So I’ve been feeling a little guilty after last week’s embroidered “child burning in inferno” picture. It just left a weird note for me. To be fair, these ALSO weird me out, but at least they’re smiling. In fact, this first girl’s achieved a level of happiness attainable only through special surgical techniques. Thus, the $5.99 bandage. It hides the scars. To be fair, I did see that wide-eyed stare at Austin’s new Electronica/Dance/Trampoline club, Boüns, but I think she’s a little overdressed for Acid House Tuesdays.

I…I really, really like flowers. It’s not just that I like them, it’s that we have, like, a transcendent understanding of the flowers. I know the flowers. They know me.

I would be a flower.

I always liked the “He’s got the whole world in his hand” song. It’s reassuring, friendly, and you can aim for it when you’re tone-deaf and still throw a leaner. And yet…and yet I imagined the hand of god gently cradling the world. Not so much with the “erupting from the ground like a fleshy pink five-fingered monolith,” no. But if it did, I would totally worship that.

I mean, who WOULDN’T worship the supreme being if he looked like a four-foot version of Thing from the Addams Family? It would throw a strange light on certain biblical verses, like “And he created man and woman in his image..but just the hands, the rest came from some other entity entirely. In fact, every part is from some totally different mythology, which is why they don’t really match.”

It does look just a bit like at any time the giant hand of god might just launch the poor kiddo right out of Ceramics and into Silk Plants, maybe score five points by knocking over an artificial calla lily. But that would be behavior unbecoming of a supreme being.

“Small girl, big eyes” from the Goodwill near the “Y” In Oak Hill. “In His Hands” from Savers on North Loop and Burnet, Austin.

Nothing sells like children and animals. And I’m pretty sure this is either one or the other, but there’s a lot of swing between the extremes of that pendulum. It may in fact be a tiny, beakless, plucked chicken in a bonnet.

Chicken in a Bonnet. Now I have a name for my food trailer.

Now I rest and close my eyes, and ask God to apologize. Mom asked him for a boy. Instead, He gave to her a bantam red.

The bunny, at least, makes sense. Children have bunnies. Chickens don’t tend to have bunnies. Maybe the artist knows something I don’t.

As for this next one: Portrait or dire warning?

“Oh, you shouldn’t have, grandma.”

“I made it as a reminder of the eternal damnation that awaits you if you continue to fornicate outside marriage.”

“We’ve been together for five years, grandma!”

“Fornication, dear, is of the devil. Note the endless flames, and the anguish.”

“It looks more like mold, grandma. Refrigerator mold.”

“Anguish often does. Now give your grandma a hug, and repent.”

“Now I Lay me Down to Sleep” from Goodwill on I35 and 290; Hell Portrait from Goodwill on Metric and 183. Source of all things hell.

In the interest of preserving Kathy’s identity and not subjecting her to an event of 867-5309 proportions, I’ve deleted the picture of Kathy’s logo and phone number–I wouldn’t want to subject Kathy to the full brunt of Thrifthorror’s readership, that’s like three or four calls. She says that “Artworks by Kathy” is in McAllen, Texas, which I can believe. Any amount of countrified wood with things glued to it I’d believe from Texas. But Google insists that “Artworks by Kathy” is in South Vietnam. I don’t know who to believe anymore. So I’ll let Kathy speak for herself.

Sometimes, in the great kitsch mines near San Francisco, stuff like this piles up and crushes the workers in their underground toil. I lived near those mines for a few weeks, the terrified screams of “Oh no, you DIDN’T!” still haunt my dreams.

What combination of gin and optimism gives you that specific expression? Eyes like Betty Boop, cheeks like W. C. Fields? Hair like…uh…I have no comparison point for the hair. There was that one time I left some fettucini noodles on my copy of Cooking with the Stars and when I picked them off Rue McClanahan’s cover shot ended up looking a lot like this adorable little creature.

Shortly after he designed their mascot, the Make-A-Wish Foundation fired their new art director. True story.

Goodwill on 183 near Anderson Mill. Does YOUR blog have too many readers? Make a child cancer joke, a winner in every box.

There’s a fine line between innocence and exploitation. When it comes to Dollar General ceramics, the line gets trampled on by a herd of cattle.

I really don’t want to offer up any commentary about these for fear of seeming like a creepy sleezeball. But what the hey, I’ve already got the bowl of free candy, let’s see how far we can take this.

It’s like…it’s like he’s on a serving tray. This is the small, innocent vulnerable waif equivalent of nigiri-zushi, offered up on a soft, airbrushed bed of angel food cake for all your shota  complex needs. Take two, they’re small.

As for this next one, I thought I saw that same strange expression on the countergirl at La Zona Smutt, but it turned out I had spent ten minutes trying to pay the inflatable mannequin. Boy, was my face red. No wonder I didn’t get any change.

Though the huge, vaguely malevolent angry blue eyes of DOOM is something I haven’t seen before on adult novelty items. She looks pissed. Must have gotten to that part where J. K. Rowling offed Dumbledore.

Do not mess with me, or I WILL devour your soul. The last thing you hear will be a horrid slurping sound.

Embarrassing little boy Savers on South Lamar; choirgirl statuette from Goodwill near Goodwill Computers on 290 and I35, Austin.

I feel like this picture somehow clashes with itself. I mean, besides the simple fact that the child’s lips are peeled back, or possibly off, to reveal  a skull’s grin, or that this particularly disturbing grin seems to be a dominant genetic trait, this painting seems to be wearing mixed plaids in a polka-dot world. Plus, it’s scary the way the painting itself seems to follow you around the room, almost like the old Ford is going to topple into your living room…maybe you had to be there, but if you were, you wouldn’t want to be.

Such…dainty, dainty feet. Like a delicate ballerina. I do think he’s wearing the same size shoes as his son (?) They may want larger shoes, with more traction, if they’re going to continue clinging to the sheer vertical surface of their world, though. Maybe the strangely contour-shaped butt indentation in the curb will help with that. He must have been sitting there for, like, years.

A father’s love knows no boundaries. He’d love you even if your head was mounted to your shoulder, you had a ham for a leg, and your eyes were sewn shut. That’s a father’s love.

Shirt by M.C. Escher.

Dad’s…looking at me. Is he looking at you, too? It’s not just me? Good.

 Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin

This one’s a bit like those weathervanes that spell “NEWS” or maybe “SWEN” or whatever depending on which way the wind blows, except of course that none of this turns to face the wind and gauge its direction, because that would be way too useful. The only possible use for this peg is capturing a moment in a family’s life, which it fails to do because it is, in fact, in the junk section at Goodwill. Plus, this thing, whatever it is, spells “JEDS”, and that’s even less helpful than “SWEN”. Maybe it’s the team name for the Jedi Academy’s football team? The Fighting Jeds? Rebel Jeds? Rebel, definitely.

Mom. Sister. Ambiguously-gendered Osbourne-esque uncle. No telling. But his/her/its hair is slowly deflating in the east, and may just be a fur wrap to disguise its rapidly receding hairline and strangely angular cheekbones. Cheekbone, anyway. I don’t know where she was when the bilateral symmetry was handed out.

Subject 2 we shall simply call “E”.

E…E has no legs. E is basically a head with a tarp and some sort of strange levitation device. E might, in fact, be blind, with glasses hiding his the sockets that once were his eyes. Sometimes, E drifts from the ceiling of his dark, web-tressed room to settle on visitors…the lucky ones survive.

Nosfuratu! Or No5urato, I’m not sure. Evil-looking creature.

She’s a bit like Voldemort’s mean big sister, the one that made little Tom Riddle turn to a life of dark magic just to gain any sort of superiority over anything at all. That smirk has nothing of love or decency in it. Just after this smirk, but just before she steepled her fingers, she said, “…now hand in your exam booklets. There will be no curve.” Fear her, but do not under any circumstances take your eyes off her.

Goodwill on Parmer near I35, Austin

Happy Independence Day! Or for non-Statesian readers, happy Wednesday, have some of our fine local schlock.

It’s not widely known that Norman Rockwell had an interest in the strange and paranormal. In fact, much of the small town retro-40s inspiration came from the realms beyond, in his most productive period from 1988-1991 he rarely left his small Orlando apartment except to go across the street to consult with his spiritualist.

As proof, we present his haunting work, No Swimming (Or the Spectral Dead will Get You).

The poor dog. You can see the terror in his eyes as he tries, and fails, to outrun the weird phantom limbs around him. His eyes bulge with fright, he’s probably wet himself with fear, though in all fairness, he’s a terrier, he would have done that if you’d offered him a potato chip.

Run, little dog, run! This is what happens when you swim!

This may be one of the worst cases of “it broke, let’s donate it” that I’ve seen at Goodwill. How the original owner managed to wipe out every single figure except the dog, I don’t know. It’s like that scene in Indiana Jones, “The penitent dog kneels before God” – only Old Man Warner REALLY didn’t like swimmers. Or warning signs. “No swimming or steel blades will cut you down to a height of just under 1’3″. Run, you little bastards, RUN!”

Oh, hey, that stump must have been the warning sign. Old Man Warner’s really a jerk.

Goodwill on 183 and Metric, Austin

The bluebird of happiness has clearly flown past this poor girl. She’s left with the canary of structural instability, or possibly the finch of lassitude. But as April fades into May and May fades into six months of hellish summer in the South, I think we all feel a bit this way. We all feel a bit melted.

We’re clearly having one of those days where we feel more like a partially-set custard than a human. This is a good Monday statuette.

Lordy, the poor thing’s nose is starting to recede. I hope that doesn’t happen to me when I get older, life’s complicated enough. And I also hope I’m never desperate enough for hair color that I use a yellow highlighter to, well, add some highlights. It’s unattractive. But it does break the otherwise unrelenting brown monotony this individual brings to the table.

On closer inspection, though, not a canary. It may be a pet rock, or possibly a groundhog. It may be a small imp composed of fat which is siphoning away her life energy, which would explain her gentle, graceful collapse, and might even get us a bit closer to the answer of “why do her eyes spin in opposite directions like a chameleon?” Why, because of the fat-demon. Silly question, really.

Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin

Except of course I’m paid by the word, and I work HARD for my $.57/week.  I can only speculate that the sculptor’s intent was to show how excited the AIBO was to see its master coming home from school. And, in a sense, mission achieved, assuming you meant definition #3 of “excited.”

The boy, however, really doesn’t care. Despite the astonishing duplication of a dog’s behavior being exhibited by a machine (and I’m a little surprised they programmed in that particular behavior, but, hey, different strokes for different folks,) he really doesn’t care. This is the face of a deeply unimpressed child, one who’s leg is routinely violated by a robot dog every day after school. Must be hell on the fabric.

Though the posture is not indifference. The posture is religious ecstasy, as of St. Clare of Assisi bathed in celestial light as JHVH-1 says, “Pretty good job this week. Next week, a little less pious suffering, a little more humble servant, and I think you’ll have it.” Which, on the whole, clashes with being molested by an electric dog, but this being cheap resin sculpture imported from the Guangdong province, they probably already had the mold ready and just pasted on a backpack and baseball cap. And of course, the robot dog. No forgetting that.

Inappropriate behavior, Sparky. Don’t make me hit you with a rolled up “Huffington Post” column.

Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin

Because lord knows, babies hate to miss “pooh week.” They’re really all about pooh. He’s even wearing the team colors.

This assumes the team colors are jarring red, cheerful yellow, and “gently used spaghetti-os” brown, and that Pooh would have some of that action leaking down his chin. I’m willing to make this assumption, though, because the poor little guy’s obviously having a bad day. I’m not sure if I meant the baby or Pooh, though. The baby doesn’t seem to be having a bad day, he’s clearly crushed his enemies under his mighty, flannel-wrapped bottom, and that MUST make anyone’s day a little better. Perhaps that’s a scowl of rage, determination, and triumph. It only looks like gas.

All babies look a little like Winston Churchill. This one looks like Winston Churchill just ate a caterpillar, and then learned that he was severely allergic to lepidoptera in all their many and splendid forms, and had about three hours left to live. And badly needed a diaper change. Do I waste ten precious, precious minutes on clean nappies? Or do I give that impassioned and history-changing speech at Parliament? These are the times that try baby’s souls.

 Goodwill on Parmer and I35, Austin