And I would give it to him. Absolutely, in a heartbeat, if it would keep him as far away from me as possible.
The Goodwill “Blue Hanger” outlet store actually isn’t my favorite haunt, because honestly, “broken” isn’t the same as “funny,” and anything that isn’t soft and pliable isn’t going to survive long in the customer-ravaged binyard that is the Hanger. So I set my sights low, and were they ever exceeded by…this guy.
He’s six feet tall. He’s plywood. He’s DEFINITELY home-made. And he’s coming to your house for Easter.
Hippety…hoppety.
The only other critter I know with arms like that is a Tyrannosaurus, and frankly, I’d rather hug the giant lizard. I’m more comfortable with a known evil. Not this weirdly-proportioned monstrosity. It’s like a blasphemous hybrid of rabbit, street mime, and Butterball frozen turkey. At least it’s probably quiet.
Actually, that’s not at all comforting, I’d really rather know where it is. And what it wants.
For the record: Devilbunny is held together with pain. There are screws in his head and neck. Do there need to be screws in his head and neck? No. He’s plywood. They’re just there to tear flesh. Every part of him that isn’t a screw is covered with splinters. It’s like an affectionate saguaro. And the worst part is, he doesn’t even have a basket of Easter treats. No, he’s come for yours. And you better give him some. Or just throw him the neighbor’s three-year-old and run, run as if your life depended on it, which it might.
And keep telling yourself, I don’t believe in the Easter Bunny. I don’t believe in the Easter Bunny. I don—
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 :)
Greetings from Goodwill’s Blue Hanger, where even trash may die. This one, unfortunately, sank. I was able to fish it up from the bottom of a huge bin of misfit toys, where its life was being strangled out of it by an unusually tenacious Sargasso of beaded curtain and an unspooled ball of yarn, but I had to throw it back. It was too small.
“All I need is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.”
“No, I said tall. And I said ship. That is not a ship. That is remnants.”
The first voyage of the HMS “The Home Depot” was cut short when the entire thing was capsized by a river otter. It was, in the craft’s defense, a particularly big river otter.
There are days when I feel like I need to have a special tag for “why did they donate this?” But that’d be like setting up a tag for “tacky” or “unfortunate” or “clowns,” I’d just be spamming it every single post. And to be fair, there’s some real advances in boatmaking here. The The Home Depot can ever flood or take on water, because it’s made of planks. It’s unlikely to rust, either, or take damage from salt, because it’s made of planks. It might suffer from a broken mast, because of the aforementioned river otter, but really, the worst thing that’s likely to happen to this fine craft is that it might topple face forward into the water because it’s both top-heavy and front-loaded, but let’s be realistic. If you were using the The Home Depot for anything more involved than a short jaunt across the lake, you probably more into this for the whimsy than the seamanship.
It iahbh hnbin to you to! Another fine product of The Br Divit. Not only is Alonia a shipwright, carpenter, and designer, she also does children’s parties. Hire her for yours!
Goodwill Blue Hanger, regrettably closed, at McNeil and 183 North.
Oh the things you find at Goodwill’s “Blue Hanear.” It’s kind of the place where thrift goes to die–vast bins of overstock, fractured ceramics, broken microwaves, and whatever the heck they couldn’t sell roll in, and move out the door for like $1.00 a pound. When a new aisle full of fresh bins open up, the stampede of bargain hunters is amazing–and frankly, I’m not surprised that there’s the occasional fatality.
I really feel for this poor guy. Life dealt him a few painful blows, and then, Blue Hangar. I’m not sure what he looked like when he was alive–kind of like a lion, I guess, but teetering around the Serengeti on stilts so that he could reach the succulent leaves on the topmost tree branches, maybe. But I know what he looked like after…Blue Hanger.
Oh god.
I’m going to suggest to any future designers of animatronic toys that any cute fuzzy creature’s natural, batteries-not-included state be “cheerfully awake with large, sympathetic eyes,” not “corpse.” The horrible black crust around the eyes and nose is not helping. Not at all.
Buy this one for your kiddo the next time they ask for a puppy. Put the batteries in first, the anticipation is more fun. Then the next time they pester you, ask, in a sweet voice, “Did you take care of your lion?” You can string this joke out for months. “Can I have a baby brother?” “Did you take care of your lion?” “Can I have dinner?” “Did you take care of your lion?”
Considering the therapy bills, a puppy might be cheaper.
All in all, a valuable lesson about life and death for the children. Or at least death.
There’s nothing quite like the Goodwill “Blue Hanger” outlet store. Except if you imagined Hurricane Katrina washing the entire contents of a “Family Dollar” store down the street, picking up bits of cruft and drek, then depositing it like an alluvial plain into a flea market on “Tax Free Weekend” Saturday, under a full moon. That’s kind of what the Goodwill outlet store is like, but not quite as nice.
Framed gnome? Don’t mind if I do!
This poor little guy was in the refuse of a massive trough full of “housewares,” a catch-all term which covers, well, anything that isn’t clothes. Shattered VCRs, unidentified pieces of home appliances, board games missing their win conditions…and gnomes, apparently. Unhappy, broken gnomes.
You find yourself drawing closer to the gnome, as if the gravity of the trough is pulling you inexorably gnomeward. You think…”Dear god. It’s full of gnome.” But you throw that thought away when you meet the gnome’s gaze, because obviously…
No loving god would allow this creature to exist. See how it suffers, how animals–ANIMALS, I tell you, or Goodwill Depot shoppers, which are arguably more vicious than a pack of wild dogs at a pizza buffet–tore its beard free, its only real dignity. Felt eyes stare into a future that’s too bleak to even contemplate. Throw him back in the bin. Face down, it’ll be a fun surprise for the next person.
SPECIAL BONUS! If for some reason you’d like to use the SCREAMING FACE OF GNOME for your own desktop background, the Thrifthorror Management apologizes for the following link, wherein you may find screaming gnome in all his original glory. Do with this what you will, the management will tell no-one.
