Tag Archives: Comedy

Why the long face, Mr. Horse?

“I have a face for radio.”

I heard that joke while trying to fit in the NYC music industry a lifetime ago. The joke was so amusing to me that it has found its way into my current life with the same fresh enthusiasm as which it first started. People have recently told me I should work the airwaves, and I have not hesitated to rip open the flavor seal on that line every time.

Like most comedy, its kernels of truth get stuck in teeth like the remnants of a movie popcorn bucket. My fleshy, dour visage often dominates conversations with twinges of unrelenting disillusionment and disbelief. That’s not TV personality material, nor is it the “good ol’ boy” behavior the average American requires to feel secure in their way of life. That is not happiness, not mine anyway. Happiness may be a frame of mind, but I have yet to find its craft gallery. I understand that is my own cross to bear, but do I not have the right to express it?

For several months, I’ve tried another avenue to grow and succeed. I don’t think anyone has to leave for a new location to change their current situation in life. However, when the chips are down, doesn’t it seem like a great option? Being the personality I am, I take my endeavors seriously and with such dedication and fervor that I could rip apart the mediocre with fiery assertions. The security blanket is flung off, and discomfort chills the body.

…but I’m effective, and that’s why I’m useful.

I also make great personal sacrifices to the ignorance of my associates. While not all of the story, this endeavor has chewed up time to compose new articles to post here. While a path that is wracked with obscurity, I can at least feel a modicum of accomplishment here. A lasting accomplishment.

So, as I sit here, fuming over my current resources (or lack thereof), I wonder what is worth anything. The spurned, desperately trying to avoid misanthropy and bitterness. Maybe it’s better to simply be self-interested and do what I please. Others around me have no qualms in doing such.

“I’m tired of this back-slappin’ ‘isn’t humanity neat’ bullshit. We’re a virus with shoes.” ~ Bill Hicks

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Saturday, February 15th, 2014

I tried not talking about it, but observed holidays aren’t easy to dodge. Valentine’s Day came and went without much of a to-do. That’s primarily because I fell asleep when I got home from work and didn’t wake up until midnight. How hopeless of a romantic could I be? Very hopeless, I assure you.

Earlier, I wrote out a rather sincere holiday wish on my other social media:

“Today is Valentine’s Day. As such I wish all that are in love, happy, and content a wonderful day regardless of orientation. As long as you’re happy with your arrangement, I’m happy for you.

Tonight, though, I raise a glass to the singles. The independents who refuse to let society tell them what to think or how to think politically, socially, or otherwise. I toast to you for seeking your own way, thick with the fear and hatred of others who think you’re an affront to their way of life. I salute those who know what it means socially to suggest a different viewpoint than what is popular. Your mile is just as important as any special interest.”

Now that may have ruffled a few feathers for one reason or another, but the people that truly know me know I won’t bite unless provoked. I don’t go around with the intention of picking fights, but if I can’t say what’s on my mind it gets ugly. That was also on the heels of some people digging into me for suggesting women are human and are susceptible to bad habits like bossiness. Not all “bossiness” is misinterpreted leadership, people. Cut the crap.

Once I shook off my bonds of slumber, I grabbed a pint down at the bar. There wasn’t much to be had for the likes of me, except a game of darts and a Doris Day movie. I did, however, get my first comment on a book review from the dating site:

“hi, i have a business proposal that will benefit both of us.If you are interested, email me to my personal email [redacted] for more details. Please note that chatting is not allowed, only email communication.”

I’m not sure about you, but I think I was just propositioned like a John. That’s an odd feeling, being thought of as a customer. In fact, I really dislike being thought of as a customer in many situations. After a little fiddling, I was able to remove it. People would start to get the impression it was abandoned. If anything, it needs a whole biographical rewrite. I’ve been known to scrap and start from scratch multiple times.

Also, a woman complimented me on my cologne for the first time, albeit the cashier at fast food restaurant. All together, I thought I handled it rather graciously. It makes for awkward ordering, but what can I say? I’m McIrresistible, ladies. Maybe that should be the new form of speed dating? Dinner and a show.

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Tuesday, January 14th, 2014

I forgot I wanted to write a post about this article from December. It fills me with an impish joy only the antics of my fellow Ohio residents could supply. There won’t be any disagreement out of me, even if the study is a bit flawed. To do Ohio justice, calling large corporations with several layers of a phone system rarely leads to happiness. Not considering such actions provocation on the part of companies is a bit naïve by the survey team. Also Time Warner, AT&T, and Comcast (so I hear) can go play Frogger on I-80. I’ve just finished my fourth calling session with AT&T in the past 24 hours. Do you really think I’m going to be a cheerful bear after that?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear with nine interstates full of out-of-state traffic zipping by me at 80, 85, and 90 MPH?

No, I’m not. It’s hard enough to keep the state’s population policed.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear after hearing the general rage-spit about the 2004 elections, or more recently John Boehner of whom I had no ability to cast a vote against?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear when the coastal regions act like we’re some kind of step down to their genteel way of life?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear, when the industries we worked so hard to maintain are now shipped to China and Mexico with little left to show for it but dilapidated factories and unemployment?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear when my own country deems my area too unimportant to fix health and safety issues on their body of water?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear when the four seasons end up to be Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Construction?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear when the rest of the country thinks this state doesn’t measure up their standards of courtesy?

The fuck I will.

With all that said, yes, Ohioans are fairly edgy overall.  I think the economic, environmental, and social stressors are getting to them. It has made people a little crunchy around the edges. There are deep divides in the political, religious, and philosophical canvases of which no one is really interested in closing. What else would you expect from a state that gave you William Tecumseh Sherman and Marilyn Manson? It has led to practice of staunch individualism with mediocre results.

I do get mad about the state of which I’ve lived in for over 30 years. I do make insulting remarks when I see preventable failure withing state lines, but it’s more in the form of wanting improvement out of a developed location. Outsiders simply want to make comments to feel better about their situation and birthplace. That’s why you see a seemingly double-standard when it comes to criticism.

If it weren’t so hacked up and shattered, I think several people would have chosen to stay. People get mad at other people. Other people leave to find better people. People get mad that other people left. It’s a vicious circle, or maybe a little like a downward spiral.

Nine Inch Nails… Cleveland band.

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Fooled University

I decided to write another comedy sketch for the same reason I bought Cap’n Crunch over the weekend: because I could. People want to carry on about adult life being terrible, but I’ve never felt better in that regard. I can do what I want, and it’s no one else’s business. Yeah, bills and work aren’t always roses, but being an adult’s pretty cool.


INT. Guidance Counselor’s Office at Fooled Univeristy (Fooled U, also FU or the Silly Geese) – DAY

In an extravagantly decorated room with an inordinate amount of degrees sits a guidance COUNSELOR and a STUDENT. It’s the day before finals and the COUNSELOR is breaking the bad news to the well-intentioned, but dim, would-be graduate. It appears that he had not performed all the necessary steps to graduate and will need to wait to be conferred his diploma.


This is a bit hard for me to say, but you won’t be able to graduate at the end of the month, Eric.


Aww, what?! Did I fail finals? You know, if you just give me a chance to take them, I’ll prove myself! Honest!


Huh? Err, no Eric. You’ll be allowed to take your finals tomorrow.


Oh, good. That had me worried. I took my whole lunch to study for them. So, why am I not going to make it? What did I do wrong?


Well, for starters, you’ve forgotten to have a credit audit for your coursework.


I’m in trouble with the IRS?


Eh, no Eric. Your credit hours here at the university.


They’re in trouble with the IRS?!


Oh good Lord. No, we need to see if you have all of your credit hours to graduate.


Did I lose them?


Mmph! No, Eric, we need to see if you’ve taken all your classes.


Oh, well, I think I have. Uncle Auggie just told me what to take and I signed up for them. He’s cool. He’s confident that I’ll get through school.


Well, I’m glad he has confidence in you, Eric, but we’ve got standards. Not just everyone can call themselves a silly goose, you know.


Oh, sure. We wouldn’t want stupid people getting a diploma. If anyone could get a diploma here, then employers could care less about it.


You mean, “couldn’t care less.”






Oh, no. I really want this thing!


No, Eric, I mean… you know what? Nevermind.

The COUNSELOR centers herself with a few deep breaths and opens the student file to see if there is anything else he needs to accomplish before he graduates. She find his transcript to be full of failing grades and in overall poor shape.


Eric, how did you ever get this far? You’ve failed 80% of your courses and the other 20 were barely passing. Your application was even submitted in crayon.


Oh, I just finished my self-portrait before I filled it out. Mom says I’ve got talent!


I… I can’t take this any longer! Your student record’s a joke. You’re as smart as a box of rocks, and I have no idea how you made it this far without anyone informing you of these glaring flaws. I can’t let this go any further. You’ll either need to take these classes over again or I will bring this up to admissions. This is appalling!

STUDENT (heartbroken)

Ohhhh, no! But I worked so hard. I only played my Xbox for 8 hours a day. That has to count for something. Oh, it’s all my fault! Uncle Auggie won’t be very happy to hear this. He was hoping to hand me my diploma this year. I can’t believe I’ve let him down. I’m so stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

The STUDENT begins to smack himself in the head with his books. COUNSELOR tries to frantically to stop the STUDENT from further injury, when a light goes off in her head.


Wait, do you mean Augustus Waverby, the university president?


Yes. Everyone seems to know that for some reason. You really have some nice professors here, Mrs. Dachshund. I guess I took it all for granted, huh?

At this point, the COUNSELOR tosses the student file in the trash can and smiles.


If that’s the case, I’m always pleased to meet new alumni! Be sure to remember us when making your annual donations and we’ll see you at homecoming. Go Geese!

© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

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Hey! That’s not county fair!

A few months ago, I vowed a trip to the county fair to get a fresh batch of pictures. As fate would have it, I completely forgot it existed while it was here. That’s a little disheartening, but I can surely show the pictures I collected a few years back. There’s always next year, too. It’s not like this is its last hurrah… or yeehaw, as the case may be.

When I moved back from Charlotte, NC almost four years ago, I was bitter. Shocking, I know. While I still have my moments of frustration, the house has provided enough distraction to avoid sitting in self-destruct mode for days on end. That’s progress I think.

In an acerbic mood, I took it upon myself to document all the instances I saw the Confederate flag here in Hooterville. The county fair was rife with them.


Confederate Flag on faux mink.


Window sticker selection.


This space cliché not only likes the Confederate flag, but it likes to smoke pot while admiring it.


It would be downright blasphemy if it weren’t sold as a belt buckle.


There is a saying in marketing. “If the people want Cheetos, then they shall have orange fingers.” I can’t help but think this is a similar situation.

“Why, Nate,” I hear you say, “weren’t you just living in a Southern state?” To that I would say yes, however, it’s not the flag I’m concerned about. It’s the dim Yankees that display it on their possessions. Listen up, Ohioans. You were part of the Union. Ulysses S. Grant and William T. Sherman hailed from your state. To any Southerner with a shred of pride, you will always be a God Damn Yankee. They’re not going to be fast friends with you, and carpetbaggers are greeted with a weary eye. They do not want you! I know this first hand.

The other reason I went to the fair is to witness all of the “that’s probably not a great idea” moments.


I love the smell of jingoism in the morning. It smells like “mission accomplished”!


This was the walkway to all of the insanely disgusting fried food vendors. Want a whole block of fried cheese? We can do that.


Say hello to “Buck,” the animatronic deer head. Its concept is like that of “Billy Bass,” but only to promote the virtues of this “mountain man” meat vendor. I don’t know… seems legit.


Here we have the local Republican headquarters shilling for more votes. Dead center, we see young Republican feathers. I didn’t think Republicans would be the ones supporting tribal representation.

This is all part and parcel of why I left town in the first place. I’ve met many on my travels that tell me, “you’ll find this anywhere.” To that I say, “you can also find a way around it elsewhere.” It’s the truth, too. The area’s too small to circumvent an attitude of which I loathe to watch. I see it everyday, and wish for higher standards of behavior. I know I won’t get it, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.

At the end of the day, though, where else could you see something this majestic?


I now have a strong urge to play Megadeth.

All pictures © 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

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The Ghost of Jack-in-the-Box “Tom” Joad

I’ve read a few comedy skits via National Sketch Writing Month and Susan Sassi, and it’s a lonely Friday night. What is a boy to do? If he’s in the fields, it usually involves drinking cheap beer and acting like an ass. Not the Corvidae, mind you. Oh no. The night is young and I’ve got the tequila out. Reposado, of course, because I’m a classy bird.

Comedy, in general, has always been a pet project for me. It was the way I coped through 18 years of Hell, and who knew razor-tongued kids would shape such a cynical wiseass?

I’ve never intended to do stand up. I have ungodly stage fright. My acting is worse than Vin Diesel’s, but deep down, there’s the funnyman underneath all of that. While examining the Manager’s Specials at my local grocery store, I thought, “why not write a sketch”? What’s the harm in one little, teeny, tiny write up? I feel fine, because I know I’m a hack.



The scene is tense. There are several employees on strike for a living wage. News teams are on the scene to get their story. REPORTER begins his wind up. PROTESTER waits in the background, impatient to tell his story.


Here we have a line of fast food workers protesting for better pay. Some of these folks can claim a heritage in fast food all the way back to Dick and Mack McDonald themselves. Today, they ask more from the companies they’ve made (dare I say it?) a career of. Excuse me, sir? What’s your story?


I come from a long line of fry cooks. Pops was a fry cook. My grandad was a fry cook, and my great-grandad used to peel potatoes in the army. I think that’s close enough. You could say that screwing off in school, making poor financial choices, and lacking motivation runs in our blood. Why would someone want to ruin that tradition? We need to be paid a fair wage to sustain this level of mediocrity!


Your spirit is commendable, sir. I wish you the best of… wait… what’s that?!

From behind the news crew comes a beat up 1926 Hudson Super Six piled high with worn, worldly possessions and 20 fry guys. It sputters, coughs, and wheezes as it comes to a concerning stop. Out steps two people JACK-IN-THE-BOX “TOM” JOAD and GASTROBOY, a four-foot 300 pound, rosacea-laden sidekick.


Whenever a drive-thru operator can’t say “would you like fries with that,” I’ll be there! Whenever there’s a time we can’t super size. I’ll be there! Whenever…


Excuse me? Who are you?!


Me? Oh, yes. Me. I am “Tom” Joad, crusader of fast food workers everywhere! And this… this is Gastroboy! Defender of every American’s right to an extremely unhealthy diet.

GASTROBOY (with food stains on his onesie)



Say, aren’t you Jack from Jack in the Box? You’ve got the pointy nose and everything.


Err… No! I am “Tom” Joad, crusader…


Seriously, man. You’re Jack. I… I’ve got your head on my car antenna.

“TOM” JOAD (fighting a lot of pain)

Mmm… OK! I’M JACK! I’M JACK! ALL RIGHT?! *sobbing*


So, what made you start fighting for a fair wage?


It all happened five years ago. We were in heavy competition with Carl’s Jr. over a new secret sauce. Being arrogant and careless, I added too much horseradish to the batch. I should have listened to Wendy. It exploded, taking out most of the facility and leaving my skin severely irritated.


How does that tie into fair wages?

JACK (pausing)

You know, I may not have thought the whole vigilante story through all the way.

Before Jack could continue, DUCAT GOLDENBANKS shows up on the scene. He is garishly decorated with a golden three-piece suit and money bursting from every pocket.


(Hissing) Your plan will never work, people! I have enough money to buy your family trees. All this does is interrupt my Skype session to order more gold-plated toilets. AHAHAHAAA! What? Who’s this clown? I don’t have any Jack in the Box franchises!


The name’s “Tom.”  Would you like to try a couple quarter pounders?

A bizarre, oafish, comical fist fight breaks out between the two characters. It’s slightly reminiscent of Batman the TV series starring Adam West. JACK blinds DUCAT GOLDENBANKS with cinnamon twists and pins him down with GASTROBOY.


Oh my God! I can’t breath! And when I can, it smells like cheese.


It’s funny you should mention that. GASTROBOY here is lactose intolerant, and I just fed him a shamrock shake. He’s about ready to reenact the battle of the Somme.  That is unless, of course, you give these protesters the money they need to perpetuate their meaningless existence.


OK! OK! You win this time JACK! or “TOM”! Or whoever you are! But you’ll pay dearly for this! DEARLY!

The protesters cheer wildly and start planning on how to spend their new income which include lottery tickets, liquor, and trips to the dollar store.


Did you hear that GASTROBOY? Our job is done here. It’s lunchtime!

GASTROBOY (curls up his pudgy face into a smile)


And so the two heroes ride off into the distance in their ’26 Hudson with 20 fry guys. The scene cuts back to the REPORTER and PROTESTER  trying to take in all that just happened.


Do you think we’ll ever see him again?


Maybe, if customs doesn’t arrest him at the border.

© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

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Little Did I Know

I spent most of the day putting out office fires and rifling through all of my childhood memories like a Rolodex. Who uses one of those anymore? The embarrassing ones always seem more vivid. Shame was used to keep children in line. Remember “Another Brick in the Wall”?

When we grew up and went to school

There were certain teachers

Who would hurt the children anyway they could

Instead of the teachers, in my case, it was the students.

Masses. Everywhere. Animals. Inmates. Terror.

The best thing for a kid like me to do was to blend in and not get noticed by the unchecked, vicious little bastards teachers would do little to stop.

Public servants. 30 and out. Make no waves and live to be paid another day.

In classic, tragically-humorous fashion my younger years were wrought with fear and anxiety. I think it made me question life far sooner than my contemporaries, as it simply seemed surreal. One of the more laughable things I began to panic about was the thought I was the only person on the face of the planet with flatulence. Yes, I thought I was the only human being that could fart. How I arrived at this supposition was an evening of balancing myself, end up of course, against my parent’s rust-colored couch. After finally being able to put my feet on the ground over my head without rolling over, I quickly celebrated with a trumpet fanfare from the posterior section of my body.

What was that noise? Oh, God, why does it smell?! My child brain raced to remember if this had happened elsewhere. No. There were no other recorded cases of this phenomena before. Please don’t tell me I’ve been “gifted” with this ability. I want a refund!  Surely, I had never heard anyone else break wind before. I was the first case in my experience. This was not good. This was mortifying.

So, months went by and I kept that little paranoid gem to myself. Sneakily, I was trying to pull information out of other people to see if it was something common to humans will little success. My speech skills aren’t stellar, and interrogation was never my strong suit but I couldn’t let any of this top secret information out. I would never have a moment’s rest from the little savages that sit next to me for 8 hours a day. After several awkward conversations, I became discouraged. How was I going to cope with this gigantic, red F carved in my chest?!

For a long while, I was able to keep things under wraps, until the mythological tricksters of the school decided to change all that in Mrs. Shadel’s Social Studies class. I remember the subject because the books were so ridiculously thick. How were we ever to get through all of that? Anyway, I was called on to read a passage from the book. This wasn’t possible, since it was stored neatly under my seat on the suspended wire rack. Little did I know I was about to demonstrate to the world my musical “talents.”

I leaned over and put a hand on that brown-paper-bag-covered textbook only to let off a noise that would make a foghorn jealous. Frozen. I couldn’t move. A tear formed in the corner of my eye, as if I watched the ending of He-Man & She-Ra the Movie: Secret of the Sword (shut-UP, I loved that movie ಠ_ಠ). A commotion started with jeers, laughter, chiding, and all sorts of hate directed at me: the easy target. The stooge. The not-good-enough. The reject. The scapegoat. All the noises began swirling in my head and I shut my eyes to black out their faces, until I heard a voice silencing them all.

What was this? A reprieve? Was it over? Can I go back to thinking about social studies now? Not quite.

“All right,” said Mrs. Shadel, “I’m going to count to three and you’re all going to get it out of your system.”

Fuck… it’s a firing squad.

At least the noise was uniform, albeit painful. After about five seconds the teacher cut them off and went back to the lesson. I can’t remember what it was. I was too preoccupied to function. The day was ruined, and I just wanted to go home. There were a few stray insults after that, but the simple minds finally got distracted with something else. I was free to disappear… and forget… until now.

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A Flying Chair in the Sky

I realized yesterday I left myself a note of sorts to write an entry about Louis C.K. Understandably, the title is a non sequitur to anyone but me. I shall explain.

There is a popular comedian named Louis C.K. who has the typical routine of making people out for stupid. Much of comedy is made at the expense of others. This is nothing new. One of my favorites, Lewis Black, is notorious for these bits. I’ve been a fan ever since his IHOP sketch. Whenever I watch Louis, though, I have an intrusive thought: I want to slap his head like a buzzer from Family Feud. It’s not to be critical of his work, rather it’s the first thought that enters my head. If only he made this noise, when I did.

Louis has a routine about how everything’s amazing and no one’s happy. He goes on to talk about how we take everything for granted. Of course, everyone in the crowd claps like a seal at Sea World. Comedy often comes in half-truths, otherwise the comedian/comedienne couldn’t bend the everyday observation to suit his or her needs. That’s what it really boils down to: taking an ordinary observation and tilting it on its side for laughs.

Part of this tirade is about flying, and how we should all be hooting and hollering about “being in a chair in the sky.” Why, yes, Louis. We should all throw a party every time a flight happens. Never mind the less than great TSA treatment, or dwindling perks (i.e. paying $25 for the first piece of checked luggage), or the outrageous food prices. No, none of that’s important, as we’re supposed to be happy little zombies shuffling this way and that. Do what you’re told. Take what you’re given. Stay in line. Consume and obey.

In practical terms, just how long do we need to keep a super-enthusiastic-oh-my-God-this-is-tremendous attitude about technology? I can agree satellite communications are still fairly recent, but flight?! That’s generations old! What about fire? Should we get hung up over every advancement like a bunch of rubes? Well, GO-O-O-LLLY, that sure is a mighty fine improvement you got thar with your heat source and all. Come on now. Maybe I should stare longingly at my toilet and write it a poem to, you know, show it my utmost gratitude?

Do you really want to know why people aren’t happy, Louis, even with this “mind-blowing” technology? It’s because people can’t treat each other well, Louis. It has been that way for a long time. In my lifetime, I might be able to fly to Asia in a blink of an eye. If I’m not treated well there, why should I be happy about it? It’s the intangible things, Louis, that have a grip on our attitudes. Maybe we should work on that first and then complain about the lack of appreciation later?

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The Great Big Mall in the Sky

Even with the pleasure of TSA’s company, I am willing to bring my spirits back into balance. Yes, gentle citizens, I cheer myself up and don’t require the services of another human being to do so. I think that’s a wonderful quality to have, as plenty of other people are seemingly lacking in this department. This is a self-service comedy area, friend.

To my good fortune, there’s always a SkyMall catalog to keep me centered. For anyone who has flown on a plane since the 90s, they will immediately identify with the name and the vast amounts of premium junk hawked within its glossy folds. After all, we’re Americans! If we want to throw our hard earned pay away on the Bedazzler and the Flowbee, then we are free to do so, by God. To quote Philip J. Fry, “shut up, and take my money!”

Let’s take a look at the wonderful merchandise one can buy while flying the friendly skies:

The Solowheel

In an attempt to capture any remaining fervor from the Segway, the good folks at Inventist have offered a single-wheeled solution for all of those lazy unicyclists out there. It’s called the Solowheel, and for a mere $1,800 it could be yours. Annoy your friends, family, and neighbors as they see you rollin’. Don’t worry, they’re just hatin’. It only makes you look like an extra from B.C., the comic strip. This is not to mention you could get a pretty sweet Huffy for a fraction of the cost.

Mounted Squirrel Head

What words are used to describe the Mounted Squirrel Head? Cute and kitschy. If you were going to say “tacky and in poor taste,” I would be right there with you. It seems a bunch of out-of-work realtors have been “retooled” for the advertising industry. The $25 price tag seems a bit hefty, but I’m sure the magic starts once it’s secured to your living room wall. The only time I would purchase one is if it laughed like the deer in Evil Dead 2.

© “Bigfoot, the Bashful Yeti” Tree Sculpture

From the makers of the “Hanging Chimp” statue and the “Grand Tiki” Sculptural Tables comes their greatest polyresin product yet: “Bigfoot, the Bashful Yeti.” Never mind Sasquatch and Yeti mythology are more like kissing cousins, or Bigfoot is arguably more freaked out by flabby white guys in plaid flannel shirts than bashful, this is a treasure with little equal. Think of all the fun you could have entertaining your family:

“Hon-nee! Why are you hiding behind that tree?”

“I’m not, sweetie. I’m right here.”

“Oh! Then who’s that?!”

That is our new ‘Bashful Yeti’ sculpture! Isn’t it adorable? :D”

“Oh! I thought you forgot to wax today.”


Reasonably priced at $70, no wooded residential lot should be with out one. It would be a tragedy to ignore the beauty of this magnificent beast.

Box of Applause & Box of Laughter

This is my personal favorite, and I’ve saved it for last. For $25 per box, the aspiring comedian (ahem) or comedienne can get all of the affirmation their hearts desire with the flip of a lid. In other blogs, I have voiced my opinion on laughing at my own jokes. The point being is if I didn’t laugh at my own jokes, I wouldn’t have an audience. With these little bundles of self flattery, my audience has increased two fold! I won’t double up the count with both boxes, because I’m just that modest.

I don’t know about you all, but all of this SkyMall shopping has made me thirsty. I’ll have to signal over the flight attendant to accommodate me with a half a can of pop and my bag of six complimentary peanuts. So refreshing!

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