Part of my annual family get together, aside from gorging and disposing of vast quantities of cheap beer, is the much anticipated day-after trip to thriftlandia. Any trip that yields a velvety emotional Elvis is a good one.
As my cousin Zach postulated: maybe that's not a microphone but an onion.
Here is the winner of the Shiny Metallic Phallus! (c) Award. At first I thought this was some Big Lebowski reference, but then I saw the kid's expression as his Shiny Metallic Phallus! (c) thrusts into the sky, seeding the heavens, rocketing his payload into the ample bosom of space (eww) I knew better.
"Mixed Denim" sounds either like the name of a jazz fusion band playing in the corner of your hole-in-the-wall coffee shop ("Right, that was Mood Indigo and we're Mixed Denim and I'd like to give a shout out to my mom. And there's a special on banana-pumpkin mocha lattes") or the title of a blue jean magnate's autobiography (Mixed Denim: The Ned Wranglers Story)
Usually, my second hand slumming is a solo affair, but at thriftsgiving it's a family affair. Clearly they didn't know what they were getting in to.
Who knows, you might even run into a celeb on a thrift run. I pity the fool who doesn't buy his man-earrings second hand.
You know, there is an interesting thrift store-liquor store-donut shop nexus that I may explore at a later date.
Lots of liquor references this post. Just like a Hemingway novel, huh? Would you like a shot of Andrew Jackson or Mr. Bagpipes McHalf-head.
Something's not right with these two. It's almost too quiet. Nope, I wouldn't turn your back on this pair.
Now, this guy, Fright Sight Rath, or whatever, he looks like a fine, upstanding mummy. Mummies Alive! is kind of an oxymoron, though huh?
But wait a second! "Push my Leg!" and discover his "Monster Cobra Inside"? Yuck. Lots of phallic references this post, too.
"Honey, what time is it?"
"Well, dear, let me consult the doomsday clock. Looks like it's just about suppertime."
"Jesus, is it that late already?"
JESUS CLOCK a one act play by me.
Okay, lots of God in this post too. But wait, is this Our Lord Jesus Christ? Or...
Or is it...
You be the judge, but judge not lest ye be judged. Fight the power.
One thing this post hasn't had enough of is gay basketball. If you were hoping for some gay basketball, here you go. If you'd like I can turn the gayness up just a bit.
I think there's an album cover in this image somewhere. Like dead center. In the crotchal zone.
Well, eventually we all had to leave thriftlandia, mainly to by more booze. I can't decide which sign was more bizarre at the local grocery store. This one...
Or this. Great. Now I've got that song stuck in my head: "Shaving Cream, shaving cream; shave twice a day and you'll be nice and keen." And now you do too.
But it was not all fun and games and rainbows and scatological innuendos and phalluses (phallusi? phalluxen? A gaggle of phalluses? Eww).
No, my friends there was... MURDER! Murder most foul! Yes, Deborah killed an innocent (if pedestrian) bottle of Pinot Noir and got away scott free. Not pretty. Thriftstoring ain't easy.