Okay, so you didn’t get any days of posting. Just think of them as the Mystery Days.
It’s not that there wasn’t stuff to add, oh no. Some truly inappropriate gifts were out there– my favorite examples are these books. Nothing shows care for a loved one than a gift that says, “If you’re going to insist on going to work in drag, at least shave your legs first” except a gift that says, “Honey, I don’t think you look all that good naked. Here, do something about that. Please.”*
There were a LOT of candidates. Heck, just choosing from any number of bad Christmas albums could keep me busy for weeks, though I admit to a warped fondness for A Partridge Family Christmas. And the videos! Eeek!
But we’ve reached the end of the list. And what better way to say “But” and “The End” than by highlighting the end of Butt-Printing Artist, Stan Murmur.
I suppose it’s an epiphany of sorts. And Happy Epiphany to you and yours. Join us in 353 days when we start with a whole new list of disasters.
The last three things I bought at Amazon: the Concise Oxford English Dictionary, a Jim Belushi movie (“Wild Palms”) and the Thelonious Monk/John Coltrane CD. My recommendations can only get better now.
“Butt printing”, huh?
That puts me in mind…
One of the tales in “Kai Lung’s Golden Hours” (Ernest Bramah’s wonderful straight-faced novel of the adventures of an itinerant storyteller in Ancient China, which was almost certainly one of the inspiritaions for Barr Hughart’s almost-equally-wonderfu “Bridge of Birds”), a story about a young porcelain-painter in love with his boss’s daughter involves the accidental discovery that sitting upon a plate with freshly-applied designs and then sitting on nine more produces ten almost identical plates. (The young painter, the only one of the employees at that works, and a few to which he has taght the secret, break the strike. To conceal the method bing used, they wear black trousers, hense the term “blackleg”.)