YSaC, Vol. 933: That same old pot you laughed about.
2011 February 28
Plant Pot filled with solid cement & a fixed pole
Plant Pot filled with solid cement & a fixed pole
take a look at these pictures and let me know if you have any questions.
Thanks
Now, in all fairness, this is a perfectly accurate description of the item. This is indeed a plant pot filled with solid cement and a fixed pole. The ad is spelled and punctuated correctly, and has only minor capitalization errors.
“Ooh! Ooh! Mista Kottah! Mista Kottah!”
Yes, Mr. Horshack?
“I gotta question!”
Do you, now?
“Yes! It says to let you know if we have any questions!”
OK, what’s your question?
“Why do they have a pot fulla concrete in their living room?”
That’s a very good question.
“And why on earth are you making a ‘Welcome Back Kotter’ reference here?”
Shut up, Mr. Horshack.
(Thanks for the link, Nichole!)
No questions, Your Honour – I feel the ad perfectly summarises all I’ve ever wanted to know on the subject of “Plant Pot filled with solid cement & a fixed pole”. In fact, if I’m brutally honest, that second pic is verging on TMI…
Too Many Images? I can understand that; there are only so many pics of a plant pot filled with solid cement & a fixed pole you can take before they start to look the same.
Is this one of those find the differences puzzles? Because I never was very good at those.
I used to just cross my eyes until the images overlapped, which made it easy. Unfortunately, that’s also the reason I now vaguely resemble E.T.
Why in the livingroom? Why in the house, why at all?
Suddenly my home decor looks so much nicer.
This is obviously from “A Charlie Brown Christmas” star date 202159.5371638764.
I thiink you mean “A Charlie Brown Festivus”
Political correctness was abolished on star date 192159.76338153222
Funny that star dates are being employed today. I just wrote a short story last night called Captains Log, told through log entries. Not much of a story, really, given that there’s no actual plot, but still.
(I’ve been trying to write a few stories outside YSaC for inclusion on the eventual blog just so there are some new things to read that haven’t been posted here.)
A Charlie Brown Beesmus
But instead of Woodstock, a tiny yellow Ostrimu.
With the economy being what it is, even strippers are going DIY.
“What is that and why is it in my living room?”
“It’s a dance pole, so you can practice your routines at home! I made it myself.”
:long suffering sigh: “That’s very … thoughtful of you, Sparky. You do realize that you didn’t use enough concrete and I’d tip over faster than a sleeping cow in a pasture near a frat house?”
“Ummm…”
“Just get rid of it. I have to go wash off the stink of failure and old man hands.”
“But biscuit-buns, you said …”
“Don’t make me taser you again.”
I am totally going to start calling my husband “biscuit buns”.
I’m going to start calling Taco “biscuit buns.” Just to make our parents even more confused.
Biscuit Buns is the name of my ‘N Sync cover band from an alternate reality in which Joey Fatone is the big star.
Its OBVIOUSLY a Festivus pole! Geez people, wheres your holiday knowledge?!? 😉
:checks pockets:
I think I left mine in my other pants.
I keep picturing your kitty patting his nonexistent pants with his little paws which makes this funnier to me. And the new spellcheck is telling me that paws should be pause, do kitties hesitate often?
Mine do, if by “hesitate” you mean “nap”.
… That’s what she said.
*runs*
Ah, you dropped these: <matt> </matt>
(If you are new here, you might need to look those up in the “wiki” .)
Really, a quite good example of [matt] though.
I didn’t interpret that as [matt]. I think it was the smileyface at the end.
Ah, but isn’t the best [matt] one that includes (or presumes) a smiley face?
For a legitimate “matt” that would be quite different. Those folks are not likely to be educated by our wiki. Or by soft pillows while secured to a comfy chair, either.
YSaCorey to Captain: YSaCtionary is not spelled with an apostrophe at the end, ergo, your link does not lead where you have lead us to believe it leads. Right neighborhood, but instead of Joe’s house, it’s the house with the overprotective gun-nut single father and his infant daughter.
Link fixed.
When do we start the Feats of Strength?
Oil up and we’ll wrestle.
:fetches camera:
This is going on YouTube.
Nope, not promoting a semester old video project on Lord of the Flies at all simply because YouTube was mentioned…
Nope, not at all.
How does Sparky know that Pole had a vasectomy, and why does he have to sleep with the fishes?
Sleeping with the fishes=baby polefish. Like polecats only less furry and more eww.
They obviously purchased one of those “Grow Your Own Flagpoles At Home” Kits and it got much bigger than they anticipated. I wonder what the rehoming fee is?
Let me guess, you use Viagra for fertilizer?
I thought Viagra would give you wood, not metal?
: drags comfy chair over to corner:
Depends on how much you take. The more the ferrouser.
Bueller, Bueller, Bueller, Bueller, Bueller, Bueller, Bueller, Bueller…
Here are my questions. How have I muddled through life for so long without doing, um, whatever it is that one does with a plant pot filled with solid cement and a fixed pole? Why do I imagine Sparky as Edina Monsoon saying, “Don’t know they want yet, sweetie”?
AbFab reference FTW
I sure am glad he used the solid stuff. That gaseous cement? Once it gets in your lungs, it is a nightmare getting it out.
You must be thinking of rubber cement. Yeah, that stuff sticks to your lungs. On the upside, the effects are rather pleasant for a while if you inhale enough of it. So I’m told.
Rubber cement? Wouldn’t that hurt during removal after together t-shirt time?
Depends on how long you leave it on. Rubber cement takes a long time to set, so you’ve got time to cuddle with the shirt afterward.
[cement/concrete corey]
Dan* correctly calls the poured-stone-product concrete, even though Spark’ has used “cement” in the ad.
The problem is that Spark-ness might make Dan* inaccurate; Spark’ may have gone to the home center and gotten a bag of portland cement and merely mixed that with water, and slopped same in the flower pot with a galvanized fence post.
Portland cement will set up in water; it is a water-activated glue after all. But, it will not have the strength of concrete (or of mortar or grout or even of stucco). That strength comes from surrounding aggregates (i.e., sand, small rocks**, etc.) with the portland cement. Which then sets up as a composite product.
Bakers will understand the distinction in considering what happens to flour if no leavening is used. You get a product, it’s just not the one that was expected.
[/three decades’ construction experience*** corey]
____________________________________
* Bees be upon him in all cases
** Up to and including witch-weight ones; even small-bridge making dimensions
*** In the last three weeks, I’ve found (and applied for) now five jobs in Design and Construction–which is a greater number than over the previous nine quarters of looking. Almost heady, the possibility of an interview where the question of “You have all this experience in Architecture and Construction; why aren’t you working there?” would not occur.
To be honest – I have no idea about concrete vs. cement; half of my posts are written by just banging my head on the keyboard.
This may actually be true.
Plant Pot filled with solid cement & a fixed pole.
Pot plant filled with solid cement & a fixed pole.
Pot pole fixed with filled cement & a solid plant.
Pole plant filled with a solid fixed cement & pot.
Cement plane filleted with Pol Pot & fixed solid.
Clement pope lilted, slain with fop & fox, lit deed.
I’ve got it!
Exiled Pol Pot wild slide faceplant hot teen film.
It’s only 10 seconds long but you can watch it again and again.
Ooh! Ooh! I have a question. What was wrong with the pole?
:gangster voice: He was askin’ too many questions. Had to make an example of ‘im.
So you “fixed” the problem eh? Good job, Bugsy. Now let’s go shake down that mook with the curio cabinet. He hasn’t been keepin’ up with his protection money.
:eyes her cat, Bugsy, warily:
We all know what’s wrong with Poles. Like aggies and blondes, they’re stereotypically slow, so the brunt of several jokes.
My best friend’s mom, part Polish, really likes Pollack jokes. She’s got a great sense of humor and not at all like the stereotype described in Pole jokes.
Poles tend to get to root of problems.
Albeit backwards…
Funny thing, I’ve met a few Poles and not a one of them was dumb. In fact a couple of brothers I knew were extremely good programmers back in the 8-bit days, really knew their stuff, so while I got that Poles were supposed to be a bit stereotypically dim, I never really got where that came from.
Now, around here, we’ve got the Newfies… 😀
..and here we have the Aggies…
Ok, CBFTG, what’s an aggie when it’s at home?
I’m so glad someone asked, ’cause I have no idea.
True Story (although the details have dissolved in the mists of my memory):
A museum in the US had a display on winter holiday customs from around the world. The Polish display featured a fir tree hung from the ceiling, upside down. The viewing public was so outraged at what they perceived to be a Polish Joke, that the museum had to take it down. But, in fact, in the beginning of Winter Holidays in Poland, Poles did, indeed, hang the tree upside down from the ceiling. No joke.
[corey] In our local fancy-schmancy Christmas tree store, they sell many upside down trees. With 2 St. Bernards, we considered getting one. Seems the obvious solution to the continual ornaments-on-the-floor problem we have.
Considering the prices they are selling these trees for, I am betting they aren’t for practical joke purposes either.[/corey]
[Polish corey] When I was stationed up in Connecticut, there was a guy I worked with named Pete. His last name is lost to the mists of time, suffice it to say it was a very Polish surname. Anyway, he had the worst luck with women. I offered to go with him to the E-Club to help. We stood at the bar for a bit, and then he said “I want to talk to that girl”. So I walked over and introduced myself and Pete, and we sat down at a table. I ordered us all drinks, and before I could get another word out, Pete looks at her and asks, “So, you want to f**k?” She takes MY beer and throws it at him, soaking me in the process, and starts screaming profanity at him. He sat there dumbfounded, because all the “movies” he had watched up to that point had taught him that’s how you go about it. She finally left, and I left also. The best part of it was, every time she saw me from then on, she flipped me off. [/Polish corey]
Was this one of those wild and crazy brothers from SNL?
Was Pete’s brother named….
….wait for it….
….Repeat?….
nyuk, nyuk, nyuk
As a life-long Aggie, I have heard every Polish joke there is (and some polish ones, too).
That’s nothing. I’m daily barraged by a borscht of good-humored Jew jokes mixed with various jokes involving the countries my ancestors immigrated from, among them Poland.
Granted, maybe my response to such things ought to be something other than “putz”, but still.
I’m going to go out on a pole here and state that Aggie is short for Ag Students, or Texas A&M students, depending on your location. Any confirms or denies?
Right, Windy, students from Texas A&M who are by contrast not really as dense as the Aggie jokes make them out to be…well, most aren’t anyway.
Well, after buying elebenty bags of portland cement (see above), Spark’ never once mastered a ‘free’ pole in cement–and the avaricious dreams of yet another would-be cristos are squashed by the uncaring physics of “The Man” man.
I don’t see a single leaf on this pot plant.
What a rip-off…duuuuuuuuuuuuuude…
That is possibly the worst bong I have ever seen.
Not that I’ve seen many.
Duuuude, we can totally turn this pot into a bong!
Woah! Turning pot into a bong; you just blew my mind, dude!
It’s like, I am he as you are he and he is…
…woah, when did Kieth Richards get here with that fork and knife?
I am who am the he is.
That’s some heavy shit, duuuuude.
I have questions; they are mostly “What…” and “Why…” followed by “the hell?”
Mine were more along the “whiskey, tango, foxtrot??” lines.
Is this possibly the museum for dead cliches? And this is the ten-foot pole noone wants to touch things with, and in another room we have a pot with a lead balloon and another with the feather you can knock people over with?
I would avoid this place like the plague.
True story – used to have a friend whose mother was a cliche-butcher. My favorite from her was “You coulda knocked me down with the weather”.
Ah-ha!
Sounds like my stepmother, who said, “Daddy would be rolling over in his grave if he were alive!” and “That symphony is world-famous in Washington.”
My favorite was “You couldn’t swing a dead cat!” They must take up even more room than when you just swing a regular live one.
I’d hate to see the museum display for that.
“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make a silk purse out of a pig in a poke.”
— Opus
My mother was also a pro at mincing clichés.
“If you can’t stand the heat don’t wrestle in the kitchen.”
There were many others, but I haven’t had enough coffee to remember them. Perhaps the SisterTaco can remember some.
My coworkers and I came up with some good ones a few months ago… The one in write down went something like “A bird in the hand sinks ships with one stone.” I think that’s wrong, but I didn’t go to work today, so I don’t know for sure :-p
I love mangling the If Wishes Were series of sayings. My usual is If Wishes were Fishes, then Beggars would Ride. 8)
“If wishes were horses, we’d all be eating steak.”
A personal favorite, after an exhausting day at work and some time with the flask to think:
“We’ll burn that bridge when we’ve crossed it.”
Dunno, plague avoidance middling easy, rodent catchers and some shots.
I’d avoid that place like the plaque.
Plaque are more insidious; creep up incrementally, and, once discovered take at least on external specialist to remove (expensively, if angioscopy is requisite).
Sparky just wanted to find a way to keep his pole erect.
Note: Edited so now CJ’s comment doesn’t make sense. Sorry.
There are a lot of things that I want to “to a way”…
*cough*Bird Seed*cough*
A ton of bird seed is being inserted into my iPhone as I type and you should take care of that nasty cough.
Need to fix a post? There’s an app for that!
I keep reading it as pot plant filled with cement — that’s definitely the influence of living in BC for a while.
Also, if that is a DYI stripper pole I imagine sliding to the bottom ending badly.
And if the top isn’t anchored to the ceiling you would pretty much do an impression of a Weeble before giving everyone in the room a concussion with the pole.
A stripper pole that Does You Itself? Sounds like the first Playboy horror pron!
“She thought it was a night like any other at the Kitty Kabana – but then she met… *dun dun DUN* The Pole Of Doom!!!!!”
(The Pole Of Doom is in all obscure arthouse multiplexes April 31. Rated R-96 for extreme violence, Rule 34 violations, unattractive male nudity and silliness)
It’s the internet – I’m sure there’s a whole slew of sites devoted to the many many subgenres of Playboy horror pron, but I ain’t looking for them.
You know, a few more of these and a crossbar and a dead deer, and you could build a perfectly respectable* indoor swingset.
* This may not actually be true.
Durf excitedly ran to the door in response to the knock and whipped open the door with such force that the person on the other side was sucked forward a step. The postman caught his footing and regained his formerly startled composure.
“Package for Mr. Herdworthy. Sign here.” The postman proffered a signature pad, which Durf hastily scrawled on; he wasn’t even sure if he’d managed to write anything legible, but he didn’t care.
“Thanks,” the postman said absently and left.
Durf examined the package from all angles. He didn’t want to bring it in just yet until he was sure of its contents. Hesitantly, he knocked on the box and issued a tentative, “Hello?”
There was no response from the box. He knocked a little louder. “Anyone in there?”
Still no response. Durf frowned. That couldn’t be good. He ducked inside and retrieved a box cutter, then proceeded to carefully open the box down the edges and across the top. He cut down far enough that he was able to bend one side down.
Durf was disappointed. This wasn’t what he ordered.
He dragged the box inside and proceeded to call the man who sold it to him.
“Hello?” said the voice on the other end who had previously identified himself improbably as Ablated Glutes.
“Yes, this is Durf Herdworthy.”
“Oh, yes, Durf. Did you get the package?”
“Yes, and it is not at all what I expected,” Durf said.
“Well, what exactly did you think it would be? I thought I described it pretty well: A plant pot filled with solid cement and a fixed pole, and that’s what I sent you.”
Durf shook his head as though Ablated — he decided he’d just call him Ab — could see his gesture. “No, no — I mean, yes, that’s what you sent me but that’s not what I thought you meant.”
“Meant?” Ab queried. “What do you mean? Did you think it was a metaphor or something?”
“Well, it’s Craigslist. You know, after they got rid of the whole personals section people had to get, you know, creative with their ads using code words and phrases to offer … um … companionship.”
“What?” Ab exclaimed. “How the hell do you get companionship out of a metal pole, some cement, and a plant pot?”
Durf looked sheepish to no one in particular. “Well,” he began meekly. “I thought it meant, you know, Pole. As in a Polish person.”
Several moments of silence drifted awkwardly over the phone line before Ab responded. “Polish person? What the hell — seriously? You were expecting me to send you a polish person?”
“Well, um … yeah.” Durf replied quietly.
“Through the mail? In a box?”
“Yes!” Durf said, reasserting his position. “You know, mail order brides? I mean it says right in the name, mail order.”
“Okay,” Ab responded. “First of all, I didn’t say anything about mail order brides, right? Second of all, even if this was some stupid code, wouldn’t the fact that no gender was mentioned kind of tip you off that maybe it’s not what you think it is?”
“Well, jeez, you kind of assume, right?” Durf replied. “I mean, mail order brides?”
“I didn’t say anything about mail order brides!” Ab exclaimed.
“Well, no, that’s why you use codes! Duh!”
“I…” Ab seemed to be at a loss for words. “Okay, look, then why the hell would I talk about a plant pot and cement? With a fixed pole?”
“Code! And I thought maybe she had some emotional baggage or something, like some abuse in the past, that you, y’know, took care of or something.” Durf exclaimed right back.
“There were pictures of a cement-filled plant pot with a metal pole sticking out the center!”
Durf sighed loudly. “Code!”
“I …” Ab stammered again. “I … I give up. Okay? I give up. It was not code, there’s no Polish mail order bride — I don’t think they even ever had mail order brides from Poland — it was a goddamn plant pot filled with cement and a pole sticking out the middle. Literally, exactly like the pictures showed, which is exactly what showed up at your door.”
“Well, what the hell am I going to do with a cement lolly on a stick?” Durf pleaded.
“How the hell should I know?” Ab said indignantly. “You bought it, you keep it. No refunds.”
“But–” Durf tried again.
“No refunds! I’m not responsible for your idiotic misunderstanding. Goodbye.”
Ab hung up.
Well this just sucked. He liked Polish chicks. They were cute. He even liked Polish sausage — as a meat product, not a euphemism. He was so looking forward to having a Polish bride, but now all he had was a useless pole stuck stuck in a cemented planter.
Heaving a heavy sigh burdened with disappointment, Durf went to his computer to try and resell it. Maybe he could advertise it as a home fireman’s pole.
I always enjoy your name choices, MF. They’re a freakishly amusing cross between Pratchett and Dickens, to my thinking.
Things to Do With a Plant Pot filled with solid cement & a fixed pole:
1) Practice your impaling technique in preparation for the revolt of the boyar class of Wallachia.
2) Proper display of the flag with your family crest embroidered on it.
3) The neighborhood maypole dance.
4) New Xtreme sport of Indoor T-Ball.
5) Knocking that stupid ball out of the tree in the backyard that has been there since your family reunion in 2004.
6) Play “Joan of Arc”
I remember in my youth when I used to play Duck, Duck, Plant Pot filled with solid cement & a fixed pole with my friends.
Use it as a replacement weapon for a super mutant behemoth.
They usually use a fire hydrant still attached to the pipe that was underground.
Also, neat new spell checker!
Second also, this is OT, but….This will not end well!!
Portable security fence so she HAS to stay on her side of the house!
Indoor tetherball.
Market it as the world’s only portable lightning rod.
Lawn darts of the gods.
Go on, stick it out in the middle of a field at night and do some crop-circley things around it and watch what happens!
That’s what she said.
It is the world’s least secure fence!
I know what this is. It’s a stripper pole. There’s a hook at the top that we don’t see because…well, Sparky sucks at Craigslist and instead of taking a picture of the top and bottom of this homemade device, he only took two pictures of the bottom. The hook at top is where you hang your stripper from when you need to take a break from stripping the paint off the inside of your house.
On a sorta-related note, am I the only one who received a mechanical stripper instead of a chemical stripper at his bachelor party?* At first I thought she was sexy with her sleek lines and the fact that I wouldn’t get all hot and sweaty rubbing my hard wood with a sticky, smelly cloth, but then I realized she had limited range because I’d have to plug her in, and not only would I still get all hot and sweaty, but instead of rubbing my hard wood with some chemicals that would release the natural shine I’d be rubbing my hard wood with an incredibly abrasive disk. Made me think my brothers got me the wrong stripper.*
(*This may not actually be true.)
As a former painting contractor, I grew inured to the number of people who would as equally abuse my 5-in-1 tools as the carbide scrapers. Neither of which are much used after being nicked or bent. <sigh>
All closely followed by those who would abuse my drywall tools, too.
Dontcha just hate it when yer tool gets abused?
I know where the corner is…..
[all too serious]
Not quite as much as when a lout tips the entire tool box over, then collects everything back into the toolbox and puts it back, hoping no one will notice.
Except for that chipped-off bit of carbide cutting edge.
1, Which is bad enough for being expensive to replace.
2, Only discovered by the razor-sharp, super-hard, shard lodging in the sole of one’s work boot, to then dig divots all across a customer’s almost-brand-new hardwood floors for a few hours.
Hard to worry much about tool or ‘tool’ abuse with the beer so salty for cryin’ in it that much. (If I had any remaining faith in Humanity, Murphy would be its preacher.)
[/ats]
The question that occurs to me:
So is this object for sale or are we just supposed to bask in the glory that is the Plant Pot filled with solid cement & a fixed pole.
Because if it isn’t for sale I can totally bask. Here, I’ll bask anyway; just watch me go!
*EXTREME BASKING*
Bask in the warm glow of my pole. Bask in it! It is a most awesome pole! You haven’t seen a pole like this since John Holmes.
:drags the freaky puppy to the corner by his ear:
Ow, ow, ow, hey, cut that– ooh, coffee slices.
Don’t bask your pole too much or you’ll go blind.
8.4
I’m assuming that’s Taco’s score for his extreme basking, but after reading FreakyPuppy’s comment it takes on an additional interpretation that leaves me wondering how you know and if your honey knows that you know if you know what I mean and yes this is a long run-on sentence.
I was wondering that as well. I have my suspicions, mostly involving Windy getting keys to the Orbital Cave of Wonders.
:covers up webcam lens with post-it:
Wait, the orbital cave uses keys?! And I’ve been wasting all this time trying to program my universal remote to emit the proper IR sequence.
Yes, it uses the Florida keys.
Good luck trying to fit those in your pocket.
I’ll just put them in my bag of holding.
Yes, it was for Taco. That’s my story. I’m not explaining anything.
4.2
3.14159
Is it really wrong that this ad gave me the earworm Holiday In Cambodia?
Yes…*on so many levels…
*some of which I may be able to impart, if I had any clue as to what “Holiday In Cambodia” is/was/meant.
it’s a song (a good one, in my opinion)
some of the lyrics sounds like “pole… pot… pole… pot”
It’s Pol Pot, actually.
Christina- I know. I was just saying it sounds like that because the picture is of a pole in a pot.
Aahhh….yikes…you put ‘pole’ and ‘pot’ in the same sentence like that and all I think is Phol Pot.
:shudders:
I know what it is – a DIY project gone wrong. Bubba’s girlfriend told Bubba to get rid of that beer gut or get out! Bubba and his friend Billy Bob Jr. decided they weren’t going to pay to go to any expensive gym; they would make their own out in the garage. This was the result.
I read that as “make out on their own in the garage”. Snerk, especially as, instead of imagining them macking on each other next to the battered old Holden Commodore, I saw them sitting in opposite corners, wrapping their arms round themselves and passionately cerishing their own inner-elbows wilst sobbing gently. Naww…
I feel compelled to go google “Holden Commodore.”
But compelled in a good way, not in like I have to before the cementitious product congeals.
Festivus! wooooooo
Ok, as an experienced and respected professional archaeologist,* I’m going to let you in on the two stock answers given by all archaeologists when confronted with an object, feature or building they can’t interpret easily.
1 – It’s probably ritual.
2- It’s an excellent example of its type.
*Some of this may not actually be true.
ratwoman, the essence of #1 was imparted to me by a friend who as a student assisted in some archaeological digs. Ever since, whenever I see “ritual object” as an identifier in a museum, I (discreetly) snort a little.
I had met one too many too-serious archeology types even before serendipitous happenstance delivered me Motel of the Mysteries.
I have long since lost the ability to “discretely” snort “a little” (and might have mailed tissues made into points to offending parties).
(Oh, and Serendipitous Happenstance was a band, but no one took them seriously, even after they were oppressed with those tickets for blocking the sidewalk . . . )
Motel of the Mysteries is quite simply one of the best archaeology books ever written. All archaeology students (and quite a few professionals) should be made to read it before they’re ever allowed anywhere near the business end of writing a report.
Ahem. It’s been a long day. As you were.
I ran across Motel of the Mysteries when it first came out, when I was still a kid. Best part was that I thought it was a bit of a spoof, but wasn’t sure …
I like the ever-popular, “Well, you don’t see many of those these days”.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YrAILSxbq0
It suddenly makes perfect sense! This is state-of-the-art canine recreational equipment!
I guess I’m just being morbid today. I keep imagining there’s some kind of trophy head on top of the pole (just out of picture range) and I’m entertaining myself deciding what head it is.
I vote for pig head.
http://www.yousuckatcraigslist.com/?p=3985
I keep wondering how he keeps that thing secure, I’d be finding a pole lock if I was Sparky…
I vote it be this pig’s head on a stick from our hilariously bad Lord of the Flies project.
I’m too young to have been the audience for “Welcome Back Kotter” but I do have a memory concerning it. When I was a kid my parents took me to some restaurant where mostly old people were dining. They (my parents) were talking about old TV shows. They mentioned that show. I may have flipped by it on re-runs. Little me asks them, much too loudly, “Is that the one with Mr. WHORE HOUSE?”
The whole restaurant turns and stares at us, mortified.
Ah, memories.
(Mr. Whorehouse probably had a fixed pole in his living room, just a guess)
Ah yes, out of the mouth of babes. I’m looking forward to the day when my son can start formulating embarrassing questions that just have to be asked in the middle of a crowded supermarket where it is difficult to hide.
For some reason, that reminded me of an exchange between two posters on another forum I used to frequent:
“Put your hand down, Horshack.”
“Thank God for commas.”
[OT]
So I just read about that girl who’s making a fortune self-publishing books on Kindle. Now, not that I expect to make even a fraction of that, but I never even knew anyone could publish on Kindle, so I thought to myself, hey, that would be kind of cool to be able to self-publish a book of my short stories on there. That could be interesting. And I live in a 70% royalty territory, so I’d keep most of the revenue. Nice.
I’m a ways away from having enough content for a full-length book of stories though (currently 34 stories; not sure how many pages but probably on the order of 80-100) but it’s an interesting idea.
[/OT]
Hey… I just had a thought. Drmk has had the atrocity committed against her of not being presented with a book deal for YSaC…
She should self-publish a YSaC book on Kindle and through that CreateSpace thing Amazon’s doing for actual, physical books! I would definitely buy it, even though I could probably find all the included material on here for free.
That would be an awesome idea! But furthermore, something you do with compilation books like this is add in some never-published material that never made it to the site to entice people to buy (as I’d do, too), and you know Drmk (BBUH) has piles of pristine, not-yet-snarked-over Craigslist ads she could add with her and Dan (BBUH) could add some deluxe snark to.
Sounds like a plan to me.
*new Kindle owner nods enthusiastically and passes flask*
G’Night Mindfield!
Punchity Punch Punch, Cambodia!
If it were a plant filled with pot we might be in business.
Who am I kidding? Sold.
I dunno. In the second pic it looks like the pole is leaning. I don’t think that cement is actually set.