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Whatever happened to plop plop fizz fizz… or snap crackle and pop? These days it seems like it’s all ball wash or dead hoohaas.
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My Whoopee is right where it needs to be thank you very much.
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They did not just say that!
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Good grief, do they even prescribe that anymore?
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Here’s hoping your hoohaa is in good health and not in need of such products.
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I believe I’ve found heaven right here on earth… and it seems I’m not the only one.
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Yes, boys and girls…. dreams do come true.
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Alcoholic ice cream. Be still my heart!
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Oh, yes.
Yes please!
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Couldn’t have said it better myself Joe.
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Nutrition facts? Who cares! It’s ice cream made with bourbon. ❤️
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Excellent idea. An adult Good Humour truck ! I’d chase that sucker down the street for sure….
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My mouth is watering already.
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I’m good with that.
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Yikes!!! $28.75 per?
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On second thought… I might just drop a scoop full of Breyers in my Woodfords Reserve and call it good.
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If you’ve ever doubted the power of misspelled words, I think these listings might change your mind. They’re also a scathing indictment of the educational system… but that’s another blog entirely.
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I’d like to think that was a typo, but they wrote it twice. Sigh.
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They’re selling a Porsche for $100? What a deal!
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This could go either way… because axes will most definitely grant access.
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If the wax breaks into La Boheme during dinner, fine. Otherwise? Please, buy a dictionary.
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I can’t even.
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This made me chuckle, but judging by the price… it might be a fake.
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Damn, the poor man’s Tardis.
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I have a cat, therefor I am inundated with stupid cat product advertisements.
This week?
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Cat capped aviators may look stupid, but at least they’re well read.
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I am not yet at the time of life where I need to sit on a donut. And a smiling cat donut? I hope I’m never there…
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For the love of all that’s holy, no. I can’t think of a more horrifying, undignified, soul sucking experience to force upon your feline than a taco costume.
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten agrees…. and will shred any human who comes near him with that abomination.
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I can honestly say I will never need a Russian pickle puff.
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But I suppose it’s good to know they exist all the same.
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Shark slippers? I’m sure they’re great for scaring the crap out of sand crabs, but no.
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Do I need to drink my cocktails out of a bird’s ass?
I most assuredly do not.
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And if I don’t need a bird ass cocktail delivery system? I certainly don’t need an egg laying one. Trust me, this will not relieve my stress.
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Because no man cave bar is complete without one.
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Yes, I bought the screaming goat.
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And as thrilling as that was, I admit to being a tad disappointed in his miniature stature.
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Here, let me save you the trouble.
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Annoying friends is a super power I already possess, but whatever.
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Ten reasons? I bought a screaming goat! Why wouldn’t I press the button.
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Alrighty then. Behold the majesty….
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Admit it, you’re jealous and want one of your very own. But wait, there’s more.
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So tell me, is anyone interested in taking the goat quiz?
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There are times when I run across items that beg the question… why?
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Yeah, we’ve all had a crappy year… but squishing plastic rainbow colored excrement isn’t the solution.
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Let me get this straight, good behavior is rewarded with…. poop? New age parenting is truly beyond my comprehension.
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I like wine. I like butter. I do not think I’d like canned butter wine.
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Is it? Is it really….
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Just… no. I don’t want my toothpaste dispensed from anyone’s butt, giant green ogre or otherwise.
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Sometimes Facebook gets it right.
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Like this store… that seems to be targeted to my sense of humor.
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Not always, but maybe. Alright… more than likely it is.
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Sounds like something I would do.
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I have an abundant supply, no problem.
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I’m definitely not. Remind me to tell you the story about my husband’s friend who called him at work to tell him to ‘get his wife under control’. Ha! As if.
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That’s me.
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Someday I’m going to have to buy one of these. It’s my favorite tag line and I’ve been searching for cocktail napkins with that phrase ever since we built the man cave bar…. to no avail.
😰
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Forget toilet paper and gas shortages, the really rare items these days are clearly pool tables.
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As I mentioned in a previous post, the husband wants to replace our gifted (read free) inferior table with something bigger, better and more stylish.
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The problem is, in the entire state of Maine? I can only find 3 stores that sell what we’re looking for and none of them have inventory. They all told us to look online, find what we wanted and then come back to place an order.
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While we’ve narrowed it down to the classic style with tapered legs and leather ball baskets, choosing a table online means not being able to feel the quality or take it for a test drive. Heck, they all look good in the pictures…. which is why my husband has had me scouring Craig’s List and Facebook marketplace. We’ve checked out quite a few used tables and none of them have been worthy. Until I found this beauty.
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We drove an hour and a half to see it. The husband took it for a test drive.
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It was custom made in Maine of solid oak, lovingly cared for and best of all? Cheap! Husband wanted to change the felt color, but liked the table and was ready to fork over payment then and there…. but I suggested we check what it would cost to have the table professionally moved and set up in the Barn Mahal first…. and that’s when the whole thing came crashing down. We got estimates from 4 different places and the lowest was… are you ready?
$1,950.
To. Move. A. Table.
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I understand it has to be disassembled and reassembled, but damn Sam. Why on earth would I pay $900 for a used table, twice that to move it and probably another $500+ to change the felt…for a total of $3,350… when I can buy a brand new table, including delivery, set up, choice of style, wood finish and felt color, plus a set of pro balls for $3,500?
I wouldn’t. So I guess we’ll be shopping online and hoping for the best.
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The other day we drove almost 2 hours to look at a used pool table. It was a piece of junk and we had to drive almost 2 hours back. Funny how that works. So when I saw a sign that said Pies! Pies! Pies! I knew we had to stop.
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At an adorable little store on a lovely 40 acre farm.
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Yes, a mother and her 15 year old home schooled daughter run the entire farm by themselves. Please note all work is done by horse and ox. Maine women are nothing if not capable.
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The store was filled with the fruits of their labor. Jams, jellies, relishes, honey, pies, wool, dried flowers, wreaths, maple syrup, soap… and yes. Everything was made by their own hands.
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And this wasn’t some run down ramshackle operation. It was lovely, well kept and clean.
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When my husband opened the upright freezer and saw it was packed with pot pies, quiches, turkey soup, mushroom ravioli, pesto, and minestrone he asked the girl when they found time to sleep.
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Jam came home with us. As did some soap, some soup and of course…..
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Pie.
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Which instead of a traditional crust had a marvelously buttery and flaky rolled pastry foundation.
Pie.
It’s what’s for dinner.
And maybe breakfast.
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