You know, sometimes the snark just writes itself:
BABY EATING CHAIR GREAT SHAPE
CALL IF YOU ARE INTERESTED ASK FOR RACHEL ### ###-#### !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
FREE baby hanging toy
its a clip on crib toy, its like a octopus or jellyfish with dangelling crab fish ect. let us know if interested. thanks
Thanks, Ross and Aimee!
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What is a great shape for a baby eating chair? I picture Audrey 2 but with a barcalounger attached.
Seymour! I need more babies!
You sound like Richard from Looking For Group.
Did I say Save the Village? How silly of me. I meant burn the village.
Simple mistake.
FOR PONY!
You win, Madam.
A door to you.
Also, I totally want the rabbit/Richard plushie set.
Well, your birthday IS coming up…
They are on my Beesmas list.
George will tell you about the rabbits.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fcbazH6aE2g
(The Demi made me do that.)
OM NOM NOM NOM NOM. BABY TASTE GOOD. *belch*
I don’t know what “dangelling” is but it sounds equally dangerous to the baby-eating chair and the My Li’l Hangman aspect.
I think it goes with the metal eating utensils mobile. All fun and games until babby sticks it in the wall socket.
Dangelling’s Crab Fish (Carassius fatuus dangellingi) is a little known fish species related to the common goldfish, but with more stupid and a heaping helping of lolwut.
Oh goody, I’ve always wanted to watch a baby eat a chair (the shape’s not really important). Is this a regular show or just a one-off?
I would not want to change those diapers.
No kidding! I hate getting splinters.
I have heard particularly difficult tasks referred to as “splinter-shitters” before. Guess I know now where that comes from.
After I eat a lot of super spicy burritos I tend to go down, down, down into a burning ring of fire…
too much info
Child-rearing would have been sooooo much easier if they’d had these gems for sale when my four rugrats were little…
“Tommy…don’t make me put you in the baby-eating chair again!”
“But, Mooooommm…I didn’t do it! It was Sissy!”
“Couldn’t have been Sissy, she’s hanging at the crib with her new toy. No, seriously…that’s not street talk, she’s really hanging at the crib.”
Other two children would have been listening, eyes growing wide as saucers.
Instead, I had to rely on the usual…you know, the baby cages…or as we called them “playpens”. Looking back, it probably would have been helpful if someone had told me that you’re supposed to put the baby in the playpen and not put baby on floor, turn playpen over and trap baby under it.
Just sayin.
Why yes, my children have spent countless thousands on therapy. Why do you ask?
Therapy is good for children (especially if it’s like the “drill Sargent variety”). It makes them realize how really evil we could have been.
I think a good many people, who go to therapy, would benefit enormously from a tissue box throwing Marine calling them “jackwagon”.
I love that guy.
I like bubble wrap.
There’s an app for that.
Pop pop.
If the chair has such a high-calorie diet and is still in great shape, it must exercise a lot.
It’s one of them exorcise chairs.
And the baby is (was?) Linda Blair’s. Rachel is just part of the clean up crew.
Mooooom, Dave’s stealing my snark again!
“If you boys don’t behave, it’s the chair or the baby gallows – don’t make me make you choose!”
Small box of wine?
Many babies are sometimes small boxes of whine.
You know, on the mornings where Tron gets up at 5:30 and screams/grumps at us all day because he is tired, but then refuses to take a nap chairs like these probably seem like a good idea.
That makes me wonder if they make them in teenager size.
No, no, no, we’re the ones doing the eating, you’re the one wishing we’d stop, not the other way ’round!
Mini’s been like that the last few days… I suspect it has something to do with the green snot-slugs he’s been so productive about making. I think the part of his brain that controls good moods has been leaking out of his nose.
They make corks in many convenient sizes, some similar to baby-nostril size.
I’m just sayin’.
Okay, perhaps I need more coffee, but I really spent about 40 seconds trying to figure out whether the chair was eating the baby or vice versa before the truth occurred to me.
I eat the chair, it does not eat me.
:points:
You have upholstery stuck between your teeth, right there.
I can’t eat chairs. They give me indigestion.
You should try the organic kind. I understand they are better for you, more fiber.
A stool has a lot of fiber too…
You leave Lou out of this. He’s not for eating.
If you eat a chair that has turned, you might end up with Lou Stool…
In Soviet Russia chair eats you!
You’re way ahead of me. I haven’t figured out the truth yet but I’d like to know if you can hang the baby over furniture besides cribs, like perhaps a baby-eating chair. Chair cruelty to tease it with a dangelling baby? But if it’s a baby eating a chair, then perhaps it’s child cruelty if it can’t get to its much-needed chair RDA.
Um, so this is a humble request for you to share your truth. Because I don’t want to think about this anymore.
YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!
The first one may, indeed, be a baby actually eating a chair. The baby is in great shape due to the work out and the extra fiber. Rachel is trying to find a new home for said baby as she is afraid it will eat her out of house and home (literally).
I see the second ad as part of the world-wide move toward freedom! Free the baby hanging toy, NOW! Let it grow up in a country where its rights are protected and it has to pay back educational loans forever! Freedom! Freedom! Freedom! Oh, fresh coffee slices! Yes, thank you.
Free the baby hanging toys! Free the red tables! Free all the things! Free the firm OBOs! (On second thought, maybe you’d better put those firm OBOs away again.)
All your free are belong to us
Huffert lay in his crib, frozen in abject fear. He saw it move this time, he knew it. He thought he’d seen it out of the corner of his eye before, but now he was absolutely sure. That dangling thing with the things hanging from it suspended above him threateningly, especially the dangling thing with the many arms and the big head that gave him nightmares. He cried himself to sleep every night ever since dad put it there. Really, what sort of thing needed that many limbs? He did just fine with four. All Huffert knew, other than that this thing moved, was that dad must hate him.
Huffert couldn’t take his eyes off the many-limbed thing. He saw it move, and he was determined to see it do so again while he was watching it. Watching it like a — well, like a thing which had really sharp eyesight and a propensity for watching things with unwavering intensity. Whatever such a thing could be, that was Huffert. He really had no idea what he was going to do if he did see it move, but he figured he would deal with that if — no, when it happened.
And it did. The excessively belimbed thing slowly started descending toward him, bit by terrifying bit, and Huffert realized that his body had already decided for him what he was going to do next by the sudden expansion and increase in temperature in the seat of his diapers. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to help, and the thing was right above him now, slowly sinking down below his field of view, underneath his chin, sliding around his neck. Huffert figured this would probably be a good time to cry.
Within a few moments, Huffert heard the dull thump of feet tromping their way toward his room. The polypedal demon, now nearly coiled entirely around his neck, suddenly and rapidly recoiled back to its constellation of blackest evil above his crib.
—
Jep padded groggily toward his son’s room, cracking a profound yawn and trying to clear his head. Who needed an alarm clock when you had a baby? At least this time he waited until it was almost time to get up for work anyway before he started crying. He opened the door to his son bawling away as infants did for just about any and every reason. Cooing and hushing quietly, he reached down into the crib and gently picked Huffert up in his arms, careful not to hit his head on the ocean-themed mobile. Huffert seemed to cry even louder the closer he got to it; maybe he didn’t like fish.
Once he had the baby comfortably over his shoulder he realized the other reason for the tantrum. As a new father, he understood and was prepared for the fact that he would have to change diapers. What nobody did or could prepare him for was the degree of horror this act often involved. It gave him an appreciation for sewer workers.
Jep changed Huffert’s diaper as quickly and efficiently as one is able to when one is dealing with it like the disposal of a roadkill skunk, and after getting him cleaned up and freshly diapered, brought him into the kitchen for breakfast.
—
So the demon thing was afraid of dad. Good to know. Once Huffert was removed from his crib and had the less effective of his defense mechanisms cleared away and fresh diapers applied, he felt a lot better. For now, anyway. He was hoisted over dad’s shoulder, which he hung on to. Mom was up now, too, and as they entered the kichen he was handed over to her. Mom rubbed his back. It felt nice.
As his mother turned around, Huffert was able to see dad, who was bringing out a new chair for him to eat at. His other one had broken somehow, so dad had gotten him a new one, and this was apparently it. Dad set it down near the table where the grown-ups ate. The chair seemed to be grinning at him.
Grinning. It was grinning. Maliciously. He could feel the evil coming off of it. He thought he heard a low, quiet, rumbling sort of demonic chuckle. It wanted to eat him. It was going to eat him, and his parents were going to feed him to it; dad lifted the hinged table — its mouth — for him to sit in. They were going to place him right in its mouth! They were going to place him in its mouth and it was going to eat him! How could they do this to him?
Huffert began to bawl.
—
Jep took Huffert from Marble, his wife, and over to the chair. “Wow, he’s really crying. I don’t think he likes this chair.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” his wife said. “He’ll stop crying once he gets fed.”
“I suppose,” Jep replied, seating Huffert in the high chair and swinging the table back down over his head. Huffert seemed to be trying to keep him from doing that, but he moved his little hands out of the way and set it down, where it locked in place with a click.
Jep returned to his wife at the counter, who had retrieved a jar of strained peas from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer, handing them to him. “Your turn,” she said, opening the jar.
Jep took the spoon and jar and turned back toward Huffert, whose crying had abruptly stopped.
Huffert wasn’t there.
“Huffert?” Jep called.
Marble turned at Jep’s call with a sudden look of concern on her face. “Huffert?” she echoed, noticing the empty chair.
“Huffert!” Jep called more loudly.
“He must have slipped out of his chair,” Marble offered.
“But where? I only had my back turned for a second!”
“Huffert!” they called in unison, slowly looking around the kitchen for the wayward child, but finding no one.
“Check the guest room,” Jep said to his wife. “I’ll check the living room.”
Jep entered the living room and began searching under the coffee table, behind the couch, and in any area where Huffert might have been hiding, but with no luck.
“He’s not in here!” Jep called to Marble. “Any luck?”
There was no response.
“Honey?” Jep called again, but again was met with silence. He made his way to the guest room, but found it empty.
“Marble!” Jep called, now starting to panic. “Huffert!”
He started dashing around the house, checking rooms, overturning things, looking in places that weren’t even large enough to contain a human of any size, just in case. He ran upstairs, dashed into the bedroom and flung open the walk-in closet, flipping through pants, blazers, dresses, just in case this was some sort of elaborate hide & seek prank, but nobody was there. He turned to leave.
The door slammed. A rumbling, gutteral chuckle came from behind him. Jep turned. He screamed.
—
Jep suddenly bolted awake with a scream to the sound of a baby crying. He had it again. The same nightmare he had been having for two weeks now. He could never fully remember it when he awoke, but he knew it involved his family disappearing, and it always left him with a profound feeling of dread.
His wife, Marble, stirred beside him. “That dream again?” she said, straining the words around the remnants of sleep.
“Yeah,” Jep replied with a heavy sigh.
Jep got up, shoved his feet into his slippers, and padded groggily toward his son’s room, cracking a profound yawn and trying to clear his head. Who needed an alarm clock when you had a baby?
Stephen King on line 1 for you, Minefield. Says he wants to tell you to get out of his brain.
I tried to get into his brain, but it’s guarded by clowns. It’s surprising how effective that is.
:shudders:
Would work on me.
Stephen King….
🙂
Jordy Verrill holding on line 13 for you.
♥
I bought the DVD of Creepshow just for that part.
Lola – that’s exactly what I was thinking. Now I remember why I don’t read and/or watch Stephen King.
Well done!
Now since my baby chair ate me.
I’ve found a new place to dwell:
Down at the end of Colon Street at Heartburn Hotel.
I’m so hungry, I’m so hungry,
I’m so hungry wishn’ it would eat some pie.
And though it’s always crowded you can always find some room
For spumoni ice cream there in the gloom
And be so hungry, oh so hungry,
Oh so hungry I want pie.
The hoppy brew keeps flowing; the high chair’s digesting Jack.
He’s been so long on Colon Street he found a polyp in the back
And he’s so hungry, oh he’s so hungry,
He’s so hungry he prays for pie.
So if your baby chair eats you have a tale to tell
Just take a trip down Colon Street to Heartburn Hotel
Where you’ll be hungry and I’ll be hungry,
We’ll be so hungry don’t forget the pie.
Uh, thank you…thank you very much.
Didn’t anyone read the instructions: The snark writes itself. Stop adding extra snark
Reading instructions is a on hard for me to do because of my dyslexia…
But… but… it says:
“For more
indulgenteuphemisticcocoahumor, addmilkextra snark.”Oh, God – the snark has become self-aware! Run! Run for your lives!
I haven’t seen or heard a certain restaurant ad for several years, but when I saw this posting I automatically started singing:
I want my baby back
baby back
baby back
baby back;
I want my baby back
baby back
baby back
baby back;
Chiliiiiii’s… baby back ribs;
Chili’s baby back ribs (barbecue sauce!).
SaraJean — you’re in the box again!!! What did you do this time?
Unless you have pictures, I swear it wasn’t me!
:looks in box:
Uh-oh.
I better line the bunker with anti-punchite.
:gets out aluminum foil:
You can run, but you can’t hide. Oh, and watch out for the bees. I never did get them all back in the hive.
It’s a sprat!
Just as long as you don’t get it wet or feed it after midnight.
So for once, I think Sparky’s terrible grasp of grammar actually makes this less difficult to read.
I think the most basic reading of “baby eating chair,” without adding any of the presumed missing punctuation, is actually correct – a chair in which a baby eats. The problem is that we’re so used to assuming that Sparky did it wrong that we’re adding in punctuation and changing the meaning, like so:
baby(-)eating chair = a chair that eats babies
baby eating (a) chair = a video of a baby consuming a chair
I suppose “baby eating-chair” would be somewhat better, but overall I have to say that Sparky1 got it right by getting it as wrong as possible.
Not to get all Corey on you, but where I come from, we call a chair in which a baby eats a “high chair.”
Oh, of course, here too. It’s just that if Sparky’s going to call it by the wrong name, this is probably the best-descriptive wrong name.
Veal – The other white meat!
Note to self – never eat at Anon’s house.
Yea, verily, thence we durst nay traverse! Anon!
Where have all the babbys gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the babbys gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the babbys gone?
Eaten by chairs every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the fat chairs gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the fat chairs gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the fat chairs gone?
Dangelled by crabfish every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the crabfish gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the crabfish gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the crabfish gone?
Clipped on old cribs every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the old cribs gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the old cribs gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the old cribs gone?
Filled with babbys every one
When will we ever learn?
When will we ever learn?
Ugh, another one of those celebrity fad diets. Sorry, Rachel, I don’t care if Cher IS in great shape – I am NOT following her baby-eating weight loss plan.
Though…actually…it’s probably quite effective. If I saw Cher in a fishnet onesie eating a baby, I would probably never eat (or sleep) again.
**claws out eyes with the talon of a meat gerbert.**
Is that an African or European Gerbert?
Asian.
That sounds dirty.
I just can’t figure out what the title’s a reference to, but I have two equally disturbing variants in my head, neither of which make any sense.
The first is the part from “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”, where the guitar really kicks in, and it goes “(I can’t) Eat my *dun dun duuunnn*, eat my baby”. Now, that’s bad enough, but the other one is that awful 90s dance mix song with the cheerleading loop “Be agressive, be, be aggressive”. So, alternating with dirty twangy guitar chords and old-man voices, I have perky teenaged girls yelling in my head “Eat, my baby, eat, eat, my baby!”
I think I took one of Mama Windy’s pills on accident.
Jen, dear, please take as many as you need. Then you can help me clean the cobwebs off the purple reinbeer on the ceiling in the snark lounge. But be carefull, they spit foam.
I think it’s a reference to the Ronettes “Be My Baby”.
[corey] [/corey]*
*use where needed
Jinx.
*hands AR a drink of milk and package of oreos*
Please, unjinx me now. 🙂
Oooooooooooohhh Oreos, are they double stuff?
All is forgiven. : D
I’ve got “Be my, be my baby” from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. Slightly less disturbing, but not guaranteed to be the correct answer.
Also, why does u in angle brackets not work for underlining, the way i does for italics?
why does u in angle brackets not work for underlining, the way i does for italics?
c’est la vie
sarajean80, we have got to stop meeting like this! Punchity Punch Punch!
G’Night, Atlantis!
To this I have nothing.
It is long past the morning’s snark, and well unto the next days’.
It has been a day–it is Texas Independence Day; one of making a republic against an oppressor; a day of creation, a day of righting wrongs.
It has also been the day when a dear fried had lost his mother to the complications of carcinoma.
So, if have had the boon of BBQ, of beer (and of free beer as well) and comraderie bonhomme; yet with unresolved loss as well.
Color me as one with tabula rasa for Sparks’ foolishness and idiocy. And of naught but the empty handfuls of Scripture to offer in comfort. Which is meager gruel to offer sons having lost a mother.
Perhaps, those reading in an as yet unimagined future will ponder this, and gain for having the remove to consider, not as snark, not as “real life,” but as mere Philosophy, and to such gain or loss as such consideration may obtain. I know i have little to offer past confused emotions and tangled adage and citation.
I’m so sorry for the loss, and have hereby dubbed thee (affectionately) “The Bard” for your eloquence.
Seconded. May the memories of joy and laughter quickly replace the sorrow of loss and confusion. Know the loved one is no longer suffering, and is in a place beyond the woes of this world.