There is something sad about a fundamentally unloved animal figurine in a thrift store. How they sit piled awkwardly in the corner, their resin slowly chipping away, usually missing an ear, or a leg, or a head. This is not the case here. Someone loved this horse…too much.
I’m thinking the story here is there was a much-loved little statue, treasured since the owner was six, possibly given to her by grandma, maybe even from a time when Grandma was a wee little thing. And then the owner had her offspring, who weren’t as reverential, and suddenly, statue is short a few legs.
Now, in many cases, that would have been the end of the horse. The humane thing to do is to shoot the poor creature, it’s life as a useful (?) piece of brik-a-brack is clearly over. Dust we are, and to dustbin we shall return, and all that. But, no, not this horse. Instead, its remaining legs were lovingly popped off, which no doubt distressed the horse no end, and its stumps were pressed into cleverly-drilled holes, so that it would tread endlessly through knee-high varnished pine for the rest of eternity.
Never let common sense get in the way of a good obsession.
For those of us aging children of the ’80s, get out a hanky with me and re-live one of the best scenes from “Neverending Story“…
First a refreshing breath of copyright infringement.
Obviously, it doesn’t count as flagrant trademark violation if you mold the entire thing out of chewing gum, right? Right. This blobby little pustule of a bear seems to have been carved out of a solid, massive mountain of raw “Wrigley’s Chew” ore, and left to stand in his best “Lo, I am Ozymandius, and I love you” pose over the nearby village of lower Crapton. He may not make the town feel any safer, he’s unlikely to come to life when the neighboring countryside is threatened, but he does make your self-esteem a little stronger. Go, you.
Just hang in there, guy! You’ve got so much to live for!
Well, maybe not.
Once again, someone didn’t enjoy their crafts hour, and is going to have to sit in their room while the rest of the group gets to watch “Pleasant Bill and the Theraputic Riders.”
I’m imagining the artist–and I’m giggling a bit as I imagine him–stabbing at the creature’s eyes with a blue-stained, thumb-thick brush, screaming “Stare no more, ursine menace! Your sight I take from thee!!” Paint splatters the wall as the guy’s handlers drag him carefully from the room, hoping to debrush him before he defiles another piece of sculpture.
I’m glad the artist gave him fangs. They’re kind of a nice touch, a bit of menace just in case the bright blue alien face paint job didn’t creep you out enough. At least he could have cared enough to give the poor little guy differentiated toes.
“Charles, are you finished painting your bear?”
“Md’n.”
“What did you say, Charles?”
“I’m d’n.”
“Did you want to finish painting the rest of your bear, Charles? You didn’t finish painting all of him. Do you want to finish painting your bear, Charles?”
*splash*
“Okay, Charles, I guess it’s time to put the paints away.”
Not-so-Tenderheart from the Goodwill on 290 near Goodwill Computers, Old Blue-Eyes from the Salvation Army on 183 near Anderson Mill, Austin
The sad thing about this first guy is not so much that it’s a teddy bear made out of shells…now, that in itself is sad, because teddy bears are by their nature cute and cuddly, and making one out of cold, sharp-edged crunchy things that, when they break, become even sharper is a bit of a cruel joke. No, the sad thing is that I’ve had him sitting for years in my photo slushpile because someone else made a post about him. This means that, in this increasingly harsh and unfair universe, there’s two of these things.
Much about this guy reminds me of a picture collection done by the deeply disturbed. The way his eyes sit in nests of jagged concentric spikes speak volumes, or at least chapters, of A Book of Crafts for the Obsessive-Compulsive. The googly eyes seem a little bit of a cheat, though, as if they really wanted to be made of tinier shells, or little periwinkles leading you ever deeper into the bear’s gaze, coiling tighter and tighter into twin spires of madness. Or some such.
Next guy…not really a “horror,” but I can’t feel that somehow he’s…not like all the other bears. Although he seems intensely eager to come home with you.
Although I guess that depends on how you define “bears.” Certainly, there are a number of entities called “bears” that may wear fetching, and fairly snug, black vests. Though in Austin they tend to wear bright Hawaiian shirts. So, perhaps he is like some of the bears. Certainly, some of the lavender bears. I’m not judging, here.
Though I will judge “sugarloaf.” It seems more “inanimate and prostrate” than “cute and cuddly.” Maybe that’s just me.
Shellbear from the Savers on South Lamar, “Sugarloaf” from the Goodwill near Anderson Mill, Austin
Because sometimes the lions of the savannah have a morbid sense of humor.
Many dancers would be amazed at the sheer amount of poise and self-control this zebra has. Not just anyone has the willpower to remain en pointe after having one’s legs, and, more importantly, head removed. That takes dedication.
Of course he’s cheating a bit, using that old stump as a brace, but it’s still an impressive trick.
One of the great “chicken and the egg” questions about Goodwill is, is the truly shameful amount of broken, totally unsellable junk on the shelves collateral damage from careless shoppers, or were these things donated like that? If it’s the latter, I want to see the pricing guide for “Zebra, Maimed.” Maybe it’s 60% off if 70% is missing?
I have my eye on a set of coffee mugs at Parmer and I35–it’s listed as $15/Set, and every week it comes closer to “$15/mug.” Maybe there’ll be a small fanfare when they reprice the silly things.
Anyway, maimed zebras.
Savannah legend held many strange tales. Like the story of the hyena that invested large amounts of its personal fortune to a venture capital firm and made a modest income off a small software startup in Senegal. But when the sun set, the old men told of the dark night when fear galloped with a clip…clip…clip… and a conspicuous absence of a whinny. No-one who saw Striped Midnight could ever be the same.
The dangers of a heavily-seriffed font in the wrong hands! Let that be a warning. Or, maybe you WANTED to have a merth Christmas. To each their own, I suppose.
Santa and his impossibly narrow reindeer were part of a set of pencil-thin Christmas decorations–I don’t really have a better word than decorations. Sadly, both of them had been beaten down for their one salvageable part–their light bulb noses.
I don’t know why Santa had a light-bulb nose, unless he’s really been hitting the Christmas sherry. Actually, that, and then taking a sleigh ride through the sky at something like twice the speed of sound, would probably do it, so far as red noses go. Who needs Rudolph?
Don’t they make a cute pair? And Santa’s sporting some fine boots there! Those aren’t just platform shoes, they’re actual planks. I still think a good firm gust of wind would knock ‘em both down. Reindeers are notorious lightweights. On the plus side, Santa’s diet’s really paying off this year!
It’s a Precious Moments recursive nativity scene. If you can’t tell, the angel next to Jesus in the center is giving the baby Jesus a “my first nativity” set, still in box. You can actually open the box, too. But you probably shouldn’t, because fractal nativities really exist better in a potential state than an actualized one.
Clausbot 2.o is both modular and storeable. Each unit of Clausbot, which is over 50 feet tall and fully able to crush a forest of conifers and a small cottage, fits inside itself using our EZ-stack technology–well, except for his massive tank-tread base, we really don’t have a crate big enough for that. We assume this functionality will be useful in some alternate dimension where giant, military-grade Santas need convenient storage.
This is a somewhat “South Park” interpretation of Mrs. Claus, an obese monstrosity made of cut-outs, drifting and settling over a small city like a cloud of festive, gingerbread-scented nuclear fallout. She also really needs more vitamin C in her diet. I don’t like to think of Mrs. Claus as suffering from scurvy.
She seems to be built to grace the corner of a door or shelf or something, some sort of wooden ornament overhang thing. Like some lurking Christmas spider clinging to the wall, waiting to drop unexpectedly on the heads of the naughty. No thank you, Mrs. Claus! We’ll take our chances with Santa.
Um…Santa?
Santa creeps catlike through the snow, crouching catlike, waiting to strike. There’s a flash of movement, a blur of beard and red velvet, and then the sickening smell of torn elf and lightly-used eggnog. Santa…Santa feeds.
Another Santa that’s showing the ill effects of 1.3 million too many sherries as he flew over England this year. I want to be the kid at the end of his route, when he’s nicely sloshed and twice as jolly. “Idn’t care iff he’s naughty or nice. Fill it up. Just jam all kinds of stuff in there. Heeey, give him one of th’reindeer. Kids love reindeer.”
Unless Santa’s an angry drunk. I’m pretty sure the poem called him a “right jolly old lush,” but they could be sugar-coating things for the kids. Best to stay in your room if you hear anything downstairs on Christmas. Particularly a crash, the sound of broken ornaments, and swearing.
Where was I going with this? Oh, yeah, penguins.
Wait for it, wait for it, he’s near the hole…he doesn’t know that I’m Santa…okay, now! *bonk*
Well, Santa’s gotta eat, too. Though he shouldn’t have to travel to the South pole for dinner. I’m pretty sure the Russians fly Santa up a shipment of penguins every few months, just to make him a little freer with the “nices.”
“Merth Christmas” pair from Goodwill near Goodwill Computers, 183 and I35. Recursive Nativity from Goodwill on Stassney and Manchacha, which, alas, closed recently (it moved a few miles away). Boxy Claus and Santa and the Penguin from Goodwill on 2222, wretched green-faced Mrs. Claus from Savers at South Lamar, weirdly kittenish Santa from Savers on North Loop and Burnet.
The Christmas it snowed blood, oh, what a year that was. Grandfather would often tell us stories about those long-ago blood-christmasses, how the world was covered in a thick carpet of red gore, and when the moon shown on it just right, late at night, it was kinda…kinda horrible. We thought those special Christmasses were long long past, possibly entirely fictitious, until we got our own bloodfall.
What fun we had, throwing bloodballs at each other, the sound of children laughing, or screaming, it’s hard to tell sometimes. But I’m sure they enjoyed it, except for ma, who had to wash the clots off our warm winter clothes.
Nobody’d ask where the blood came from. Grandpa would always say something kinda vague, like “looks like the angels are playing hockey!” or “We said that’s what happened when Santa made a reindeer roast for Christmas Dinner,” or “when can I get out of this place and go home?” Some of us tried to skate on Newfield Pond, but that was doomed from the beginning. Kind of like trying to slide through a frozen pudding. You really didn’t want to try a double-axle, you’d get a face full of something pretty nasty.
So we contented ourselves with playing silly blood games, decorating the christmas tree with sparkling clumps of gore, you know, what everyone would do on a magical day like this.
I think someone may have skinned my 3rd Grade teacher to get this sweater. There must be a special catalog they all shop from.
This next guy isn’t really a horror, per se, but he is awfully stupid. And very, very excitable.
You have to imagine him either trampling through the snow yelling “Santa! SANTA! Can I help fly the sleigh this year, pleeeeeease?” the other reindeer–even Rudolph, and he’s had more than a few lumps of coal in the stocking of life, muttering…just keep flying, please don’t turn around, don’t turn around, don’t turn around…”
Apparently, this was a candle holder of some kind? Which is a little terrifying. Kind of like a festive Yuletide “Wicker Man,” or some nightmarish way to torture a reindeer that managed to fuck up one Christmas too many…”Oh god, it burns, just…kill me, Santa…” (Arms flail wildly, maybe a little festively)
Something from the “minimal effort Christmas” family, I think. If it’s the thought that counts, maybe someone should think a little harder.
I assume this is Christmas, it’s got a sprig of holly on it. I also assume these are horses, because tube socks don’t have ears and a mane.
If my sister had ever said, “I want a pony for Christmas,” this is probably what she would have gotten. Or else something that Mrs. Corleone might have embroidered for Jack Woltz as an extremely creepy Hanukkah gift in the Godfather Christmas special, the one where Vito Corleone is visited by, like, eight ghosts and learns the true meaning of Christmas. “I’m going to stitch you an ornament you can’t refuse” sort of thing. We’d watch that one every year when I was a kid.
I think this guy escaped from the little-known Rankin/Bass Christmas Special, “Jack Frost Vs. the Angry Snow Gods.” A lot of the dynamic duo’s later work just didn’t make any sense at all, I didn’t think it could get weirder than “The Life & Adventures of Santa Claus.” (or Thundercats. Did anybody else know that? I didn’t know that.) But, no, things can always get weirder in RankinBassland.
Tremble before the Snowflake King and his 5.7 million subjects!!
Honestly, I don’t think I would have been quite so cavalier about snowball fights if I’d known that the snowflakes had little tiny faces, and probably little tiny hopes and dreams (very tiny ones that melted at 33° f, but still, dreams nonetheless.) Thankfully, we only have snow in Austin, Texas one year in seven. I don’t know how people in Minnesota live with themselves. So much blood on their hands. Particularly during those three-foot-high bloodfalls I’ve seen sweatervests about.
This one was from another little-known Christmas special, they’d only run it past 10:30 so. I never got to see it when I was growing up. Now that it’s been released on The Warner Archives, I’m not sure what all the fuss was about.
“Mad Monster Party” was a lot worse. Seriously, Phyllis Diller vamping it up will leave scars that Frosty showing us his snow face never would.
Now, Frosty would like you to put his sordid past behind him, and just have a merry Christmas, okay? Forget all about his “Blue Christmas” special and move the hell on.
Or he’ll club this poodle.
Fields of Snowblood Sweater from Goodwill’s Blue Hanger, which is always a magical wonderland no matter what time of year it is. Flailbot Reindeer from Goodwill on 183 and Metric, horses needlepoint from Savers on South Lamar, Snowflake God from Goodwill near 183 and I35 behind Goodwill Computers, “Snow Job” from Goodwill on Parmer near I35, and “Merry Christmas or I’ll club this Poodle” from Goodwill near 620 on 183, all Austin. And a Christmas “Thank you” to our stunt model, Dierdre! I’m sure I misspelled your name again :)
I really think the “wet loops like a soft serve” look just never quite works. Particularly with the sparkles. The overall effect is as if one of Santa’s elves had a little emergency, right in the middle of Savers’s housewares section. Really, he should have tried to hold it until he got to the romance novel section, it would have been funnier, but with elves frankly you’re lucky if you can even train them to go on a newspaper in the corner.
I hope this wasn’t a scented candle. It probably was, I don’t remember. I can’t even imagine what it would smell like, the aftereffects of all those sugerplums, possibly. What’s a sugarplum, anyway? Probably what Santa shovels into the elfpit every night.
…Release the Christmas Hounds!
I like this a lot better than the camels they usually ride, because black Labrador puppies are frankly a lot cuter than a camel any day of the week, but this really lacks a certain dignity. Puppies just don’t command that special “We Three Kings” grandeur that goes with the song, which I remember as being “slow and stately,” if my fading and frankly port-addled recollection of the church Hymnal is accurate. Labrador puppies are more “frenetic and spazzy.” Less “Pomp and Circumstance,” more “Theme from Benny Hill.”
Maybe it was so they could sneak out of King Herod’s lands with a little less post-epiphany hassle. The border guards would have melted. “Awww…puppies!”
Hmm…maybe they weren’t going for “Stately and Dignified” after all. If they were, they should have washed their faces after snorting shoe polish. I’m just saying. And why did the guy at the left chrome his robe?
On that note, did someone CLONE a magi? That’s got to be illegal somehow. “Lo, three kings came from the west, though two of them were genetically identical, you could tell them apart because one of them had his robe spray-painted gold. And the angel of the Lord said unto them, ‘daaaaw, puppies!’ And gladly they went to Bethlehem, except when they passed by squirrels or a cat.”
Really, I wouldn’t want to be a nutcracker. I’m not sure I could get the job, if the principle requirement is “must brake nuts with teeth.” It’s no wonder there are so very many nutcracker failures at Goodwill. But this one’s special.
I really hope that, when this guy cracked his last thick-shelled walnut, there was an amazing “BOIOIING!!!” sound as the top of his head popped off. Maybe it landed in the punch, and just floated there, like a disturbing Christmas mole. “Woah, watch where that thing landed, we’ll probably need it later.”
After the operation, he wasn’t a very good nutcracker anymore. Not only were the nuts, well, uncracked, but they were covered in drool too. It really wasn’t very festive.
This next guy…well, he’s not really very CHRISTMASSY, unless in your part of the world everybody gives each other foxes for Christmas, which would be AWESOME, except for the smell. And…well, maybe it’s funnier in my head, I’m still a little sleep-dep’ed and tryptophan-addled.
But I thought it was funny. It’d be funnier with sound effects. Bleah!
I need a caption for this next one. Maybe “Take one house, and add a half cup of milk.” Or “You will be visited by three ghosts…really BIG ghosts.” Or “I’m not sure that the baby Jesus is going to be in this one, it’s kind of small.”
I do know I’ve seen a LOT of nativities, and clearly, none of them were to an accurate scale. Giant 15-storey wise men striding across the land, leaving devastation in their wake and scaring hell out of shepherds is a much more interesting story than yadda yadda frankincense yadda. Go, you awesome monster wisemen, go.
…I think I snowed up on myself a little.
Big steaming pile of Christmas and broken nutcracker from Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Christmas Hounds and stamp-licking fox from Goodwill on South Lamar and Manchacha, monster Wise Man from Savers on South Lamar, “snowed up on myself” from Texas Thrift near 51st and I35, Austin.
Whatever holiday you celebrate, we figure this should just about cover it. And if your particular variation on the “celebrating the light on the darkest night” festival involves giant beavers, well, this one’s for you. And, probably, only you.
When I saw this, I wanted to buy it and run it over to the Unitarian Universalist church. It would be the definitive winter altarpiece. It has…everything. The only reason I didn’t was that I was worried that I might have to explain it to someone. And I didn’t think I could. Or, if I could, they would ask me to wear nice warm jacket that fastens in the back, and then I couldn’t work the camera.
Santa! He represents the true meaning of, well, whatever the heck that is. He brings gifts to unsuspecting bears, sneaking up behind them and muttering “ho ho ho” to see how high they jump. Then he sticks a candle under a cow’s tail. This probably symbolizes something about lighting a candle of hope in the deepest dark of night. Or seeing if cow farts explode. Which is really only seasonally appropriate if you do it to “Jingle Bells,” and then it’s comedy gold on Youtube.
“It’s Christmas, son! Tonight, you can have all the ice cubes you want!”
Really, beavers in the nativity I can handle. It’s a good, sturdy, hardworking animal, and Jesus was probably something of a carpenter in his day, so there’s a connection there. And it only makes sense that they’d wear their nice shirts, after all, it’s Christmas, a Messiah might be showing up, you’d want to look your best, in case he starts unloading salvation or peace or Best Buy gift certificates or something
I’m not following the reindeer though. I don’t think he was in Mark OR John. You’d think he’d be in some of the carols. “We Three Kings of Orient and a Reindeer are” doesn’t feature prominently in the songbook. I know this. Nor does the story go “they came bearing gold, and frankincense, and a Playstation 3.” Although it would have been an unusually foresighted bible story if it had. Even John only mentions the Xbox 360 in passing, and that’s as a liturgical device.
Mary and Joseph watched Jesus pretty much 24-7, lest his eyes be pecked out by GIANT BIRDS. That happened a lot in the desert. That’s why the shepherds were watching the flocks by night. Giant birds. Flocks of them. It was…terrible.
Whatever you’re celebrating this week, have an excellent one!
Stranger? How long has it been since you looked at a kitten and cried a single tear of existential despair? Well, that’s been too long!
No, we are not a happy kitten. No element of our existence is pleasant. Firstly, we have something very much like measles, or possibly chicken pox, or some other pox. Kitten pox. It’s an interesting, mathematically-precise version of measles, where each spot is precisely placed to maximize skin saturation. This is irritating, but probably not as bad as the deep well of kitten angst.
Kitten angst: Scourge of the 21st century. I think someone took her stick. Possibly it was a fish on a stick, possibly a flag for the great kitten nation (the parliamentary sessions kept getting disrupted by a laser pointer. Otherwise, it was great, really.)
I’m just going to stand here between the pots, and hope nobody sees me. Maybe I’ll pretend to be a pot, an empty vessel. I’m halfway there now. Empty. So empty.
None of these are really worth an entire post, so I’ll just throw in a few captions and call it a day…
“Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor hail could stop the daily mail–but nobody was expecting Rex and Sparky’s rutherfordium-powered particle cannon.”
“After we discovered Dr. Hfuhruhurr‘s new book on screw-top, zip-lock child care, little Timmy’s been sooo much quieter.”
…really, it’s just as well that Batman could never find a nice girl, settle down, and have a kid.
The poor little thing’s therapy bills would be through the roof. Though I’m not sure any therapists answer Bruce Wayne’s phonecalls anymore…
Dog lamp from Savers on Burnet and North Loop; acerebrated toddler cup from Savers on South Lamar and 290; beeboy from Goodwill on Metric and 183, Austin
