It's Taxidermy Thursday! Issue 1

In 2007, my then 12-year-old sister-in-law completed a taxidermy project for her school.  After expressing my attraction and awe for this misshapen squirrel, my mother-in-law gladly gave him to me in a grocery bag at Christmas.  He became Todd "Hot Nuts" Epstein.  Taxidermy Thursday is dedicated to Todd and all of the animals who posed before him.

Today's stuffins - Theatrical Taxidermy

As with many things that appear on this blog, I found today's little gem through the comments section on The Bloggess.  There are some badass people who comment on The Bloggess, and they have the links to all the crazy shit on the Internets.  One of the commenters posted a link to a site called "Ravishing Beasts".  You have to go to this site to see all the info on these pictures, but just seeing them is something.

Rabbit Schoolroom by Walter Potter, 1890's

The kitten tea party, Walter Potter

Kitten wedding, Walter Potter

Wow.  Here's a guy who thinks outside of the box, and has a massive OCD issue.  Are these whimsical?  Cute?  Perhaps.  Until you realize they are made out of DEAD STUFFED KITTENS AND BUNNIES!  Did Walter just happen upon a litter of freshly dead kittens? 

Doubtful. 

Methinks Walter was breeding kittens for art.  Which makes Walter suddenly seem a little more living-in-Mothers-basement-serial-killer-ish.  Can you picture Walter in his "special art clothes" carefully dressing the dead kittens under one bare swinging lightbulb at a rough wooden worktable, with a pile of undressed dead kittens next to him, whistling a little tune?  I can.  Hey Walter!  I have something for you:

There are at least 20 cats who gather at 4 p.m. across the street from me, and they would make an awesome bar mitzvah scene.  Or a stagecoach robbery.  Or a disco.


There are a couple of other photos on the Ravishing Beast site I find interesting, and of course they deal with squirrels.  Because there is something about a squirrel that makes you think they can actually *do* things, like boxing or suicide.

Boxing squirrels.  Kind of awesome. 
I'd actually like to own one of these.

Squirrel suicide.  I know, it's disturbing. 

But I think it's a little funny.  Don't judge me.

Thus concludes our first issue of Taxidermy Thursday.  Discuss amongst yourselves. I'll be back over the weekend to report on Oldest Daughter's first Homecoming!  Aaah!

The Case of the Piles of Dog Vomit

So about two hours ago I'm all "it's time to blog!" and then Youngest Daughter said, "Hey, we didn't walk Shiloh (the GD Dog) and you said we would!" and so I took the GD Dog out for a walk with YD, and the GD Dog pulled me all over the neighborhood for about two blocks, and when I have to jog it makes my belly roll flop and it's super unattractive.  That makes me cranky.

Then we get home and The Son is still in the shower, but YD needs to take a bath, so I wander in the kitchen and see that my children haven't unloaded or loaded the dishwasher as per their rental agreement, Section 1 Page 2 Clause 6.  I yell a little bit and then think "Oh to hell with it" because The Son is in the shower and can't hear me and Oldest Daughter's eyes are glazed over and she is doing Algebra and it's already late so I just do it because I am getting my mother's martyr complex, which is apparently hereditary.  That makes me cranky.

Then I finally get YD in the bath and I let her take 40 small toys in there, and just as I am preparing to wash her hair, I hear Current Husband in the other room say, "You have GOT to be kidding me!" and not in a "I just heard the funniest joke!" kind of way.  I run into the living room and there are not one, but THREE fresh steaming piles of dog puke.  The GD Dog is sitting behind them, looking sheepish, and George the Superpet is around the corner saying, "I told you that GD Dog was going to be nothing but trouble."  Since it is my mother's dog, I felt compelled to clean it up.  CH felt compelled to head out the door to meet someone for a beer.  Everyone else felt compelled to go to bed.  This all reminded me of my favorite story.

"Not I," said the kid.

"Not I," said the husband.

"Not I," said the GD Dog.

"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen.

And then she ate a whole fucking cake and was bitter for the rest of the night.

The End.

Goodnight, Wifers!