Category Archives: Giant metal chickens are everywhere

Saw this and thought of you

Text messages with a friend:

Her: I saw this and it made me think of you: “Your true friends are like stars in the sky.  They’re there even when you can’t see them.”

me:  Aw.  That’s sweet.  And sort of depressing.

Her:  How is it depressing?

me:  Most of the stars in the sky are either dead or currently on fire.  Some are exploding.  So basically you just said that the phrase “Your true friends are either dead or currently on fire.  Some are possibly exploding” reminds you of me.

Her:  Oddly enough, that phrase makes me think of you as well.

me:  Touché, my friend.  Make sure your pajamas are flame-retardent.

************

And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means its time for the weekly wrap-up:

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

“Okay, watch me, okay. One two three and I’M GONNA KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I’LL RIP YOUR BALLS OFF. Like that, see?”

“I’m still not getting it, Bob.”

“For fuck’s sake, Paul.”

This weeks wrap-up sponsored by the folks that brought you by Paddy Power’s Online Bingo.  I’ve never played online bingo before but every year at Victor’s family reunion we play it for like 10 hours straight and all the prizes are stuff like home-made toilet paper cozies made by Great Aunt Barb, or a half a carton of Camels.  Regardless, it’s awesome and I love to play, and I imagine these people have better prizes than toilet-paper cozies, although to Aunt Barb’s credit our toilet paper has never seemed cozier.  You can check them out here.

 

UPDATED: The post where I make it up to you. And then make things worse. And then apologize again.

Yesterday I went out to the nearby market because we live in rural Texas so we go to all the various country fairs and trade days because that’s what we have instead of a mall.  They are awesome and terrible and I never come home without part of an iron lung, or a 60 year old book about “why naked midgets are awesome”.  Yesterday at one stop I found 100’s of doll heads on spikes. It stretched on for a half-acre.  Also, the doll torsos and limbs were in various buckets around, so it was sort of like Build-a-Bear except that you end up with a misproportioned, evil doll that will probably eat your nose off while you sleep.

Even the demon on the right was having a panic attack:

It's creepy, but sometimes it's just nice to be reminded that there are people weirder than me in the world.

But it wasn’t *all* doll heads on spikes.

Because some were on chains.  

Also, this isn’t even half of the heads-on-spikes and none of them were marked for sale.  It was like some sort of Stephen King art installation had accidentally fallen into the center of a market.  There wasn’t a vendor there but no one shoplifted from him.  Probably because you don’t want to fuck with someone who sticks baby heads on spikes.  And because practically no one wants to steal baby heads on spikes.  Both of these things are true.

I did find several other treasures though from other vendors. I found a children’s book of illustrated corpses, complete with color pictures and when I insisted I needed to have it Victor and I both screamed, “IT’S THREE DOLLARS”.

For different reasons though, apparently.

Then I bought a taxidermied duckling (that died of natural causes) and Victor was all “What the fuck are you going to do with a taxidermied duck?” and I was all “What wouldn’t I do with a taxidermied duck?”  It’s like he’s never even met me.

Then I explained that ducks wearing hats were impossible to turn down and he said that the duck didn’t have a hat and I explained that Martin Van Buren’s hat was invisible, but that I’d already bought it and it was already waiting at home in the dollhouse for him.  That’s how ready I was for Martin Van Buren.  And also I explained that his name was Martin Van Buren.  Then Hailey started begging Victor for Duckie Van Buren and Victor explained that we weren’t going to spend $20 on a fragile ancient duckling I’d probably break immediately and Hailey pointed out that if he got broken “we could fix him with duck tape”.  Then I melted from the cuteness and promised her a (probably taxidermied) pony, and Victor looked at us worriedly and wondered when Hailey had joined my strange alliance.  Then I explained that I would make Martin Van Buren into a vampire hunter and then Victor said he’d buy him if I just stopped talking.  EVERYONE WINS.

Especially Martin Van Buren, who looks like a damn bad-ass in his top-hat, holding a bloody spike he just used to impale a nonsexy vampire.

Proof:

He has a bloody spike under his wing. And a very self-satisfied but shell-shocked look on his face. It's like he was MADE for Vampire-hunting.

The really weird thing is that I already owned everything necessary for this scene. The only thing I was missing was a duck that looks good in a hat.

I showed the scene to Victor and he sighed and agreed that it was very frightening but (he pointed out) not for the reasons I’d intended.

Wow.  This post was meant to make it up to you for being MIA so much but now I think I owe you an apology for making you look at Vampire-hunting ducks and baby heads on spikes.  BUT!  There is one very important part I can’t miss.  Because when we first drove up to the market I screamed “HOLY SHITSNACKS, IT’S A FLOCK OF BEYONCES”.  Because it was.  And Victor glared at me while I haggled for a smallish sort of giant metal chicken who desperately wanted a home and he accused me of having some sort of a metal chicken hoarding problem.  But then I pointed out that I was buying this apartment sized metal chicken for you.  Yes, you.  Because I love you.  But I can’t afford to buy chickens all of you so instead I’m randomly selecting one of you to actually win it.  Granted, your spouse might hate it, but you can point out that at least it’s not towels, which has always worked for me.

I took two pictures, but Ferris Mewler managed to squirrel his way into them so you’ll have to ignore him.  Or use him for scale.

"What? You're taking a picture? Don't mind me. I'll just stand back here in case someone needs me."

Ferris Mewler: "These are my paws, you guys." We've all seen your paws, Ferris Mewler.

Anyway, as a very large thank you for not deserting me while I’ve been busy with book stuff I will randomly select one of you from the comments below to win the mini-Beyonce.  All you have to do is tell me what you would name him if he was yours.

The names “Beyonce” and “Martin Van Buren” are spoken for.

Obviously.

UPDATED:  Holy crap, you guys.  That’s a lot of people wanting chicken.  Also, thank you so much for distracting me from the fact that tonight I’m spending tonight in a hospital so they can see if I’m having seizures in my sleep because apparently I don’t have enough shit wrong with me.  (If they let me have my phone I will -of course - be live-tweeting the whole thing.)  And in appreciation for offering up such twisted names (so brilliant that I’m tempted to adopt an orphanage just to have kids to name) that I’ve convinced my editor to send me a couple of advance copies of my book to give out as well.  The advance copies are soft-cover and have typos and the pictures are low resolution, but you’ll be able to read my book 2 months before it’s available.  Or you can use it to fix a wobbly table.  Either way, really.

PS.  Seriously.  Thank you.  You have no idea how much I needed the laugh today.  I’ll pick the winners this week.

UPDATED X 2:  Holy crap.  That’s a lot of people wanting chicken.  Winners announced over here.

Victor refuses to open anything addressed to me anymore

I have a public PO box, but I almost never write about anything sent to me.  Also, I never check it, so twice a year the post office gets pissed, throws everything in one box and mails it to me.  Last time, the most baffling package contained an actual kangaroo hand.  No shit, y’all.  Kangaroo hand.  There was also a kangaroo scrotum in there, specifically marked for Victor.  I can only assume the rest of the kangaroo was lost in transit.  It was awesome and Victor said he was never going to open anything addressed to me again.

Yesterday a new box arrived and one package stood out from the rest:

At least it's not a giant metal chicken.

But there’s something that made these towels stand out (even more than the fact that I would finally be able to wear a bath-towel that simply says “motherfucker” on it).  The labeling on the cellophane:

That’s marketing, motherfuckers.

PS. You really shouldn’t send me stuff.  Seriously.  I suck at thank you notes and I almost never write about anything I get in the mail.  Except for the towels.  I had to share the towels.

PPS.  And also this girl, who just sent me an envelope filled with fucked-up stickers.  Victor came home and found that I’d put “FOR VAGINAL USE ONLY” stickers on all of our cups and plates, and there were “EXTRA FANCY” and “MAY CAUSE DISCOLORATION OF URINE” stickers all over the kitten.  Then Victor got all pissy so I put an “AGGRESSIVE ANIMAL. OBSERVING FOR RABIES” sticker on him, and then he stuck all of the “UNDER MEDICATION” stickers on my face.  Which was unnecessary because one is enough, Victor.  Then Hailey asked if she could have some, and it felt weird telling a 6-year-old that I wouldn’t share my stickers with her, so I gave her the foreign-language ones and the meat-product stickers, and she put a “BULK SAUSAGE” sticker on Victor’s shirt.   Then, after she left, Victor shrugged and said, “Whatever.  Bulk Sausage was my nickname in high school”.  I love that man.

PPPS.  “PARA USO RECTAL SOLAMENTE” sounds very pretty, but you shouldn’t let your child bring those stickers to school.  Also, I should probably learn some Spanish.  And that’s why I’m not allowed to join the PTA.

It’s Sunday, but I wrote all the really blasphemous stuff earlier in the week. I’d like that noted in my permanent record.

You know how I’m always perpetually late for trends and memes?  WELL, NOT THIS TIME, MOTHERFUCKERS.  Apparently, “stocking is the new “leisure diving (which was the new “owling) (which was the new “planking) and this time I’m totally on time for it.  “Stocking” is the new hipster art of imitating stock photography.  Why?  I DON’T KNOW AND I DON’T HAVE TIME TO RESEARCH IT.  Mainly because if I don’t post this immediately, I risk becoming out of date.  Not this time, hipsters.

I WIN.

Updated:  Motherfucker. I went back to find the links explaining all of this, and apparently in the time it took me to write this update I’ve become obsolete.  According to the internet, “horsemaning is now the new “stocking”.  Fuck it.  I’m officially saving us from ourselves.  Guess what?  Not-doing-shit is the new horsemaning.  I just called it.  You’re welcome, world.  Go watch some tv.  It’s what all the cool kids are doing.

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In other news, it’s Sunday, which means it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

(Graphic provided by Round Table Companies.)

What you missed on my Ill-Advised column:

What you missed on my sex column (which is satirical and vaguely safe for work if your boss isn’t a complete douche-canoe):

What you missed in my shop (tentatively called “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on Shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

  • I don’t know.  I kind of suck this week.  How about you?  Did you read something awesome that we should all look at?  Leave it in the comments.

This week’s wrap-up sponsored by Oh Crap Potty Training, which sounds like a SNL skit, but is actually a business devoted to getting your kid potty trained in a week. I can only guess this involves some sort of magic. You should probably check it out.

Knock-knock, motherfucker. Giant metal chickens revisited.

Yesterday when I was driving home from the grocery store I passed a shop that sells lawn ornaments and rustic furniture.  This, however, was new:

This is not an optical illusion. It's an eight-foot metal chicken.

I almost drove into a mailbox, and when I got out and asked the clerk about it he said that his boss had just bought it because “apparently lots of people have been calling and asking about big metal chickens all of a sudden“.  Then I said, “How very odd. But, do you have anything larger?” and he looked at me like he was considering calling the police.  I probably wouldn’t have bought it anyway, but I do kind of love the thought of Victor driving up to see a metal chicken peering angrily over the roof of our house from the backyard.  I’d return it the next day though, probably.  Because my home owners association is an asshole.

PS.  In surprisingly related news, this morning Victor opened the door to find another Beyoncé on the porch.

It's Beyonce. But travel-sized.

Fortunately this one was only 2 inches tall.  It’s an exact, 2-D replica of the Beyoncé statue (with the flying pig on his head) that I had made in resin.  For Victor’s desk.

PPS.  If you want your own tiny Beyoncé statue you can buy it right here for under $20.  You’ve gotta add your own caption though.  I added mine with a piece of a post-it note, so that I can change the saying every time I hide Beyoncé somewhere else.  Like tomorrow I’m going to leave a note on it that says “WHERE THE TOWELS AT?”  And this morning I’m leaving Beyoncé on the pile of laundry on the bathroom floor with a note saying “Really, dude? Is this where the dirty clothes belong?”  Because Beyoncé is a teaching tool.

UPDATED: Victor says Beyoncé would be more effective if the dirty clothes on the floor weren’t all mine.  I think maybe Victor just doesn’t understand how passive-aggressive chicken-notes work.