Creepy Antique Store

The Boss made me go here, as revenge.

I don't like this stuff. Not one bit.

This is Christie, my pal Scott's wife. She works at the store, proof she has an unnaturally high tolerance for pure soulsucking horror.

drunk halloween scott 2007 (6)

drunk halloween scott 2007 (27)

drunk halloween scott 2007 (4)

drunk halloween scott 2007 (28)

drunk halloween scott 2007 (33)
Also, an unnaturally high tolerance for very drunk Scott.

Anyway, the antique store is just chock full of chilling, disturbing stuff.

Everyone knows these dolls will come to life in the middle of the night and get you. Why don't they burn them? Why?



If the thing were there — and if I were not dreaming — the implications would be quite beyond the power of the human spirit to bear. What tormented me most was my momentary inability to feel that my surroundings were a dream. — H. P. Lovecraft, The Shadow Out of Time

"Hey look, Scott, this one's got a touch of the Downies."
"Man, there's no way that's not intentional. Why would they do that? Do you think it was, like, to teach kids about retards?"

Great — creepy AND racist.



Holy shit, so racist.


Probably racist.

"Aw, jeez, even Dr. King is racist in here."
"He looks like Cab Calloway or something. He's steppin' out on stage and fixin' to sing white folks a little tune."
"Is that all Martin Luther King is to these people? He was so much more than just an entertainer."

"Hm, well I think it's racist."
"What stereotype are they supposed to be perpetuating here, I wonder?"
"It's racism all right. Incompetent racism."
"Ah yes, incompetent racism. The only thing more hilarious than regular racism."

What little girl wouldn't be delighted by finding this in her stocking Christmas morning?

weiner nose
Or Weiner Nose Game? This season all the kids are hoping for Weiner Nose Game.

Speaking of Christmas... He knows when you are sleeping.

He knows when you're awake.

He knows when you've been bad or good.

So be good.


"Now give mumsy a kiss! And maybe she'll let you keep some of your blood."


Fuck, look at this scary pig.


Fuck! Fuck fuck!

Fucking fuck this creepy shit. Seriously.

Its sharp white teeth gleamed in the gaping red mouth, and I could feel its hot breath fierce and acrid upon me... Bram Stoker, Dracula's Guest and Other Weird Stories

gay captive
"Gosh Kevin, with you drugged and tied to my Japanese radiator, I can have sex with you whenever I want! And then I'll dismember and cook you, like I did the last three."

"...and some say if you peel off the paint, a real dead lady head will be there inside."

"Hey Pa, we got us a fat one we can eat on for at least half the winter!"

Man, baby eating? This stuff is really taking me to some dark places.

"The fairy queen said if I don't eat a baby for 100 years, she'll turn me into a real boy! And then I can eat all the babies I want."

mom and dads
Well, this is a bit more cheerful.

Webster was much possessed by death
And saw the skull beneath the skin;
And breastless creatures under ground
Leaned backward with a lipless grin.
— T. S. Eliot, Whispers of Immortality

pure horror
Really, is there any good reason on Earth for any of this stuff to exist?


Domesticatedation Update

So I guess a big part of being domesticated is getting punched in the neck in the middle of the night by The Boss, who is often angry at me for snoring. All my life my sinuses have resembled mysterious caves full of dank poo cheese and grumpy hairy bats, so my snoring is pretty seismic, but not being able to shut off the nose-racket, causing The Boss to drop random midnight deathblows on me, is making my nighty-night time a wee fitful... Like trying to sleep with the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head... Or at least the Pointy Girl Elbow of Damocles...

I've tried blowing my nose, I've tried douching out the schnoz with saline, I've tried telling The Boss to fucking get over it, I've tried fortifying myself with handfuls of Ativan to sleep through all the unpleasantness, I've even worn those depressing little nose band-aids... And I still snore like a storybook ogre, and The Boss hates me for it, a little bit more every day.

But you'd think she'd be used to it, considering the hilarious little dog she's had for a while. The hilarious little dog also features post-apocalyptical wastelandish nose action and generates all sorts of disturbing snore bombs and night-time gurgles, but he gets away with it, I guess by being cute.

party 022

Dude is pretty cute. "It's less like living with a dog, and more like having a friendly little monster around the house," The Boss once said. I motherfucking concur.

Below you'll find a list of all the names we use for the hilarious little dog. You think I'm kidding? Shit, I'm two domestication molecules from turning into Erma Bombeck:

A Coo, a Coo, a Coo-Coo Man
Kublai Khan
He's a Little Coo Man
He's a Little Coo-Coo Man
He's a Little Cuckoo Man
He's a Little Man
He's a Little Man-Man
He's a Little Man-Man-Man
He's a Little Pee-Pee Man
Mister Make a Pee-Pee
Mister Excitement
He's a Man-Man, He's Got a Plan
He's a Man-Man, He's Got a Dastardly Plan
He's a Man-Man, He's Got a Plan, He's the Best Man-Man in the Whole Land - In the Whole Land? The Whole Land!
Little Man
Little Man-Man
Little Pee-Pee Man
Little Trouble Man
He's a Little Mister Make a Pee-Pee
Mister Handsome
Mister Snuggie
He's a Snuggie Man
Booger Joe
Little Booger Joe
Lil' Booger Joe
Mister Likes to Go Bye-Byes!
He's the Cutest Dog in the Land
Mister Eat a Baby!
He's Eatin' That Baby!
Good Boy Eat That Baby
Look Honey He's a Strong Man He's Eatin' That Baby
Oooh He Likes to Eat a Baby
He Likes It! He Likes to Eat a Baby!
Eat that Baby! Get Him! Man-Man Eat the Baby!

party 019


Cookie Fucking Terror Apocalypse

Goddamn kids made cookies last night. Sort of.


I say "sort of" because the cookies were terrible, terrible... Just a nightmare.


Honestly, I don't know why these two can't go run a meth lab or set fire to a bum, like normal kids.


Giuseppe went first. His cookies were salty enough to burn my mouth.


We only managed to eat about half of them before shitcanning the rest. OK, maybe 2/3rds.


Giuseppe was having a rough night. He's staying with us while his real dad is out of town. His dad had called me earlier that night, saying that Giuseppe had apparently contracted a fungal infection, but didn't know what to do, and was embarrassed to ask me or The Boss for help. Giuseppe's dad asked me to discretely pick up some ball cream on the way home, and slip it to Giuseppe on the sly.

"I'm not helping out with the application, Joe," I told him. "That's his real father's job."

"No, you have to work it into a lather," Joe said. I was pretty bummed. Generally I don't like it when people use "lather" in a sentence. As a noun or verb.

So I made it about four seconds before announcing to Tessa and The Boss that Giuseppe had jock itch. Tessa thought this was great, because her pimp name is T Money and Giuseppe's is G Balls and the crotchal nature of Giuseppe's discomfort gave her lots of material to work with during supper. She made a lot of good ball jokes I can't actually remember because I passed out from laughing too hard. Anyway, I'm not a professional, but if you ask me, Ol' itchy G Balls needs to quit wearing them tight-ass girl jeans to school if he wants to clear up that rash.


Even with the rash we still love G Balls Giuseppe. We knew Tessa and Giuseppe were going to be best friends even before we met him. Hell, we knew they were going to be best friends before Giuseppe even met Tessa, because Tessa came home and announced it to us: "There's a gay black kid at my school named Giuseppe and we're going to be best friends!"


What Tessa wants, Tessa gets.


It wasn't easy, though. Giuseppe was a little reticent at first.

"I was scared of her," he said. "I thought she was going to beat me up or something." Go figure.

Giuseppe really endeared himself to me when he slugged some dumb kid that insulted Tessa. I keep telling kids not to listen to their hippie teachers and shit, and that violence is a good way of solving problems. I'm glad at least one of my fake children was listening.


Tessa decided she was going to take the remainder of Giuseppe's nasty ol' salty-ass cookie dough and "fix" it.


Upon hearing this announcement, a small hilarious dog became alarmed.


As were we all, I suppose. "I don't really know what I'm doing, ah hah ha ha ha!" Tessa said.


Tessa's first "fix" turned out to be kind of like a biscuit, only with the searing bitterness of dejection substituted for buttermilk.

Man, we really need to replace those shitty blinds.


Notice Tessa isn't actually eating that sad infernal biscuit.


Next was chocolate. "It's kind of like a scone, or maybe biscotti," The Boss said, "Except, you know, not delicious." I thought that summation was rather kind.


It quickly became clear we weren't eating these.

"Oh, there's a food drive at school — we can give them to the poor people!" Tessa said.

We are the poor people, I thought, but whatever.


They were still here when I woke up this morning.