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

So I thought to myself, “how can I best make fun of a cuddly stuffed priest?” Would I talk about his special “cliff’s notes” bible, which only has the four important pages? I’m pretty sure you could get the high points in four pages with big felt letters. Ten commandments, check. Garden of Eden, check. Probably want to include the Christmas story and Crucifixion in there, just for funsies. That’s really all you need.

Or maybe I’d go on a bit about the demonstrable need for a cuddly stuffed priest. I’m not sure how to do it in the tasteful, sensitive manner that Thrifthorror builds its name on. I’m pretty sure the conversation between parent and child would go something like “Really, they’re not that scary, are they? Look, he’s smiling. He likes you. He’s sitting in your chair, do you want to sit on his lap?”

I thought, “this guy’s kind of creeping me out.” He’s got the whole “Blues Brothers” thing down, very much “on a mission from God.” But I never thought the Blues Brothers were avuncular. If you happened to be Mrs. Blues’s son or daughter, you might have a different opinion. But big heavy sunglasses and a pointy goatee do not help in the “friendliness” department. I feel like he’s going to try to sell me a used god. I’m not up to that.

But ultimately, none of this is what freaked me out about this guy.

Where’s his eyes? Where’s his EYES?!? What kind of strange, post-Lovecraftian seminary spits these creatures out? Are they aliens masquerading as priests? What do they want? Did they come for our eyes?

Probably.

Salvation Army near 183 and 620, Austin

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

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.

Goodwill outlet on Burleson near Highway 71

So, normally I have to *work* to find naughty, NC-17 stuff at the thrift store. Stuffed animals and dolls thrown into compromising configurations. Like this happy couple here.

Actually, with the fellow passed out on the left, this might have been a pretty good party. With Santa Claus knocked out over there, and the Amish couple disporting themselves, it’s probably the most wholesome bacchanalia I’ve ever seen. I mean, the guy even keeps his hat on. Very modest. I don’t know what Santa was drinking, though.

And occasionally there’ll be a piece that kind of speaks to me, that says “there’s probably a reason I’m here. I’ve been remaindered for inappropriate behavior.” And, to be fair, sometimes it’s just that after months of trolling the thrift stores, things start to seem funnier. Even things that you might have given your teacher, or Grandma. Depending on what Grandma was into.

Trust me, with only three hours of sleep, this was the funniest thing EVER.

Although in retrospect, it was definitely funnier at the time, and now I feel like I have to explain it, and maybe it’s only “3:00 AM” funny.

But it’s good that he’s trying to increase his flexibility.

But SOMETIMES the Thrift Gods hand you something on a silver plate. They say “Take this. TAKE IT.” And you do, and you say “Dear sweet Sally Mae, how could that have escaped them?” Is it even possible that an artist would create this and not…step back…and think about it? Or would they smirk and say “Oh yes, job well done, indeed”?

For instance.

Here is a clear-cut case of design going terribly, dreadfully wrong. Really. One must ask, “why? Why there? Why red? Why are they so cheerfully smug?”

Well…maybe they have a good reason to be cheerfully smug. As coat hangers go, this one is certainly, well, hanged. I guess you could put a coat on it, a small coat maybe, or hang your keys from them, but that just seems inappropriate. Plus, if you had to send someone back in to get your keys, you’d have to say something like “It’s hanging on the bear with the cheerful red baculum, second from the right. The lady bear. I guess. I don’t know. It’s…so hard to tell with bears.”

Oh proud, proud bears, we salute you. Though to be fair, you saluted us first.

Strangely wholesome bacchanalia from Texas Thrift, where I’ve found a LOT of this sort of thing. I think one of the employees has a…special…sense of humor. Extra-flexible unicorns from Thrift Town in South Austin, and Proud, Throbbing Bears from the Savers on North Lamar.

MY version of “Moby Dick” is much shorter. In my version – a better version, it wraps up nicely and has a lot less ambiguity – Captain Ahab gets a phone call from Ishmael (“Call me, Ishmael!”) about the whale. It turns out that, all this time, it was at 3857 Chestnut Cove, Buda, Texas, in the children’s bathroom down the hall. It was full of socks. The whale, not the bathroom, though, maybe. I don’t know. They might have a lot of socks.

The real tension of the story is that Ishmael calls his boss AFTER the family has emptied out all the socks, and donated the poor critter to Thrift Town, because they couldn’t sell it at their garage sale. So Ahab goes to every secondhand store in South Austin, asking the clerk “Have ye seen the white whale? She’s about two feet tall, smells of old socks, and she has a fearsome big mouth that could SWALLOW A SHIP. A small ship. Very small.”

And then the clerk looks at him and says “I don’t know, maybe it’s in, like, home furnishings?” And Ahab peglegs it over there, stomp-clack-stomp-clack, but it’s the WRONG STORE. So for six whole hours he hits Goodwill, and Savers, but he can’t get to the Salvation Army because it’s closed Sundays, which really pisses him off. Until finally, he sails into the parking lot–which is AWESOME in the movie version, trust me–and he goes and buys it for $4.49, which totally makes his day because he gets his senior discount card, too. Plus, he buys Ishmael a really great Hawaiian shirt, which is nice, because he made Ishmael pay for his Strawberry-Limeade Chiller at Sonic.

Feed me socks!

Texas Thrift, Stassney and Manchacha, Austin

This post is going to be honest, brutally honest, about its contents. These are some owls with very scary eyes. Something went wrong in the ocular department. If Intelligent Design exists, God’s no opthalmologist, and he probably hates owls, too. Why? We don’t know. Maybe he’s really a mouse. Anyway, on to the owls, which is a phrase that, over 20+ years of writing, I haven’t used yet.

Ah, shell art. I keep coming back to you, like a dog to the cat litter box. Not only are we dealing with a very serious case of “Giant Spiral Eye Syndrome,” but we lost one of our eyes in the war. Plus, we are covered with ancient, drippy yellow glue, but that’s probably just an inevitable side effect of being a second-hand craft.

What is this little guy nesting in, though? Given his face, keep the receipt. No, wait. Given his face, particularly his beak, he’s clearly sitting in a pile of tiny bird faces. He’s the Ed Geinof elf owls. I’m hoping maybe I’m wrong, maybe those are its precious little owlings, but the horrible dripping glue tells me a more unpleasant story of an owl with a past, an owl mutilated and trying to shore up his ruined features with whatever he has at hand (feather?), and damned the cost in owl lives. Soon to be a major motion picture, Silence of the Owls.

Side view!

…And then we have this abomination of science.

Hmm…in retrospect, I’m not sure this is an owl. It may be a rare, South Austin Leopard-Print Penguin.

This is probably why Spotted Owls are endangered. They kept scaring the hell out of each other, and the cries of “Just…go away!” and “Why, sweet Jesus, why?” were interfering with their hunting.

*shudder*

Shell owl 2222 and Lamar Goodwill, hideous deformed pop-eyed penguin-owl Goodwill on Stassney and Manchacha, Austin.

I can get the basic “princess” concept here. If anyone’s American royalty, it’s Barbie. I mean, talk about an enchanted life–three story pink dreamhouse, more shoes than Imelda Marcos. And princesses, as everyone knows from watching the early Walt Disney cartoons, are surrounded by easily-amused woodland creatures. So, in that context, this makes sense. Except that it’s less “Snow White,” more “Cousin It.”

Whoops–sorry about the babyshot at right, that was totally not intentional. This is supposed to be a work-safe blog.

So, yeah, Barbie. I’m thinking, freak accident in a tumble-dryer, or maybe the monkey’s her hairdresser, and that never works out. Or maybe that weird little bud thing in front of her was wired to a big cartoon detonator, and this shot was just after the explosion. Bend over, smell an exotic jungle orchid, bam, bad hair day. I’m thinking it was the fox that planned it, he’s got a guilty smirk.

But probably, what happened was a four-year-old.

What’s the verdict, kids?

Bery pretty!

So Barbie, really–is a set of permanent sharpees really the best pick for your dream make-over? I’m not remembering that one in “Cosmo–”  “For a long-lasting blush in the summer sun, and eyeliner that will outlast the rush hour commute, put away that Avon, say “Estee Later!” and move from Mary Kay to Office Depot, because what’s in in 2010 is thick point felt tip permanent marker!”

It’s probably the destiny of every “beautifully brushable” children’s product to end up used, violated, abandoned, and utterly junked. And a testament to the optimism and-or desperation of St. Vincent De Paul’s to try to sell her. Amazingly, she was off the shelf in two weeks. Good luck, Barbie. May your next lucky owner have a bottle of really good conditioner.

St. Vincent De Paul’s in Round Rock, near I35 and 620. Bery Pretty, Goodwill on 183 and Research.

Oh, DP, what will we learn at your feet? Quite a bit, actually. We understand DP’s been studying basic forces.

Firktion stops ears. Stackfirk!

Not to pick apart a second-grader’s science homework, really, that’s almost cheating. But for the low price of 45 (cents? I hope so) you can have a piece of America’s political history.

Meet Borko Boma.

Borko has MY vote. A Democrat with fists like that? Crappers! He’s the Mexican Masked Wrestler of Pennsylvania Avenue! And check out that shiny, shiny dome. For people that want their nation AND their president indivisible, Borko’s one smooth unit.

And the capri pants really work for him!

The tie AND the little carnation is a nice touch, but I don’t think I’ve seen the president in a cute little short sleeve body-and-head stocking. It’s kind of scary–like he’s going to crush you with his mighty Right Fist, and then possibly noogie you to death. I’ve had dreams like that.

Opinion–is that a big happy smile, or a “Kilroy Was Here” style hanging nose? You be the judge.

And as long as we’re overanalyzing–fetching designer necktie, or infinity sign? Do people look eastward and point, and say “Look! It’s a flash of lightning from the left! Stronger than an economic crash, within acceptably broad parameters defining recovery! It is…Borko Boma!!!”

I think if the Dems floated someone in a head-concealing unitard with a lump of chewing gum on his chest, spinning around swinging his fists, they may actually finally win the overwhelming “crazy Americans” vote. That’d be a fun election.

“Mr. Boma, There are new economic realities out there that everyone in this hall and across this country understands that there are going to have to be some choices made. Health policies, energy policies, and entitlement reform, what are going to be your priorities in what order?”

“WHEEEEeeeee!!!!” *wooshwooshwooshCRASH (tinkle)*

“Dammit, somebody catch him before he scares the caterers…”

Texas Thrift on Nacogdoches, San Antonio

Update! Check out this Borko Boma sighting!

I’ve watched the Wizard of Ozsubstantially more than once. I read the book a few times, and the Cowardly Lion has never struck me as particularly “gangster.” Even if you catch The Wiz, where the action starts in Harlem, the Emerald City is superimposed over the Big Apple, the lion appears outside a library, breaking free from a big concrete lion to menace the travellers. So…street, no. Mean, possibly, cowardly, definitely. Gangster? No sir.

But he can’t help trying.

It’s actually IMPOSSIBLE to look street when you’re sitting in a big pile of stuffed animals. Scientific tests have been done. Very respected members of the rap community, urban luminaries, were asked to hang, or possibly chill, while nestling ET-style in a pile of stuffed bunnies and amiable teddy bears. Results showed a startling loss of over 75% of street credibility, and most subjects experienced a strong desire to bury themselves further in the pile while making happy burbling noises.

It’s also VERY hard to display any real attitude or adopt an urban posture while being naked in a thrift store, or, alternatively, dressed in a lion costume. Can’t be done.

But we forgive him for trying.

Lion: “You don’t have any courage for me in that bag, do you?”
Wizard: “Many men, and indeed, some lions, go forth into the world with little more courage than you do. But they DO have street cred. Therefore, by the authority vested in me by the Street and Urban Development Society of Oz, or ‘SUDSO,’ I give you this bling.”
Hangs a large gold “OZ” logo around Lion’s neck.
Lion: “Shucks, folks, I’m speechless.”

Somewhere over the rainbow, Stassney and Manchaca, Austin