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!

“The crystal…the crystal tells me that you will eat…too much! And your children will…will…will fight over small things, like who got more little chocolates. The crystal shows me much of the holiday, much that might otherwise go unseen…you did not buy enough batteries for all the toys that will beep and make noise, and will have to go to the grocery store at 10:00 at night but they will all be closed.”

Okay, yes, glass ball filled with giftwrap and old ornaments, very festive. Obviously, it’s your standard seasonal gazing globe, but I look at the green thing and I think, “tentacle.” Or perhaps the entire thing can be detonated to scatter an estimated 60′ jolly zone.

“I, too, have been experienced by Christmas. Fall into it. Lose yourself in the season. ”

“I step forward into the season, and give myself to yule. Farewell!”

Now, mood change.

….”YEEEHAH!!!”

Santa comes riding into town on Christmas dinner! Awesome! It’s festively delicious! Don’t tell the pig, though, it still thinks it’s a guest for dinner.

“Oh yeah! We’re having porkchops tonight! I’m ringing the BACON bell!”

“Yay! Christmas dinner with SANTA! I must have been the best piggy in the WORLD this year!”

Meanwhile, from his secret lair, miles below the earth’s crust, Santa plots the demise of the Superfriends.

Or just stands on his head, I don’t know. He’s an old guy, but likes to prove that he’s still spry. So he builds a massive, x100 scale model of a gall bladder and does calisthenics in the colic flexure. After 1700 years hanging around elves, you get a little…whimsical.

Anyone want to guess what this is? It looks horribly biological. This is something you woudn’t want to see on any sort of medical -opsy or -oscopy, or maybe a rare case of liposuction malpractice. Maybe you could light it to cast a baleful blue glow a dark and malevolent ritual. Or maybe this was yet another C- in craft class.

After three days of hiding in the soft, warm recesses above what passed for a “cliff,” red, gelid fluids pooling around his feet, Frosty finally snapped, leaping to his death with a wet “gurgle,” nothing but a blue hat, cherry tomato, and a vaguely humanoid pool of briefly clear, melted snow to mark his passage into both oblivion and the lower digestive tract.

Ball of Christmas Magic from Goodwill on I35 and 183; vacant Christmas Lady from Goodwill on 2222; Santa on pig from Savers on Burnet; Horrid “Christmas” “Candle” from Goodwill on I10 and Heubner, San Antonio.

Angels! They come in swarms of thousands around Christmas, drifting in clumps through card shops, idling in Wal-Mart like flocks of chickens, and, of course, hanging out on the most celestial shelves in Goodwill. I’ve seen more headless Santas than any one man should, but there’s something whimsically tragic about a maimed angel that never ceases to make me smile.

Particularly when they start getting into weird Christmas fetish behavior.

I have never, ever seen an angel with pierced nipples before. But I have to say, she completely made my day when I did. That sweet, innocent little face, you’d never imagine that she’d be combining gingham and bondage in one celestial package. “Hi! My name is Beatrice! When I’m not baking cupcakes for disadvantaged children or reorganizing my embroidery floss, I like to go down to The Chain Gang wearing nothing but a star and a smile! Oh, and this cute little bow that I made to go with my favorite skirt, but if black goes well with everything, it’ll go well with pain and 40-gauge wire.”

Ouch.

The back of this one says “Merry Christmas for a Wonderful Friend, for Stephanie from Paula and Harold.” One wonders about their relationship. If it involved angel bondage, I think I want to know more about their church social club.

Who thought this was a good idea? Really. When does gluing sequins add to the majesty and grandeur of…anything? If you were trying to recreate that somewhat unsettling final Liberace Christmas Special, maybe you’re on your way there, but giving an angel glittery, 80s-style wrist and headbands is not a value-add. Yes, they were naked and creepy before, but you’re just calling attention to the fact. Next, you’re going to give them to a friend, and there we have to stop you, because this is the fast track to friendlessness. Signed, your holiday common sense consultant.

Yes, the terrible angel plague of aught-three had claimed her eye, most of her face, and her right wing, but she just kept strumming!

I like this girl. Something about her suffering has given her a wry, knowing glance that’s a step above the average angel–on the whole, a vacuous breed given to vague, wistful stares. She’s just about to write a satirical ballad, and is trying to figure out what rhymes with “Gethsemane”.

Angel? Choirboy? Bowling pin? Therapeutic medical device? You be the judge.

I don’t know what this is, but it was definitely in the Christmas section, so you get to deal with it now. The thick, avuncular eyebrows and “two pints of stout” cheeks really put me more in the mind of “Norm from Cheers” than a member of a chorus, either heavenly or earthly.

The little snowman on the coffee mug I hadn’t noticed before. Someone should spray for those.

It’s Edvard Munch’s “The Angel.” He? She? It? Does not seem to be at all happy about being slowly strangled by vines, and having a messiah-like crown of thorns (okay, crown of weeds, which is much less hardcore) stuck to its bald, bald head. I’m thinking this isn’t so much a pretty little angel, but rather some sort of sick, ritualistic play, like a sequel to the movie “Se7en” where Kevin Spacey’s character tortures people to death going through the entire year of holidays, and let me tell you, the Guy Fawkes Day scene was both chilling and a spectacular pyrotechnic display. “We’ve found the victim. He’s bolted rusty wings to her and wrapped her in straw. I have no idea what this means…but there’s a note…oh god, it says ‘Merry Christmas’ on it. What’s next, Epiphany? I can’t handle this holiday madness anymore, it’s got to stop!!!”

…So, Heaven. After 10 years of church, I’ve heard a lot of good things about the music up there. The music of the spheres is well-regarded, the heavenly cantillating of “Hosanna” is supposed to be very good, they’ve practiced it enough. However, little is said about the musical accompaniment, the background score to the Laudate Domino, and frankly I’m a little appalled. If this is Heaven, I’m going to Newark.

Welcome to Hell. Here’s you’re accordion.

Oh, this is a brilliant, well-thought-out plan. Martha Stewart would almost certainly say “No, no, that’s a bad thing.”

So, once in a while, apparently, you just have to craft. It’s gotta happen. Maybe you haven’t crafted in a few weeks or something, see a necktie, and before you know it, you’ve turned it into a mop-headed angel clasping its arms together. But there’s got to be a better way. This is the poster-child for craft abstinence.

There are good things to be said about recycling, but this poor thing looks like it was taken off the neck of that fat, fat guy that smells of very cheap tobacco, and then made into an angel while he was struggling to get it back. It’s got that special discoloration of motel furniture. The saddest thing about that is that there weren’t 20 of them lined up together in a dreadful, faceless choir. That would have been pure necktie magic.

Fear not, for I have been sent by Our Lady of the Hardware Shop to bid you glad tidings and give you good news of a great sale in the east! Home Depot gives the gifts of Christmas this year with a 15% discount on all name-brand mulchers, and a free poinsettia with every purchase! Hosanna, hosanna in the highest!”

I’m not sure if this is a “handicraft” or not, the wings and stuff are actually pretty well-made, but that face screams “Senior Activity Center.” It’s the pipecleaner that does it. And the glue, glitter, paint pen, peat moss hair, and vacant, empty gaze. Any one of those, really. Maybe there’s a kit–20 mesh angel skirts and a blank head to decorate to your heart’s content. Slap some lips and moss on it, call it $9.75. I know how these things work.

“Be not afraid!”

Aiigh! Zombie angel!

It would be awesome to be able to pack yourself up into your own body for easy storage, wouldn’t it? Just pop the top, tuck in the arms, wings, and so on. Maybe even the head would fit in there somehow, and suddenly you’ve gone from being an awkward flying thing with limbs everywhere to an angel that’s conveniently giftwrappable. Give the gift of angel!” It’s just a pity about that eye. God, you should do something about that eye. You’ll give the shepherds the fantods.

Braiiins…

Hoboy…ah…Hardware Mesh Angel, “Merry Christmas” Country Craft Angle and Pierced Nipple Angel from Goodwill on 183 and Metric, and again, Goodwill at 183 and Metric, there’ll be a plate of cookies waiting for you tonight, just wear the Santa Claus suit. Tawdry glitter angel and red zombie angels, Savers on South Lamar near 290. Accordion Angel and small, clever-looking one-eyed angel from Salvation Army on 1325, bowling pin angel (?) from Goodwill on 2222, and Necktie Angel from San Antonio’s Texas Thrift, on South Flores.

It’s the day after Christmas, and Santa always gets a bad case of the post-gift-frenzy blues. For one thing he’s in the north pole and it’s going to be night for like three more months. For another, no-one’s going to remember he even exists until November, which has got to be quite a downer. And then that chirpy elf foreman came up with the next year’s schedule as soon as he stepped off the sleigh, and he hadn’t even gotten to the bathroom yet. So, yeah, December 26? Kind of a downer.

When the weight of the world feels like a flowerpot on your shoulders, crushing you down–wait, maybe that IS a flower pot crushing me down?–it’s time to put on the special robes Ms. Klaus gave us–the ones with the festively Christmas nipple-holes–touch up the old rouge and eyeliner, and slink slowly around the back yard, pretending to be a traffic cone. We each have our ways of coping. Mine is to be exuberantly wedge-shaped and nipple-endowed. Then sometimes I balance a flower pot on my head. That’s how SANTA celebrates Christmas. Do you like my nipple?

Some years–particularly after the CIA was putting quinuclidinyl benzilate in the snow in some weird attempt to bump off Fidel Castro…again…Santa gets a little paranoid. After all, we know who’s been naughty and nice, and lately, it’s been a LOT easier delivering presents, what with having like six stops to make, and most of them in Switzerland. But yeah, I know what list you’re on, so STEP AWAY FROM THE COOKIES, and nobody gets hurt. Because Santa’s not on Santa’s list.

…and you know, I’ve got nothing to say about this guy.

Any opinions about this particular Santa are welcome, but he seems…down. Maybe there was originally a delicious, post-Christmal pipe he could settle down with. Or maybe an enormous, reeking stogie, and Mrs. Klaus, who puts up with all kinds of hell every year (what with the elves and all), finally yanked it out of his mouth and threw it to the damned reindeer, and now Santa’s even MORE depressed and just sits there, air-smoking.

Or he’s training up for bubble tea. Not everybody can take a tapioca pearl like Santa.

At any rate, the greater Thrift Horror community would love to know what this is. Clothing rack? Poorly-planned stocking holder? Weirdly festive ticker-tape dispenser? We want to know!

Now, if you’ve been REALLY naughty…Santa sends in the Crusher.

It’s a sort of horrible anti-Santa, with MASSIVE paws that destroy any present laid before it, with a rasping metallic “HO HO HO!!” and a sickening crunch (less so in the case of, like, stuffed animals or socks, but it’s still an unpleasant noise. An XBOX on the other hand explodes nicely.) Then…he feeds another present into the terrible machine, throws down its moustache switches, and the arms squeeze again. Because that’s the kind of Christmas you deserve.

…I saw mommy kissing Santa Klaus…

Weirdly cone-shaped Santa from the Texas Thrift in San Antonio on South Flores…awesome store! Paranoid Kringle-mug from Savers on South Lamar near 290. Tall Santa with face-hole from Thrift Land on Stassney off I35, and Mecha Santa Kringle-Bot DX from Savers on South Lamar. I think I already posted him to the old Livejournal community, but he’s real special, isn’t he?

…And Our Lady of the Late Model Ford wishes you a blessed holiday, too. May your fenders never rust.

As a thrift reporter, I make a special point never to tamper with the beautiful things I find shoved to the back of the Brick-a-Brack shelves. Luckily, some people do these things for me, and then I figure they’re fair game. When I picked this adorable scene of holy…uh…something or other? up, the baby’s lovely lovely head fell off. What a shame! It may be that I was the only person who saw this miraculous apparition, but I do feel quite blessed.

Our Lady of the Late Model Ford. Truly one of the martys who suffered for her faith. Because…that delivery was a tricky one.

There needs to be a Christmas carol for this one. Maybe “God rest you, Chevy Cherokees,” or “It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like a Toyota Takoma.”

I figured we should really start the Christmas festivities with the star of the show, Frosty Jesus. Sadly, I don’t have any good pictures of him, so we’ll just settle for this one.

I think he’s some kind of squash.

Okay, this isn’t terrible, it doesn’t look like Mary’s about to eat the poor kid, and it’s maybe a little unfair to set something to x10 magnification and then mock it. But doesn’t he look like something from the Beavis and Butt-head nativity? Just a bit?

That, and I think Mary’s about to put the son of god into a log flume. Really, that straw has a vivid, lively sense of motion that you don’t see in just any manger.

“And there he goes! Woosh!”
“Mary, have a little sense of the moment, this is the messiah after all.”
“Yeah, but look how quickly he goes down the chute!”
“Okay, that is pretty miraculous…hey, is he even in the water?”
“Nope. You should see him at bathtime, it’s all kinds of special.”

Aaand, these guys. This is kind of a cheat because I know I wrote these guys up in the original Thrift Shop Horrors community, but you know, if I see them again, it’s like a new thing.

There’s a lot of evidence that Jesus wasn’t actually whiter than a bleached Osmund. After all, he was Jewish, and from the middle East. This does lend a certain darkness of skin and hair to one’s appearance, even if JC was one of those rare albino messiahs. But we shouldn’t tamper with people’s simple faiths.

…the lipstick’s got to go. I know, every darn Jesus I see is quite the cracker, ethnic roots notwithstanding. But this is just a bit too much!

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…

Meanwhile, Joseph’s whispering, “He’s not a bad kid, but I’m not sure that Adonai, the god of the mountains and king of Heaven, is really our sort of people. If that brown smear doesn’t wash off, we’re going to have to renegotiate this weird foster-father thing.”

“Whoops. Some look around under the manger, it fell off again. Does anyone have a very small late model Ford I could borrow?”

“Cluck!”

“You’re no help…”

“Myrrh or candle…myrrh or candle…2000 years from now, what’s going to look better on a postcard? These are damn good candles though. Oh hell, it’s candles all the way. Hey, get me three camels, these are going to Bethlehem.”

Our Lady of the Late Model Ford from Goodwill on 2222, Beavis Jesus from Community Thrift in San Antonio, very very white Holy Family from Goodwill on Stassney in South Austin (though first discovered five years ago in Leander), Headless Jesus from Goodwill on 183 near 620. And Wandering Balthazaar, again, from St. Vincent De Paul’s in Round Rock.

Three wise men came from the west, to bring gifts to the new-born king. Of course, they were 12 days late, but that was because the gold got massively held up in airport security, and it took most of an afternoon for them to put all their sparkly metal bits into the little plastic bins, and Melchoir decided he wanted the special search, which gets a bit awkward wearing robes, but to each their holiday magic, I guess. Anyway.

I like Balthazar because I can recognize him. He’s the black Wise Guy. He also brought the most useless gift possible–who brings embalming supplies to a baby shower? But he’s from Egypt. Maybe that’s how they roll. But he did THINK about the present, at least.

Hmmm…candles, or myrrh? Do they already have candles? I’ve already got the myrrh, but regifts are so tacky–they’re never going to get down Egypt anyway. But this one seriously bad-ass candle. They’re Jewish, right? Jews like candles. Maybe I can get them one big one, instead of eight silly little birthday cake things.

I am NEVER going to be able to wrap this. Sorry, baby, you’re getting myrrh. Trust me, some day when you need embalming supplies, you’ll thank me.

Woah. Not going this way. I need to have a word with the guys in animal control.

You know, being a magi is hot work. That’s why, after hours, Balthazar likes to get comfortable.

“Put your damned robes back on, Balthazar!”

“Shove it, Gaspar!”

Gaspar got creative…again…everybody said “Give frankensense! Mary totally loves potpourri!” But no, Gaspar went with the crazy upscale gift that nobody needs. He bought them an intrinsic field generator. Things went predictably wrong.

“I have ultimate power!!!”

Oops.

Kids…next time don’t improvise. Get what’s on the list. That’s why Mary registered at Target.

Melchoir was actually on time, but because they wanted to make an entrance he spent four days waiting across the street, hiding behind some architectural frippery and looking remarkably like an overdressed member of the cast of “King of the Hill.” Of course, Melchoir completely cheated. He bought a copy of the script.

Like one of those wretched Time-Life ads from the 80s…”Want to know how the whole thing ends? Did they escape the slaughter of the innocents? Were they able to find a band-aid big enough for Gaspar’s neck? Read the book!!!”

Anyway, Stay warm and happy Christmas, those who celebrate. The next twelve days will be filled with an array of holiday crapola I’ve been saving for three years. Enjoy!

Wandering Balthazar from St. Vincent De Paul’s in Round Rock. I followed him around for three months–sometimes he’d vanish, reappearing in dishes or gifts or holiday stuff. I hope he finally found his way back to Egypt! No Shirt, No Service Balthazar ALSO from SVDP’s. Creepy Doctor Manhattan Gaspar from Community Thrift Store in San Antonio, Exploded Head Gaspar and “I already bought the book” Melchoir from Savers in North Austin.

Fear me, for I come bearing the true power of Christmas!!

Before we get to today’s unpleasantries, just a note that starting Christmas Eve we’re going to begin a merry “12 days of Christmas” romp here in thriftland. I’ve got three years of Christmas stuff waiting in the wings–there’s some really good finds this year, so please, send the link to anyone who loves Christmas kitsch :)

Anyway! You know this is going to be one of those shopping expeditions when you see this outside the door.

I don’t get down to Texas Thrift in San Antonio very often. Apparently, the Thrift Mafia down there has figured out that I don’t actually buy anything and has taken to leaving little threats.

So…that really is a good price for a funeral. And maybe that was what you were actually looking for. I’m hoping it’s not a used funeral. “Yeah, just swap the bodies out, nobody’ll care that much. Shove the other guy in with the stuffed animals. Mark him down to a dollar, he’ll be gone in five minutes.”

Then there’s the cremation. I’m thinking, put your loved ones down next to about fifty gently used Easy Bake Ovens. Then, crank up the juice. Yeah, you’ll probably blow a fuse, but those things get pretty hot! And if you don’t get your dearly departed up to the right shade of golden brown, well, 25 or 30 tubs of pink magic frosting says they’re a sheet cake.

I’m so having my funeral at Texas Thrift. I’m writing the service now. “We are gathered together today to commemorate a man who died as he lived, in the discount aisle. Each of us must remember that today, any day, even this hour could be our own clearance sale. Truly it is said, All Things Must Go. So it is true of clowns, and of Make-Up Magic Barbie, so to, of all of us. Ashes to ashes…dust to dust…brick to brack. Heavenly father, we commend this soul to your Salvation Army, where there is no markdown, where you cherish each damaged miniature and each cracked figurine, and they may remain on your shelf now, and forever, amen.”

Texas Thrift on South Flores, San Antonio

I’m not sure what the true meaning of Columbus Day is. It seems to involve lots of discounts at the local auto lots. But I’ve been hoarding some very special pieces to celebrate the occasion.

We’ll start with what must be the single gayest attempt at “American Indian” ever. It’s like Mr. Humphries trying out for a part in Last of the Mohicans. Or maybe some sort of strange camp act, maybe “A Boy Named Sioux.” Seriously! Who accessorizes their rifle?

Although he HAS clearly been working out. It hasn’t helped all that much, except maybe on costume night at The Hitching Post perhaps. Could use a little upper arm work, those biceps are a little stringy, but this isn’t about the gift, it’s about the giftwrap.

Oof. Showing his age a bit here.

“But do admire the absolutely fabulous headdress and earrings, the former was lifted from a Lawrence of Arabia Broadway production, but with a little bit of color its own mother wouldn’t know it. The earrings? Home Depot, isle seven, assorted nuts, which sounds like either an hors d’oeuvre or my last family reunion.

“All of which accents both the Zuni fetish necklace…and the less said about Zuni fetishes, the better, to my mind–and these smashing armbands and matching barrettes. Who says danishes are just for Alderaan princesses anymore? Any princess can wear these!

“And take a look at this rifle–no, in my hand, dear. It was, I don’t know, on the dull side a bit, so I spruced it up with some red velvet and gold trimming. Of course I did hot-glue the trigger in place, but, small sacrifices, you know!

“But while you’ve got the camera down there, love, the real show’s off to your left a bit.

“Pocahantes, eat your heart out. Take one denim skirt, trim it down just a bit, but not too much, don’t want to scare off the missionaries! A couple lovely felt patches, your flint knife, just in case a gentleman has to defend himself–or as near as we might be–add fringe, and, this sort of greenish thing, I think it might have been a snake once, but but of the two of us I think I pull it off quite well. I’d demonstrate but modesty forbids.

“Still searching for the perfect boots, but these will have to do–if anyone’s looking at your feet, dears, you’ve made some sort of tactical error. Try adding a few more feathers, they draw the eye.”

Ahem.

What next…what next…Oh! This poor girl pretty much hits all the important non-PC notes, AND she’s apparently been trepanned.

*shudder*

She’s one of a few pieces that I didn’t get around to posting from our San Antonio Road Trip.

Unfortunately, not a lot of depth to her character. She looks a bit like a kappa from Santa Fe.

Okay, that’s enough, please go away now.

(Why is her dress screwed together?)

And then there’s him.

I have to say, I really do live for this kind of moment. The “Dear sweet Jesus, what were they thinking? Was any sort of cognition going on at all? Hello, earth to artist, are we finished having a ‘moment’? Could you please get back to your day job at the asylum for the criminally embarrassing?”

I think this may actually be a sincere effort. It’s hard to tell, because the source material is so…very…bad. We’re clearly operating on some sort of “Noble Savage” base here, one of the standard plaster-cast models painted up by the family for like $8 an hour. But…something went wrong.

How wrong? This wrong.

Mmm, flesh-tone eyes, strange cat-like pupils–very blue. Deep, deep wrinkles in “corpse gray.” Blond hair, nice touch, we wouldn’t want anyone to think this was ethnic. It’s about as Native American as a hair band riffing on Cherokee Nation, which was, to be fair, pretty frikking white to begin with.

If I could figure out some way to apologize for this, I would. After centuries of indignities and exploitation, so wound into the history of the United States that it’s still a work in process, this makes things, like, .03% sadder.

Let’s bump that up to .04% and call it a day.

The Gayest Indian Ever and … I don’t know, I don’t have a word for him… from Savers on Burnet in Austin, and the bottle from the decade political correctness forgot from the Goodwill on Heubner, San Antonio.

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!

Deep in the heart of San Antonio, there is a Goodwill. It’s as polished as a downtown department store, and even has a coffee bar built in. We swore we’d find that Goodwill and we would shop at that Goodwill. And we did. But they actually had standards, so we went off to go to every damned Texas Thrift in the city instead. I’ve never seen a nicer Goodwill, but honestly, in this blog, quality is something of a downside.

Everything I see sparkles. My dress sparkles. The flowers, they sparkle too. Even my dog sparkles. Ever since the operation, I don’t have to see…ugly things. Only beautiful things. So beautiful.

…please, help me…I’m not even white, they painted me this color. The last thing I ever saw was a bucket of whitewash and two inch-wide rhinestones. Help me, or kill me, either way. You want money? I got two diamonds, baby, you can HAVE ‘em! Seriously! Just send help! I’m not even a cat, or a dog, or whatever, I’m an effing RACCOON! If I could see ANYTHING I would so give you rabies…

I could sparkle too, if you’d just give me a chance, really, I promise I’d be quiet, and…sparkly…

Texas Thrift, I35, North San Antonio