Jog to the world, and all that! It’s time to clean house, take down the lights, and get to the crucial business of 2012!

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I have a weak spot for Balthazar. Traditionally, since he’s from Africa, he’s the only black member of the nativity. And therefore, the only one that I can put a name to.

So, I like it when he dresses up a bit.

Yes, this particular Balthazaar has weird little chicken feet, or possibly stiletto heels, and possibly has a parrot balancing precariously on top of his head, but he is, self-evidently, fabulous.

Not everybody can wear Aqua, red, purple, gold, and a parrot and have it come off right. But as a Wise Man, Balthazaar has clearly had special training in fashion, or watched a LOT of “Queer Eye for the Magi.” “Frankincense, darling. It’s the gift of AD1. You want to avoid regifts? Give frankincense. Not as tawdry and showy as gold, and myrrh is strictly for funerals.”

“Does this nativity scene have valet parking? Because you don’t want this elephant standing on the curb unless one of the shepherds brought a push-broom.”

Sticking with the “probably gay Balthazaar” just a bit longer–

Not only does this one seem a bit swishy, and it’s probably just the pink lining of the robe that does it…wherefore the pink feet? He looks a little puzzled by them too. Maybe Melchoir or Caspar wandered off with his body and he had to get a replacement, and they didn’t have it in his color…which is really, really dark. “Don’t judge me because someone painted my head after the fact. I’m still a magi. Aren’t we all magi, really?”

“It’s the most beautiful candy cane in the world, Santa.”

“But I was really hoping to have eyes for Christmas.”

Mrs. Claus, tired of being a Christmas Eve Widow for the last 2000 years, finally had Santa’s head scooped out, lined with holly, and turned into a decorative bowl. Frankly, looking at Santa, I’m not sure it was that big a change, he may have been mostly stuffed with holly anyway.

And now, getting ready to finally put Christmas behind us, we wrap it up with the big musical number:

All of Jesus’s friends turned up for his 15th birthday. The Magi were a bit surprised, but they’d learned not to judge a long time ago. Really, with that absentee father and all those crazy high expectations, and having been literally born in a barn, they were glad he turned out as normally as he did.

Happy new year, and thank you all for a lovely 2011!

Nativity Quinceañera from Goodwill near Stassney and Manchaca, Holly Cup from Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Giant Cane Angel from Savers on South Lamar, Fey Balthazaar from Goodwill on Metric and 183, Mismatched Balthazaar from Goodwill near Anderson Mill and 183.

New Year’s Day, and we’ve finally gotten the dogs to come out from underneath the sofa. Hope everybody had their requisite amounts of pyrotechnics, champagne, and black-eyed peas last night! Or at least one out of three.  This little guy’s clearly had his fill of consumer-grade explosives for the year.

This WAS in the Christmas section. I feel confident that, somewhere, giving a waif a mid-sized explosive on the end of a string is traditional, though my google-fu is failing me on what culture might celebrate the solstice in this manner. He…he looks shocked.

“It’s okay, boy,” the nutcracker said, a not-altogether-unwarm hand on his shoulder. “Your first one’s always a little startling. Next Christmas, you’ll be a pro.”

Cake decorations? Flowers? Publicity still from the new Broadway production of “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert?”

I’m not ruling out “Priscilla,” but I’m still a bit lost on the actual-factual. I’m operating under the assumption that this is Christmas fare,  sort of a “three kings” riff, but the weirdly-placed regional pride is not helping me here.

Bueller? Bueller? I did some double-checking, and the flag is the flag of Puerto Rico. The hats, though, are not as far as I know the hats of Puerto Rico, unless Puerto Rico has an unusually high fabulosity level. Something, somewhere, is clearly lost in translation.

“And lo, there came three wise men from the East, bearing gifts of frankincense, and snails, and calla lilies. But just their heads came, that’s how wise they were, and Jesus wept.”

Angel, or bird? Which has the tiniest brain capacity? My bet’s on the bird. Did you know if you hold your ear up to an angel’s head, you can hear the ocean? It looks like both of them are going to break out into cheerful whistling noises any second.

“Did you invite him?”
“No…uh…I’ve never heard of him. But I think he brought better gifts. At least, better than myrrh.”
“Generally toys go over better at a baby’s first Christmas than funerary balms.”
“He only brought dolls. They’re kind of girly, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, but it’s still not myrrh.”

“I never got a doll…”

“I sold my hair to buy him a chain for his wristwatch, but by then, he’d already lost his hand in a bar bet. So…pretty typical Christmas, all told.”

Creepy little guy…”Would you like my other hand for Christmas? It’s yours, just say the word. My hand, your stocking. That…that should have sounded better than it did.”

This Christmas..
for the people you love…
give the gift of springs.

Boiiiiing!!!!

Boom! from Junior League of Austin on Burnet and 49th, enigmatic magi from Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, horrible vacant angel from Savers on South Lamar, “Boiing” and “How’d he get here?” from Goodwill on 183 and Metric, and distressing angel in blue from Salvation Army on 1325 in Round Rock.

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!

Goodwill on 183 and Metric, Austin

It was a hard year, 1973. There was a terrible drought, Watergate was wreaking havok on public trust in the government, we lost Noel Coward, and got “Wheel of Fortune.” But mostly, it was the year the frogs stood up and started picking.

We didn’t think much about it at first. Truth be told, it was kind of pretty. But it freaked the hell out of the dogs. Every time they went to drink from the pond, some damned amphibian started riffing bluegrass, maybe something more modern, like Thelonius Monk. Sometimes they could sing AND play, and then, well, you’d find the dogs shivering under the covers, ‘fraid to move, just two black eyes and maybe a paw sticking out. And outside, you’d here that infernal banjo. And maybe a “croak” now and again, or else a couple of verses of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.” That, my friends, was too much. We drained the ponds, had ourselves a nice cook-up of frogleg etouffee, which was kind of nice, with a side of squash and okra, a couple Colorado Bulldogs, and the dying strains of “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” And if that’s what it took to get the dogs out from under the covers, well, then. But they never did go near the pond again.

Savers on South Lamar, Austin



Good luck with that, Bob!

Bob the Builder is, if anything, an optimist. He is also, if anything, animated clay, but it’s best not to hold that against him. Don’t mention the clay thing. He gets testy.

So, when he saw the brick-a-brack section at the Goodwill on Metric, he thought, “Well, no problem! How many broken clowns and crappy children’s ceramic bowls can there be?”

Oh, Bob, quite a lot. Quite a lot.

By the time Bob the Builder got through with just the children’s section, he was a broken man. “Why do people donate this sh&t?” he screamed, scaring the hell out of Pilchard the Cat, who had never heard Bob use a word stronger than “Gosh!” up till this point. He had to agree with Bob, though, who had uncovered a buried horde of headless barbies. Why, indeed.

When we last left Bob, he was somewhere in “housewares,” muttering “I don’t know what this is. I can’t FIX something that I don’t even recognize. There’s, like, marbles in it, and it’s huge, and I’ve HAD IT with these stupid, stupid candle sticks. NOBODY needs them. Come on, Mr. Jackhammer. It’s time to fix it…for good.”

Goodwill on 183 and Metric, Austin

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.

Y oy to you too, sir! And a merry oy to us all!

What would have been REALLY awesome is if the nativity set on the floor contained an even smaller nativity set. And inside THAT nativity set was another one, until finally, you got to a tiny, nearly invisible nativity set, but instead of Jesus you had a very small tablet outlining the secrets of the Merovingian dynasty, the Prieuré de Sion, and the true secret of the Holy Grail.

This particular Santa is quite ambivilent about the whole thing. “Lights…eeeeh…I don’t know. Too many years making toys I guess, the sight of a tree covered with lights makes me a little…uh…maybe you got any Pepto-Bismol on you? Yeah, that’s the stuff. The pink stuff.”

Styling paisley nightgown, Santa! I’m really liking this new look, it’s a subtle step away from overstated red velvet!

Actually, I have it on the best authority (a well-educated 10-year-old) that this is in all probability the Russian equivalent of Santa, Father Frost, who’s often blue with complex designs on his cloak. Either way, he still looks like he accidentally ate a boll weevil. “Sorry…did that cookie taste funny to anyone else? Donder? Prancer?”

In the 80s, all of Santa’s elves were sharp, angular, and available in colors not entirely of this world.

The anatomy here is…difficult to discern at best. I think little boy blue on the right has some sort of conjoined twin thing poking out of his head, to say nothing about the arm growing on his hip and the strange, trunklike way his legs fuse together at the knees. The other guy is tame by comparison, except for the way he draaaaags himself around the workshop on his head…”thump drag drag drag…’Giggle’….”

So, as a thrift reporter, I do make a special point of leaving the items essentially undisturbed, even if it would be REALLY FUNNY to swap out a few pieces here and there. I did make an exception for this one.

Playful Santa! After flying around the entire world in a few hours, he likes to kick back and caper around the room. No-one expects him to, but he is, after all, a right jolly old elf. And as we’ve already seen, elves really like wandering around on their heads.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna kip up here for a few hours, kiddos. That jet lag is pretty harsh stuff–or I guess it would be Sled Lag! Ho, ho, ho!”

I love the way Santa drifts around the room like a downy feather before settling to the floor in a vaguely pine-and-reindeer-scented heap. It’s one of his special qualities that just doesn’t get mentioned in the songs. Except that irritating one by the same guy who did “Rudolph.”

“You go to one little Christmas party, stay up just a little too late, buy one wino’s clothes off him, and then everybody takes their camels and splits. Hello? Damn, I need some ibuprofin, this hangover’s harsh.”

Lost Balthazaar #3 from Texas Thrift on I-35, San Antonio. Whimsical Snow Globe from Goodwill on 2222. Dyspeptic Russian Santa from Salvation Army on 1325 in Round Rock, “Y Oy!” from Savers on North Burnet, strangely iterative nativity from Goodwill near Stassney and Manchacha and the weird little punk elves next door at Thrift Town. A belated merry Christmas!

That one line, “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,” has started quite a little industry. The Christmas market is endlessly reduplicative–there’s only a finite number of symbols that really say “Christmas,” so you have to really milk every new noun you have. So, merry christmouse.

This isn’t the best photo, but Autosharpen just couldn’t keep up with the demands, and when I used “Despeckle” the image just…vanished. Hang this combination wreath and mouse on the front door to set the tone for the Christmas party–awkward shuffling, muttered questions of “what does it *mean*?”) and, just possibly, a really big cheese plate–but strictly cheddar and Wheat Thins, this is a nice party that doesn’t put on airs. Only gingham.

Those eyes, like two felt cataracts. I’m not sure what it’s vaguely gesturing toward. Maybe it’s hoping someone will get it a Wheat Thin.

The Christmas Mouse tradition–note the iconography of the bow-around-tail–continued at a nearby Goodwill.

Better to zoom in a bit though, so you can see him in all his Christmas glory.

Not a happy mouse. Someone woke him up. And he doesn’t care if it’s Santa, the Tooth Fairy, or even the Pope, they’re going to regret this poorly-timed mouse call.

Not real sure what’s going on in his hand. Maybe a candle stick. Maybe a bong. Looking this closely at it, yeah, that red thing is probably a candle, but really it looks like one of the stripes of his pajama is inexplicably trying to reach closer to god, like an absurdist upraised pinkie. And usually candlesticks are brassy or wooden. Really, I’m thinking that particular shade of purple-pink is more reserved for adult items of an unusually intimate nature, though the shape really says “little Christmas mouse hash pipe” to me. You’d hope he’d be more mellow.

And nothing, nothing says “Merry Christmas” like maimed labradors.

All together! We wish you a broken puppy, we wish you a broken puppy. We wish you a broken puppy, with a truncated rear!

These were part of my post-holiday bargain shopping a few years ago, found in a big pile with all their other broken brethren, a small scattering of lost and forlorn body parts underneath. The sign said “50% off,” but to be fair, I think it looks more like only about 20%.

…so named because he was discovered by NASA for the space program. I don’t know.

This sad state of affairs very nearly came home with me. What says “Kid, give up on all your holiday dreams, you’re getting socks this year” like a dead unicorn in a glass ball? It’s like something Voldemort would hang up with the tinsel.

Put this one up next to an ornament showing a Department Store Santa cashing his paycheck for three bottles of Jack Daniel’s, and maybe a very small, festive treatise on the Historical Jesus. Go for a theme this year.

And lastly, what’s more seasonal than a Christmas Goose?

Don’t worry, Mr. Bear. It’s only once a year, it’ll be New Years soon and the booze will take the shame and humiliation of Christmas away in a nice, champagne-colored haze.

Puffy Quilted Christmas Mouse from the Salvation Army on 1325 near Round Rock, painted, surly Christmas Mouse from goodwill on 2222. Maimed labradors from Goodwill near 620 on 183, dead unicorn ornament from Savers on North Burnet near 2222, and Quacky the “Take It!!” Christmas Goose from Goodwill on 2222.