, it’ll go well with pain and 40-gauge wire.”

Ouch.

The back of this one says “Merry Christmas for a Wonderful Friend, for Stephanie from Paula and Harold.” One wonders about their relationship. If it involved angel bondage, I think I want to know more about their church social club.

Who thought this was a good idea? Really. When does gluing sequins add to the majesty and grandeur of…anything? If you were trying to recreate that somewhat unsettling final Liberace Christmas Special, maybe you’re on your way there, but giving an angel glittery, 80s-style wrist and headbands is not a value-add. Yes, they were naked and creepy before, but you’re just calling attention to the fact. Next, you’re going to give them to a friend, and there we have to stop you, because this is the fast track to friendlessness. Signed, your holiday common sense consultant.

Yes, the terrible angel plague of aught-three had claimed her eye, most of her face, and her right wing, but she just kept strumming!

I like this girl. Something about her suffering has given her a wry, knowing glance that’s a step above the average angel–on the whole, a vacuous breed given to vague, wistful stares. She’s just about to write a satirical ballad, and is trying to figure out what rhymes with “Gethsemane”.

Angel? Choirboy? Bowling pin? Therapeutic medical device? You be the judge.

I don’t know what this is, but it was definitely in the Christmas section, so you get to deal with it now. The thick, avuncular eyebrows and “two pints of stout” cheeks really put me more in the mind of “Norm from Cheers” than a member of a chorus, either heavenly or earthly.

The little snowman on the coffee mug I hadn’t noticed before. Someone should spray for those.

It’s Edvard Munch’s “The Angel.” He? She? It? Does not seem to be at all happy about being slowly strangled by vines, and having a messiah-like crown of thorns (okay, crown of weeds, which is much less hardcore) stuck to its bald, bald head. I’m thinking this isn’t so much a pretty little angel, but rather some sort of sick, ritualistic play, like a sequel to the movie “Se7en” where Kevin Spacey’s character tortures people to death going through the entire year of holidays, and let me tell you, the Guy Fawkes Day scene was both chilling and a spectacular pyrotechnic display. “We’ve found the victim. He’s bolted rusty wings to her and wrapped her in straw. I have no idea what this means…but there’s a note…oh god, it says ‘Merry Christmas’ on it. What’s next, Epiphany? I can’t handle this holiday madness anymore, it’s got to stop!!!”

…So, Heaven. After 10 years of church, I’ve heard a lot of good things about the music up there. The music of the spheres is well-regarded, the heavenly cantillating of “Hosanna” is supposed to be very good, they’ve practiced it enough. However, little is said about the musical accompaniment, the background score to the Laudate Domino, and frankly I’m a little appalled. If this is Heaven, I’m going to Newark.

Welcome to Hell. Here’s you’re accordion.

Oh, this is a brilliant, well-thought-out plan. Martha Stewart would almost certainly say “No, no, that’s a bad thing.”

So, once in a while, apparently, you just have to craft. It’s gotta happen. Maybe you haven’t crafted in a few weeks or something, see a necktie, and before you know it, you’ve turned it into a mop-headed angel clasping its arms together. But there’s got to be a better way. This is the poster-child for craft abstinence.

There are good things to be said about recycling, but this poor thing looks like it was taken off the neck of that fat, fat guy that smells of very cheap tobacco, and then made into an angel while he was struggling to get it back. It’s got that special discoloration of motel furniture. The saddest thing about that is that there weren’t 20 of them lined up together in a dreadful, faceless choir. That would have been pure necktie magic.

Fear not, for I have been sent by Our Lady of the Hardware Shop to bid you glad tidings and give you good news of a great sale in the east! Home Depot gives the gifts of Christmas this year with a 15% discount on all name-brand mulchers, and a free poinsettia with every purchase! Hosanna, hosanna in the highest!”

I’m not sure if this is a “handicraft” or not, the wings and stuff are actually pretty well-made, but that face screams “Senior Activity Center.” It’s the pipecleaner that does it. And the glue, glitter, paint pen, peat moss hair, and vacant, empty gaze. Any one of those, really. Maybe there’s a kit–20 mesh angel skirts and a blank head to decorate to your heart’s content. Slap some lips and moss on it, call it $9.75. I know how these things work.

“Be not afraid!”

Aiigh! Zombie angel!

It would be awesome to be able to pack yourself up into your own body for easy storage, wouldn’t it? Just pop the top, tuck in the arms, wings, and so on. Maybe even the head would fit in there somehow, and suddenly you’ve gone from being an awkward flying thing with limbs everywhere to an angel that’s conveniently giftwrappable. Give the gift of angel!” It’s just a pity about that eye. God, you should do something about that eye. You’ll give the shepherds the fantods.

Braiiins…

Hoboy…ah…Hardware Mesh Angel, “Merry Christmas” Country Craft Angle and Pierced Nipple Angel from Goodwill on 183 and Metric, and again, Goodwill at 183 and Metric, there’ll be a plate of cookies waiting for you tonight, just wear the Santa Claus suit. Tawdry glitter angel and red zombie angels, Savers on South Lamar near 290. Accordion Angel and small, clever-looking one-eyed angel from Salvation Army on 1325, bowling pin angel (?) from Goodwill on 2222, and Necktie Angel from San Antonio’s Texas Thrift, on South Flores.

You’d think that, if you used a flimsy little trinket your aunt bought at Hallmark to break open a brazil nut, at LEAST the thing should give you some sort of error message before the top of its head flies off. So…share a moment of silence for the fallen victims of brazil nuts. And then hand me a bowl, I love those things.

Yep, another filbert-based catastrophe. I mean, she clearly made the effort, and she had the chops for it, but never, never, take a nut that’s bigger than your head. Now, she adds an element of much-needed pathos to the stage production of Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Pink Winter Fairies.” Let the screaming and lurching begin.

Is this a nutcracker? I guess it isn’t, but it partakes of the spirit of the nutcracker, in that it’s vaguely military and the top of its head is basically elsewhere.

Hmm…I think I’ve totally misplaced this image, and it should really be in the “horrible candlesticks” post. Or maybe you put a nut on his head and hit it with a hammer, which sounds like a great way to get rid of some of those Christmas frustrations. It’s clear that the wars against the Mouse King aren’t going very well for Team Nutcracker. Not enough that the mice stole his arms (I hate it when that happens) but then they threw in a little impromptu brain surgery as well? Awful! The same thing happened to my great-uncle in the war. For years, he thought he was the silverware drawer. Awkward.

I kind of feel that dressing random household items up to look like a piece of Christmas Craft is really cheating somehow, the holiday folds onto itself like a Möbius strip and everything becomes self-referential. But that’s the draw of the season–to give the “let’s glue something onto something, paint it, and then give it to our loved ones because we clearly have too many loved ones” crowd something to do with their vast free time. In that generous spirit, we have the LEAST USEFUL Christmas Nutcracker of them all, bearing in mind that the Venn Diagram here has no overlap between the categories of “Christmas Nutcracker” and “good idea.”

Someone’s grandmother made this. Again, we’re in the realm of “things that reference nutcrackers” again, my apologies for this inaccurately-titled post. His little “Lance Corporal in the Army of Twee” costume features a festive pom glued to his flower-pot hat, itself only the top of a poorly-conceived tower of flower pot tragedy.

“You there! Villain! Unhand that string of Christmas lights and step away from the festive seasonal display, or I shall most assuredly topple on you!”

The floppy little minimal effort felt arms are my absolute favorite part of this. Another victim of the Mouse King wars, or maybe a refugee from the Muppets Christmas Special, doomed to flail madly when agitated.

Hey there…got any nuts?

Theory number 147: the custom of the “Christmas Soldier” is to commemorate the legions of King Herod’s troops who were working on unpaid overtime to cap all the firstborn children in Israel. Those ancient soldiers suffered, too.

I’ve got to say, the little guy’s weathering this really well, very stoically. I would be substantially more nonplussed faced with a bear that size, even if he’d tattooed hearts on his nipples. In my limited experience, someone who tattoos hearts to their nipples is up to no good, and is only using their nipple-hearts as a clever ruse. The cherub looking on and smirking adds to the “tainted innocence” of the entire affair. S/he/it’s in on the game.

Bah, humbug!

We are not a happy little drummer boy, and we ask you to take your Christmas Spirit and shove it up your parumpumpumpum. We are cold, we have been standing here for several hours, and we have better things to do, because we are missing our audition for the American Idol tryouts.

Pink Winter Fairy from Goodwill on 183 near 620, Nearly Headless Soldiar from Savers in North Austin, Pots Soldiar and Fear the Christmas Bear from Salvation Army near Metric and 183, and Holiday Wedge Warrior from the Goodwill on 2222, Austin.

At least, I think they’re reindeer, I’m not totally sure.

This might be reindeer. It’s almost certainly covered in ancient glue and the vague scent of dust and cinnamon oil, which does not match my experience of reindeer as a species, but then, they aren’t supposed to have glowing red noses either, and that shows how much you can trust the Time-Life Encyclopedia of North American Mammals, I’ll be going exclusivelyto country crooner Gene Autry for my zoology lessons from now on, thank you.

Boo!

I’m a little more certain about these guys, because my options are 1) reindeer or 2) strangely stylized missile silos.

It’s close, but I’m going to have to go with “ungulate” on these, even though they look like strange vaguely deer-shaped automata. At least they have red noses. Yes, antlers like tracking systems, but you shall know them by their snouts.

I don’t care if I’ve only got two legs because my front ones were removed in a freak nine-deer pileup and my antler left with the runner of Santa’s sleigh, it’s Christmas, I’m standing in snow, and I’m going to do a little dance because I’m happy, and if I don’t, I might start to cry. Someone…please…take the bow off me? Please? I can’t reach it. Let me at least have my dignity.

I haven’t quite figured out the tradition of the Christmas log yet. Yes, I know about yule logs, they’re big, big pieces of wood that you can set on fire, stand around, and wassail your little hearts out. But that’s not the same as a Christmas log, which tends to have bits of plastic mounted to it, or a face, or small cloth trees, or in a worst-case scenario, be painted like a manger scene. Are you supposed to burn this sort of thing? Wouldn’t it smell kind of funny? Would Donder there streak like a blaze of glory out of the fireplace, landing in a molten “splut” of deer on the rug in front of the hearth?

Come to it, I’m really not sure what’s going on with Donder, but something’s deeply wrong. He’s somewhere between a dish of festive winter venison and a zombie, with glassy, staring eyes and a coat that’s matted and not all there.

Do you really want this deer on your rooftop? Trust me, if you hear something tip-tapping on your roof, aim for the head, right between the antlers.

Christmas Log from Savers on South Lamar; Christmas Broom from Goodwill on Metric and 183, Happy the Happiest Maimed Deer from Savers on Burnet, Deerbots from Salvation Army on 183 near 620.

Just a small shout to fellow thrifter, Dogs Mom. Thanks for the linkage :)

This particular Santa is here to remind us that everything’s easier when your head is mostly hollow and made out of plastic.

He’s kind of a shlep, but that’s okay, he’s mellow. And maybe his face is eroding away, but that’s okay, if his eyes finally go, maybe they’ll finally give him a little time off from making all those damned toys. Actually, his vision was pretty good until the mid-80s electronic period. Damn you, Nintendo, and all your individually-soldered parts.

His perfectly round head gives the vague impression of him having just stepped off the pages of “Peanuts,” or maybe “Family Circus,” where he left a long, dotted line from the North Pole to every house in the world with an income somewhere vaguely above the local poverty line. There might have been some vague joke about “I Dunno” and “Not Me,” but it wasn’t funny, really. Please let Santa scrape the rest of his face off, now, it’s the only way he gets by.

No, really, this was going to be a post about happy Santas! Let’s try that again.

Go Santas! It’s your birthday! Except it isn’t, not really. That’s okay, it’s December 26, and you’re ready to party like it’s February! You’ve got your best suit on, and for some strange reason you’re wearing more eyeliner than Mrs. Klaus, but that’s alright, she probably helped you put it on. I didn’t know Santa did the goth scene, that’s actually a little surprising.

Are you also digging on Santa’s magical third eyebrow? I am. Also, is he licking his lips in a manner not entirely unlike the floating lips at the beginning of the Rocky Horror Picture Show? I think I saw him there last Saturday. “Brad! Janet! Dr. Scott! Santa? Rudolph??”

Once Santa finishes getting his Kringle on, he takes it to the floor for a slow dance, maybe “Santa Baby” or a nice, slow version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” then he grabs his girl, holds her close, and…

Oh yeah, Santa’s got you under the mistletoe, baby, wrapping his red velvet loves around you for the gift of Christmas love. Not sure about the little red patent leather booties and the cotton balls he apparently glued to his robes, but Santa’s a player, he knows what those north pole chicks dig. Heavy, heavy beards, apparently.

And who’s the lucky girl who gets all the Kringle, from January through November?

That’s Mrs. Claus, and she is hot because she is filled with pepper. That’s what’s in the box, pepper for all the good little boys and girls. And, wow, she’s got the same makeover artist as Ming the Merciless, but she makes it a little more ladylike.

So…did you ever want to know what Santa’s up to the other 364 days of the year? That’s right, he golfs. Only…maybe he’s not getting any younger, it’s been a few years since 4th century Myrna. Santa is, in fact, a bit of a duffer. No-one tells him that because he’ll put you on the old Naughty List and he tends to doctor his scores a bit, but it’s true, and no-one knows that better than Mrs. Claus.

Santa! For the love of holly, watch where you’re swinging!

Oh the horror! Oh, the humanity! Why did someone let a ceramic Mrs. Claus on to the golf course? Why didn’t Santa NOTICE? Besides of course the hat pulled over his head and his ears plugged up because of the endless, endless jingling? Oh golf, oh Santa, gaze on the calamity you have wrought!

Heads and broken pieces of Mrs. Santa scattered across the green. Next time, switch to a wedge, Santa. You’re not to be trusted with those new metal woods.

Golfing Santa and Shattered Mrs. Claus from Savers North near Burnet and 2222, Glass Santasphere from Goodwill on 2222, Peppery Mrs. Claus from Savers South near 290 and Lamar, Dancing Santa and his Girl from Goodwill on Stassney and Manchacha.

It’s the day after Christmas, and Santa always gets a bad case of the post-gift-frenzy blues. For one thing he’s in the north pole and it’s going to be night for like three more months. For another, no-one’s going to remember he even exists until November, which has got to be quite a downer. And then that chirpy elf foreman came up with the next year’s schedule as soon as he stepped off the sleigh, and he hadn’t even gotten to the bathroom yet. So, yeah, December 26? Kind of a downer.

When the weight of the world feels like a flowerpot on your shoulders, crushing you down–wait, maybe that IS a flower pot crushing me down?–it’s time to put on the special robes Ms. Klaus gave us–the ones with the festively Christmas nipple-holes–touch up the old rouge and eyeliner, and slink slowly around the back yard, pretending to be a traffic cone. We each have our ways of coping. Mine is to be exuberantly wedge-shaped and nipple-endowed. Then sometimes I balance a flower pot on my head. That’s how SANTA celebrates Christmas. Do you like my nipple?

Some years–particularly after the CIA was putting quinuclidinyl benzilate in the snow in some weird attempt to bump off Fidel Castro…again…Santa gets a little paranoid. After all, we know who’s been naughty and nice, and lately, it’s been a LOT easier delivering presents, what with having like six stops to make, and most of them in Switzerland. But yeah, I know what list you’re on, so STEP AWAY FROM THE COOKIES, and nobody gets hurt. Because Santa’s not on Santa’s list.

…and you know, I’ve got nothing to say about this guy.

Any opinions about this particular Santa are welcome, but he seems…down. Maybe there was originally a delicious, post-Christmal pipe he could settle down with. Or maybe an enormous, reeking stogie, and Mrs. Klaus, who puts up with all kinds of hell every year (what with the elves and all), finally yanked it out of his mouth and threw it to the damned reindeer, and now Santa’s even MORE depressed and just sits there, air-smoking.

Or he’s training up for bubble tea. Not everybody can take a tapioca pearl like Santa.

At any rate, the greater Thrift Horror community would love to know what this is. Clothing rack? Poorly-planned stocking holder? Weirdly festive ticker-tape dispenser? We want to know!

Now, if you’ve been REALLY naughty…Santa sends in the Crusher.

It’s a sort of horrible anti-Santa, with MASSIVE paws that destroy any present laid before it, with a rasping metallic “HO HO HO!!” and a sickening crunch (less so in the case of, like, stuffed animals or socks, but it’s still an unpleasant noise. An XBOX on the other hand explodes nicely.) Then…he feeds another present into the terrible machine, throws down its moustache switches, and the arms squeeze again. Because that’s the kind of Christmas you deserve.

…I saw mommy kissing Santa Klaus…

Weirdly cone-shaped Santa from the Texas Thrift in San Antonio on South Flores…awesome store! Paranoid Kringle-mug from Savers on South Lamar near 290. Tall Santa with face-hole from Thrift Land on Stassney off I35, and Mecha Santa Kringle-Bot DX from Savers on South Lamar. I think I already posted him to the old Livejournal community, but he’s real special, isn’t he?

…And Our Lady of the Late Model Ford wishes you a blessed holiday, too. May your fenders never rust.

As a thrift reporter, I make a special point never to tamper with the beautiful things I find shoved to the back of the Brick-a-Brack shelves. Luckily, some people do these things for me, and then I figure they’re fair game. When I picked this adorable scene of holy…uh…something or other? up, the baby’s lovely lovely head fell off. What a shame! It may be that I was the only person who saw this miraculous apparition, but I do feel quite blessed.

Our Lady of the Late Model Ford. Truly one of the martys who suffered for her faith. Because…that delivery was a tricky one.

There needs to be a Christmas carol for this one. Maybe “God rest you, Chevy Cherokees,” or “It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like a Toyota Takoma.”

I figured we should really start the Christmas festivities with the star of the show, Frosty Jesus. Sadly, I don’t have any good pictures of him, so we’ll just settle for this one.

I think he’s some kind of squash.

Okay, this isn’t terrible, it doesn’t look like Mary’s about to eat the poor kid, and it’s maybe a little unfair to set something to x10 magnification and then mock it. But doesn’t he look like something from the Beavis and Butt-head nativity? Just a bit?

That, and I think Mary’s about to put the son of god into a log flume. Really, that straw has a vivid, lively sense of motion that you don’t see in just any manger.

“And there he goes! Woosh!”
“Mary, have a little sense of the moment, this is the messiah after all.”
“Yeah, but look how quickly he goes down the chute!”
“Okay, that is pretty miraculous…hey, is he even in the water?”
“Nope. You should see him at bathtime, it’s all kinds of special.”

Aaand, these guys. This is kind of a cheat because I know I wrote these guys up in the original Thrift Shop Horrors community, but you know, if I see them again, it’s like a new thing.

There’s a lot of evidence that Jesus wasn’t actually whiter than a bleached Osmund. After all, he was Jewish, and from the middle East. This does lend a certain darkness of skin and hair to one’s appearance, even if JC was one of those rare albino messiahs. But we shouldn’t tamper with people’s simple faiths.

…the lipstick’s got to go. I know, every darn Jesus I see is quite the cracker, ethnic roots notwithstanding. But this is just a bit too much!

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…

Meanwhile, Joseph’s whispering, “He’s not a bad kid, but I’m not sure that Adonai, the god of the mountains and king of Heaven, is really our sort of people. If that brown smear doesn’t wash off, we’re going to have to renegotiate this weird foster-father thing.”

“Whoops. Some look around under the manger, it fell off again. Does anyone have a very small late model Ford I could borrow?”

“Cluck!”

“You’re no help…”

“Myrrh or candle…myrrh or candle…2000 years from now, what’s going to look better on a postcard? These are damn good candles though. Oh hell, it’s candles all the way. Hey, get me three camels, these are going to Bethlehem.”

Our Lady of the Late Model Ford from Goodwill on 2222, Beavis Jesus from Community Thrift in San Antonio, very very white Holy Family from Goodwill on Stassney in South Austin (though first discovered five years ago in Leander), Headless Jesus from Goodwill on 183 near 620. And Wandering Balthazaar, again, from St. Vincent De Paul’s in Round Rock.

Three wise men came from the west, to bring gifts to the new-born king. Of course, they were 12 days late, but that was because the gold got massively held up in airport security, and it took most of an afternoon for them to put all their sparkly metal bits into the little plastic bins, and Melchoir decided he wanted the special search, which gets a bit awkward wearing robes, but to each their holiday magic, I guess. Anyway.

I like Balthazar because I can recognize him. He’s the black Wise Guy. He also brought the most useless gift possible–who brings embalming supplies to a baby shower? But he’s from Egypt. Maybe that’s how they roll. But he did THINK about the present, at least.

Hmmm…candles, or myrrh? Do they already have candles? I’ve already got the myrrh, but regifts are so tacky–they’re never going to get down Egypt anyway. But this one seriously bad-ass candle. They’re Jewish, right? Jews like candles. Maybe I can get them one big one, instead of eight silly little birthday cake things.

I am NEVER going to be able to wrap this. Sorry, baby, you’re getting myrrh. Trust me, some day when you need embalming supplies, you’ll thank me.

Woah. Not going this way. I need to have a word with the guys in animal control.

You know, being a magi is hot work. That’s why, after hours, Balthazar likes to get comfortable.

“Put your damned robes back on, Balthazar!”

“Shove it, Gaspar!”

Gaspar got creative…again…everybody said “Give frankensense! Mary totally loves potpourri!” But no, Gaspar went with the crazy upscale gift that nobody needs. He bought them an intrinsic field generator. Things went predictably wrong.

“I have ultimate power!!!”

Oops.

Kids…next time don’t improvise. Get what’s on the list. That’s why Mary registered at Target.

Melchoir was actually on time, but because they wanted to make an entrance he spent four days waiting across the street, hiding behind some architectural frippery and looking remarkably like an overdressed member of the cast of “King of the Hill.” Of course, Melchoir completely cheated. He bought a copy of the script.

Like one of those wretched Time-Life ads from the 80s…”Want to know how the whole thing ends? Did they escape the slaughter of the innocents? Were they able to find a band-aid big enough for Gaspar’s neck? Read the book!!!”

Anyway, Stay warm and happy Christmas, those who celebrate. The next twelve days will be filled with an array of holiday crapola I’ve been saving for three years. Enjoy!

Wandering Balthazar from St. Vincent De Paul’s in Round Rock. I followed him around for three months–sometimes he’d vanish, reappearing in dishes or gifts or holiday stuff. I hope he finally found his way back to Egypt! No Shirt, No Service Balthazar ALSO from SVDP’s. Creepy Doctor Manhattan Gaspar from Community Thrift Store in San Antonio, Exploded Head Gaspar and “I already bought the book” Melchoir from Savers in North Austin.

Fear me, for I come bearing the true power of Christmas!!

Before we get to today’s unpleasantries, just a note that starting Christmas Eve we’re going to begin a merry “12 days of Christmas” romp here in thriftland. I’ve got three years of Christmas stuff waiting in the wings–there’s some really good finds this year, so please, send the link to anyone who loves Christmas kitsch :)

Anyway! You know this is going to be one of those shopping expeditions when you see this outside the door.

I don’t get down to Texas Thrift in San Antonio very often. Apparently, the Thrift Mafia down there has figured out that I don’t actually buy anything and has taken to leaving little threats.

So…that really is a good price for a funeral. And maybe that was what you were actually looking for. I’m hoping it’s not a used funeral. “Yeah, just swap the bodies out, nobody’ll care that much. Shove the other guy in with the stuffed animals. Mark him down to a dollar, he’ll be gone in five minutes.”

Then there’s the cremation. I’m thinking, put your loved ones down next to about fifty gently used Easy Bake Ovens. Then, crank up the juice. Yeah, you’ll probably blow a fuse, but those things get pretty hot! And if you don’t get your dearly departed up to the right shade of golden brown, well, 25 or 30 tubs of pink magic frosting says they’re a sheet cake.

I’m so having my funeral at Texas Thrift. I’m writing the service now. “We are gathered together today to commemorate a man who died as he lived, in the discount aisle. Each of us must remember that today, any day, even this hour could be our own clearance sale. Truly it is said, All Things Must Go. So it is true of clowns, and of Make-Up Magic Barbie, so to, of all of us. Ashes to ashes…dust to dust…brick to brack. Heavenly father, we commend this soul to your Salvation Army, where there is no markdown, where you cherish each damaged miniature and each cracked figurine, and they may remain on your shelf now, and forever, amen.”

Texas Thrift on South Flores, San Antonio