Sheriff Santa–protector of the North Pole’s Wild West. Which, technically, is South, because…well, there are diagrams. Anyway. Santa doesn’t like people to see him like this. Because, when you’re spanning the globe at roughly 650 miles per second, in an open sleigh behind a bunch of reindeer, you’re not a right jolly old elf by the end of your journey. You’re exhausted, probably covered in caribou exhaust, and your hair is really, really messed up. Assuming of course that Santa has some sort of mystical protection against the hazard of his hair burning off at re-entrylike velocities, we might imagine him looking something like this.

Particularly if he decided to fight crime among the pine forests of the Great West, and Mrs. Claus made him some denim pants and a nice overcoat. And actually, Sheriff Santa makes a heck of a lot of sense. He already knows if you’ve been naughty or nice. Judge and Jury, we only need an executioner.

Not sure why he has pine stuck to his shoulders. I guess once the sap gets on your hands, everything’s sticky.

So…about the effect that traveling at nearly relativistic velocities has on your hair. If you ever want to blackmail Santa, here’s your moment, because that is NOT a right jolly old elf.

Good god. Please, Santa, use some conditioner next time. I swear, his mustache is crammed halfway up his sinus cavity.

Of course, Mrs. Claus has her bad-hair-days too, though she doesn’t tend to hop in the sleigh quite as much as Santa. Her sleigh-hopping days are a bit behind her, thanks, and don’t make a lady tell stories. Particularly after the lady’s apparently been in a bar fight.

A fight that, apparently, cost her arm. Though she could probably give someone a world of hurt with those boots. Damn, Mrs. Claus. Are you packing iron in those Doc Kringles?

Takes a beating, still smiling. Though she might want to put an ice pack or a cold steak on those cheeks before they swell up any more. And sorry about the glasses. Maybe you could ask Santa for a new pair?

Mrs. Claus stands triumphant over her enemies! Fear her bloody fist of destruction!

This supports my theory that snowmen are a race of aliens, possibly benevolent, from the Auriga Quadrant. They have come to earth for our carrots and coal. This one, unfortunately, has not found any carrots or coal, and he is angry. And when he’s angry, his nose and eyes pop out like a novelty squeeze toy.

Don’t know what he stepped in, there. Maybe a Festive Christmas Slug.

We have met the aliens…and they are Amish.

And we have met the angels, and they have very tiny heads. I really want my angels to be majestic, but something about “Christmas” and “Angelic majesty” tends to fail. This one has a higher degree of fail than usual.

This raises that old theological question: How many pinhead angels can dance?

If it’s this angel, probably not one. S/he/it would probably just stumble over that enormous bib or something, and then its halo would slip over its face, and it’d just stagger around flailing until its little feet got caught in its massive, all-concealing robe, and then it would just roll around slowly making sad “perp” sounds. And we’d all feel kind of vaguely guilty for asking in the first place.

The nutcracker guard: Here to protect your nuts.

This particular nutcracker’s courtesy of Jim Henson Studios, who provided the initial designs and feltwork, and Quaker Oats, who provided much of the superstructure. I’m sure all nuts everywhere feel distinctly safer with this guy watching. Mind, all he does is watch, because of his ridiculously  tiny arms.

Actually, he doesn’t watch, because he’s got no eyes. He’s also lacking a bit in the ear department, and may or may not have a nose. If he DID have a nose, it’s got a mustache stuck to its front like a propeller, though he looks about as aerodynamic as a 1975 console television. IT might be his mouse, in which case he should stop chewing on that, whatever it is. Might be some sort of mole…really, he should get a dermatologist to check that out, if so.

Still, he cuts a fine figure. Or he did, until the accident.

Sad, really. I left the store for an hour, and here’s what I found. Christmas needs to invest more in security, these guards are kind of fragile.

Let’s close with a decapitated Santa, always good for a laugh at parties.

Through some strange process of metaphor, his hunger for cookies grew so profound that, like in a late 60s French surrealist film, he becomes his hunger, leaving nothing but a gaping void that wants to be, must be, filled with cookies. Oreos, for preference.

Scary beard Santa from Goodwill at the “Y” in Oak Hill, Fighting Mrs. Claus and Martian Snowman from the Goodwill on 183 and Metric, Tiny-headed Angel from Goodwill on Parmer near I35, Boxy the Christmas Guard from Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Headless Santa Wants Cookies from Savers on South Lamar, Austin.

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.

Not everybody’s cut out for Santa’s workshop. Sure, it’s mostly happy-go-lucky fun and gingerbread-dances, but there’s a couple wee little guys out there that don’t get to help make toys (and, as a consequence, don’t get to come to the gingerbread-dances, because Santaland is a meritocracy. Nobody ever said Christmas was fair, just look at what your sister got last year.)

This guy–or girl, I really can’t tell with elves–really hasn’t been the same since the incident with the Slot. You remember how you’re not supposed to lean out the window on the bus, or stand up on the roller coaster, or disable the safety on the food processor with a bent paperclip and then explain to your sister how you feel about Christmas stocking disparity, and the magic food fairy at the bottom of the Cuisinart? That’s pretty much the Slot in a nutshell.

Coins go into the Slot. If you’re lucky, folded up fivers go into the Slot, though that is something of a rarity.

Arms…arms do not go in.

Goodwill on 183 and Metric, Austin

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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.

Blue Hangar in South Austin

Don’t ever let anyone else set your limits. Live the dream. Want to be a model? Awesome. Want to be a model after that unfortunate wood chipper accident? Great, cool. May cut down a bit on some of your engagements, but artists and photographers may occasionally need to get a reference for the “Venus de Milo” in real life. Stranger things have happened.

Want to be a professional model after having your arm replaced with a foot-long industrial spring? Well…okay, whatever floats your boat. Look at the time, I gotta run.

I was so happy when they released a series of internet meme-based artist’s mannequins. My partner was so happy to finally get a decent ref for the “numa numa” guy, most of the little wooden stick dudes are just too thin. I’m guessing this one came out for “Talk like a Pirate” day? Maybe? I didn’t think you could a full-arm hook. I’m not sure how helpful it would be. But you’d never need a crowbar.

For the record, I am a thrift reporter, I don’t artistically rearrange or cleverly pose. This thing of beauty spontaneously arose from the natural forces of the thrift shop, and I feel truly blessed to have captured it in its natural habitat.

Zooom! A missing arm’s not going to stop me from winning the 500-meter dash. Or, apparently, from escaping the pull of earth’s gravity and flying. Excelsior, sir!

Artist’s reference dummies are great for action shots. In some strange way, they were almost made for it.

Fair flying, friend. You are an inspiration to us all!

Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin

I like the fact that, after this thing escaped from Edward Gorey’s bedside endtable, it took the time to get its nails done. That’s how you know it’s a classy knob. Thing. Possibly fandangle. It’s certainly elegant, it’s got the curves of a 1940s Hollywood musical starlette. Particularly if her upper half was made out of lime “jolly ranchers” and fractured in a freak pas de deux accident.

On the other hand, it may actually be a lounge singer from the Mos Eisley Cantina. And maybe she wasn’t made of jolly ranchers. Maybe that’s her only functioning eye, and I’m judging her. If so, I’m sorry, and George Lucas  did a terrible thing to you. To all of us.

Does it make any more sense from this angle? No? Okay.

One thing that really bugs me about this is that the green nub is like 3 degrees off of symmetric. It’s…really empissing. Why? WHY?

That, dear, is probably an end.

I know that macro photography is kind of a “thing,” you can get any number of things blown up to hideously large scale with the click of a search button. But the fleshy pinkness of the balloon, the twisted little umbilicus knot, it looks like some strange pro-life advertisement. “Think before you pop…choose inflation.”

Uh…thingie…from Texas Thrift near I35 and 51st, balloon butt from Salvation Army on 1325 near Round Rock

Frankly, I think she’s got more important things to worry about than where she left her purse. Like that lamé dress. Seriously, that stuff went out in the late 80s.

I’m not sure how you’d actually wear that. It’s thicker than a layer of cake frosting. It probably creaks. It may actually be the only thing holding her up.

Just…very very slowly, okay? It’s been a hard day.

Ah, irony. It’s not so much “laughing outside, crying inside.” In fact, it might have actually been “crying outside, laughing inside.” But instead, it looks like he’s upset because the French revolution started going after mimes. Or like the absolutely creepiest ghost at Hogwarts. I’m glad the phantasmal gray gnome of Gryffindor isn’t judging him. He’s like, “oh, don’t worry about it. Just because you’re dead, and a clown, doesn’t mean your life’s over. It’s just beginning. Oh, wait, a CLOWN? That’s pretty sad…maybe you should go hang out with Moaning Myrtle downstairs. Crikey, a clown…”

Headless girl in gold, Goodwill on Metric and 83. “Dash” from goodwill on 2222. Unhappiest mime from Savers on Burnet and North Loop.

Ways thrift stores lie to us. The little angel wings tied onto this girl, one might think, indicate that she is an angel–a sweet little blond cherub.But the angel thing stops at the wings, I promise. This girl’s got plans. And they’re not nice plans.

And if you happen to be a bunny, or a deer, or god help you, any animal with parts that can be ripped off, twisted off, scraped away, or otherwise folded, spindled or mutilated, this is clearly NOT the hill you want to be on.

That bunny. I love that bunny. The deer are pretty funny too–if indeed they ARE deer, they look a lot more like Mexican Hairlesses than deer–but that bunny wins the prize for “shocked expression of the year.”

Look, the poor creature’s totally lost control of his vital functions. That’s how much the fuzzy woodland creatures fear her.

I think it’s the deer that have suffered most of all. Well…except for the sparrow with the deep cranial wounds, and I swear I was going to be off cranial wounds this week, but they’re never far from my heart. Or cranium. Anyway, the deer.

The deer may once have had majestic antlers, or cute little white tails that swished this way and that, but now? Now they’ve got stumps for antlers, the dubious kindness of a splash of calamine lotion on their deer-butts, and shocked, violated expressions. Disbelief and horror are the only appropriate responses.

The birds, they don’t chirp anymore. Sometimes, they just fall off the roof and flop in little circles until someone sets them back on their feet. This used to be a happy bird–this used to be a happy place–until the Procedure. The other birds left pretty quick after the Procedure. Not this one. The most he does is hop toward a bowl of birdseed, if you point him at it and give him a little push.

Don’t expect a song. His bob-bob-bobbing days are in the distant past.

Okay, so, a lot of Goodwill finds are a lot funnier in extreme close-up, here’s the full pic. It was worth it for the fuzzy bunny with the extreme facial expression–he’ll be joining the Schadenfreude Pumpkin in my “keepers” file.

Boo! Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin.

What? You’ve never seen a one-legged, wide-eyed banana in a “come-hither” pose? Well then. It’s time to get educated.

I always worry when my produce starts making eyes at me. Of all the anthropomorphic veggies I’ve seen, this one is the most tragic. She’s been…peeled. And I really can’t tell if she’s coyly draping one leg over the side of the side of the shelf, or if she’s missing a limb.

On that note, why would a banana be missing a leg? Or whatever that appendage is? Bananas are usually the lest-enlegged vegetable out there. Besides every other vegetable, except for certain deformed carrots. So, rather than worrying about its career in professional football, we should celebrate the partially-legged status of this particular fruit. Even though looks more like the jointed leg of a banana spider, not a healthy limb at all.

I don’t know, maybe it’s a really nice banana leg. Banana-gam?  Usually they’re covered with spots.

And joining the banana, we have a piece of corn, wishing it had brought just a little more twine with it this morning.

Poor thing, like the last piece of corn at the dance.

Banana amputee from Savers on South Lamar. Crippled corn from the Thrift Town on Stassney and Manchaca, Austin.

Yeah, yeah. “Things breaking off resin statues,” not original. But…what the heck. They aren’t getting any more headless.

Oh, crap. I think this must have been a bunny! How did I miss that? Oh, well. Happy belated Easter. Here’s another damned headless rabbit. At least this one was a good bunny. When it died, God gave it wings.

Must be hard watering cactus without a head. How do you know you’ve given it enough water? Too much water? Any water?

Or maybe this was literally half a second after the Angel Bunny massacre of 2007, and the poor thing hasn’t even had the time to slump to the floor, watering can bouncing uselessly to rest beside the giant glass candle holder, before the blood pools around it and the crime unit shows up. “Central, it’s another dead angel bunny. Fourth one this week. ‘Course, angel-bunnies, they’ll just breed more.”

Anyway.

Maybe if you wish real hard, the Nursery Magic Fairy will make you real. Ideally, she’ll give you a head first. But that’s not always part of the package. “You only get one, real, or head. Your choice.”

“….I see you chose…poorly.”

“One head, gently used. That’s worth $50 or $60 off my taxes this year, right?”

If you want to know where Jolly Green Giants come from, look no further than this. They grow from spores, from vast fields filled with heads. The chorus of “ho ho ho…” echoes through the valley. Oh, General Mills is happy to put the Mr. J. Green on all their products, but will they show you how he spreads those spores? No.

The sad truth is that jolly green giants actually only live for a year or two. Then you have to dispose of the body. And that’s how we get “niblets.”

Headless bunny angel from 2222 and Lamar Goodwill. “Praying for a Head” from Goodwill on 183 and Research. Jolly Green Head from…proooobably Thrift Land on Stassney and Manchaca, but that was 2006, we were all young and crazy then.