One day I'll be able to explain why I posted this

My life won't be complete without one of these

Do a search at YouTube for lokuloku for more videos of these things.

What's French for "Creepy cookie"?

Lately I've been going to a local discount department store to poke through the junk, but I think I mainly go to buy French cookies called Le Petit Écolier (The Little Schoolboy). It's a sort of tea biscuit with a chocolate slab on it that contains pralined hazelnuts. They're delicious and cheap, but also a bit creepy if you insist on studying the embossed image instead of just cramming them into your mouth like a normal person.

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The kid sort reminds me of Han Solo in carbonite, despite the fact that I'm not a Star Wars nerd (I'm an entirely different species of nerd).

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Here's a close up so you can see his eyes, which are his worst feature.

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His eyes in natural light are even worse.

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His eyes in negative are a bit different, sort of like how the Shroud of Turin is different in negative.



And, for my own amusement, here's the little bastard in duotone. Sweet dreams.

Note: I have no idea why that alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID crap is under all but one photo. I posted today's photos like I've posted all the other ones and I'm not doing it over. I mean really, I have to draw the line somewhere. I do have a life. Kinda.

Food Feh

I wasn't planning on posting anything because my brain's vacant what with my leprosy and all, but while perusing someone else's blog, I saw something that's always kind of annoyed me. Why do people take pictures of their restaurant food and post it on their blog? A picture of food is boring.

I used to read this blog a few years ago that was fairly entertaining, but the woman who wrote it had this bad habit of posting pictures of what she'd had in some damn restaurant in New York. I don't care about your damn paneer tikka masala or whatever. I'm going to start taking pictures of my ramen and grilled cheese sandwiches.

Maybe I should've kept this to myself. This post is like something I would've done back in 2003.

From when I used to be funny

While digging through some crap, I found some work I did several years ago in a desktop publishing class.

Trees and Things

Because some of you (who shall remain nameless) insist on turning my creepy tree into a filthy tree, filthy trees have been on my mind. Now, I don't want filthy trees on my mind, but on my mind they are. The situation is out my hands really. Anyway, while perusing some photos I've taken in the past few months, I came across a photo of what I can only call a tree anus. (Also, it's kind of a big photo. Sorry dialup folks. Heh-heh.)



Hot stuff, huh?

And, for no other reason than my love of the purely random, here's a video of the late, great Mr. Sammy Davis, Jr. singing the theme song to Chico and the Man:

At the Junction

For some bizarre reason my malfunctioning brain has recently been playing the theme song to the 60's sitcom Petticoat Junction while I'm at work. I haven't watched this program in thirty years or more.



While this inane song kept playing in my head, what bothered me was the title of the program itself. Petticoat Junction? What does that even mean? Is it some kind of sexual double-entendre? The theme song mentions that there's "Lotsa curves, you bet. Even more when you get/To the junction, Petticoat Junction". These lines are sung right as you see the women swimming in the water tower.

Also, Petticoat Junction was located in Hooterville.

Creepy tree is creepy

Creepy tree is creepy
Originally uploaded by Cropshy

For lack of anything else, here's a random photo of a creepy-ass tree in the backyard.

Hiatus of the Gods

I've been poked and prodded by some of you for a new post. I don't really know what you want, blogging doesn't hold that much interest in me these days. I'm not even reading blogs that much anymore, which is why comments by me aren't popping up in places they traditionally have popped up.

So what have I been doing? Writing, reading, working my horrible job, and, when I have some extra time, wallowing in misery. I've started writing a journal again, except this time instead of keeping it in a notebook I've been doing it on my computer. Since I've started doing it back in mid-March I've accumulated just over 40,000 words. It's nice to be able to write without having to worry if anyone will actually like it.

Anything else to report? Ah, yes, now I remember... Hobby Lobby sells 11/16 inch wide rare earth magnets! Also, Target (which otherwise is a vortex of suffering) sells sarsaparilla soda under the brand name Archer Farms. Good stuff.

No, I'm not back from hiatus

I was poking through some old files on my external hard drive and found the (for lack of a better word) poem below. I think I wrote it, or maybe not. Maybe it was generated by some online thing that I entered some text into. I don't know. But however it was written, I thought I would share its spectacular awfulness with the world.


my toenails ache
with the thoughts of a thousand
salads I see
meat upon meat
I stand above your grandma
licking the air with glee
the cinderblocks explode
and we are at play
many tired orphans wound us
as the parade melts away

my balls hurt, grandma
take my nub
I walk in the bean patch
stuffing the chub


OK, back to being on hiatus. And what am I doing on hiatus? I'm stuffing the chub mostly.

Blogging is stupid and boring

Blogging has become quite dull for me. These days I'm more interested in reading dead tree books and writing stuff that no one will see.

I'm taking a break.

Jewelry for Weirdos

My sister's having a sort of sale at her Etsy store, so go buy some of her jewelry so she'll stop pissing and moaning to me about how everyone loves her work but is too damn cheap to actually buy the creepy-ass stuff.

She needs money to get her cat a sex change operation.

Menu

This is a detail from a menu I had to do for a desktop publishing class several years ago. I found it recently in a stack of paper I was going to reuse in my printer. The only thing about this class I really liked was that sometimes I could write strange stuff in the assignments. Although one time the teacher took points off because I did that. Killjoy.

That's Not Quite Relaxing

Last night I dreamed about a place where you could interact with birds of prey by lying down on a flat rock with food on your face and the birds would swoop down and snatch it off with their talons. I remember one person with fried eggs over her eyes and other food over her nose and mouth. I couldn't imagine just lying there while a big bird with sharp claws and beak would take food right off your eyes.

Spiderman?

Yesterday morning while perusing the Aldi sale paper, I was startled to see a photo of a black kid wearing what at first looked like a KKK Imperial Wizard robe.



Then I got a closer look and saw it was some bizarre garment called a "Hooded Character Towel". Don't the companies that make this kind of stuff ever think about how about it looks? You'd think that someone in the company would have taken one look at the design and said, "Heh. Looks like a Klan robe."

It'll Grow Back, Don't Worry

It's been a week since I ripped open my right ring finger and it's healing nicely. I posted a picture on my mostly unused Flickr page. I decided to link to it instead of posting it here since the gross photo I posted last week elicited an "Ew, gross!" from Cindy and derision from my sister.

It didn't fester at all; I'm kinda disappointed.

Also, it's nice to not have a bandage the size of a corndog.

Update: I was just informed by Cindy in the comments that you have to log in to see my gross knuckle photo on Flickr. Crap. OK, here's a direct link where you shouldn't have to log in.

End of the Toothpaste Rainbow?

A while back, I posted something about Pepsodent. Something about whether or not the American stuff has formaldehyde in it like the Indonesian version. Or something. I dunno. Anyway, I finally got a response to my query from the company. Well, I got the response last Thursday, but that was the day I cut the ever-loving monkey nuts out of my right ring finger. So I'm using that as an excuse for my tardiness.

Dear Mr. M:

Thank you for visiting our web site. We appreciate your interest in our company and our Pepsodent® Toothpaste products.

We are proud to say all Church & Dwight toothpaste products are made in the United States and we do not use any ingredients produced in Indonesia. Thorough safety assessments are made of all ingredients and finished formulations before our products are introduced into the marketplace.

None of our dental care products including Pepsodent contain formaldehyde.

Legitimate products must indicate “Distributed by: Church & Dwight Co., Inc., Princeton, NJ”. If the product in your possession does not have this notation, we suggest that you return it to the store where you purchased it.

At Church & Dwight Co., Inc., we strive to manufacture products of high quality and performance that meet genuine consumer needs. It is gratifying to learn from you that our efforts are recognized and appreciated.

We hope you will visit our web site again at: WWW.CHURCHDWIGHT.COM for information about our company, products, history, and financial information.


Thomas B. McCann
Consumer Relations Specialist

Well, there you have it. American Pepsodent doesn't have formaldehyde in it. Also, that Indonesian stuff probably shouldn't even be sold here. But is that going to stop me from using the Indonesian stuff? Nope. I still have half a tube left.

One Handed

Not being able to use my right hand that much sucks. I'll be glad when this finger heals up.

Ever try to take a shower with one hand? I think I'm half-clean. Anyone want to come over and give me a good scrub?

Today's Inconvenient Accident Can Suck It (WARNING: Gross Photo Below)

That's my right ring finger as of midday. At work I sliced the knuckle down to the bone and now I can't really do anything easily (especially type). I have three stitches, and since the cut's on the knuckle, I guess they didn't want the finger moving.

When I went to punch out at work, my giant finger wouldn't even fit in the hand scanner.

I can't even scrub the machine shop filth off my hand.

At least I got a nice big bottle of Darvocet for my troubles.

Update 2/20/09: Here's a photo of the stitches. Gross, huh? The bandage fell off sometime last night, and when I woke up, naturally I decided to take a picture of it.

Microcosm?

A few weeks ago at Wal-Mart I found myself buying a two-pound carton of goldfish crackers. Why? I don't know. I blame the madness that seems to possess most everyone who dares enter a Wal-Mart.

So, I ate two pounds of goldfish crackers. But something was bothering me. (Besides having a colon filled to the brim with partially digested goldfish crackers.)



The goldfish on the package is apparently alive and quite happy. But yet his sole purpose in life is to be eaten. Also, he's riding a bicycle, but yet has no feet to pedal it, nor does he have any arms with which to steer it. At least he has on a helmet because with no way to control the bike, it's almost certain that the hapless goldfish cracker will be having a serious accident. The bicycle seems to be traveling at a high rate of speed, and the tires are coated with a thick layer of cheese that will make any effort at control all the more difficult.

The truly sad part in all of this is that the goldfish cracker seems completely unaware of his fate.