The Post Halloween-Sex Cigarette!

C'mon, you knew Halloween wasn't gonna be over on my blog! I've bought and made and spent on so much crap for a full month straight, I figured I'd do myself a favor and spend my money on significantly discounted crap. It makes sense in my head, not really written down. But trust me! I can't not take photos of my newly acquired Freddy Krueger doll without expecting to sleep troubled and hectic. Documenting all of my goods, well after the initial holiday and right after an even bigger holiday (my laziness knows no bounds) will be soothing for the both of us. Like a Halloween sauna in late December. We'll be dripping Hallow-sweat in no time!

I made zero effort this year to participate in any post-Halloween shopping, relying more on random impulse buys and accidental surprise surplus. I'm sure, if you're an avid reader, you already know this by now. It's my way of being slug-like, but still caring enough to have something to write about and to decorate my bathroom for the next few months. So I ended up stumbling into a single Walgreens. I entered with twenty bucks, I left with a bag full of holiday cheer and shame. Hey, you go and try buying Count Chocula lip balm at age twenty-five.

Hey, let's start with the best.



Freddy Krueger is cool. I'm not gonna lie and tell you how amazing the fedora wearing, goo-faced dude is, but I will tell you that his image has scared me at a very young age, allowing me to feature dreams of my own death by his knife-hands. Pretty brutal to actually have dreams where it feels like you're dying. I've felt in my own dreams, what I can only imagine death to feel like, the experience during and after. I think I need professional help. Cool!

But Freddy Krueger has always been a part of my childhood, even though the extent of my obsession has been his neat sweater and the question, "I wonder what it would be like to be sliced in the face?" I imagine it to be pretty painful.

You press a button on his boot and you're presented with a few "Nightmare..." movie quotes, crazy-Freddy style. Both his arms and head shake and move, upping the value and general entertainment quality. Personally, I'm totally pleased. Like I've said, I've never been a big fan, but this will look absolutely ace next to my Freddy glove above the TV. Hey, c'mon. Don't count that as a complete contradiction to my last statement about not totally liking the Krueger. I just so happen to like knives. And gloves. Together as one!

This was, at one point, twenty dollars. Normally, I wouldn't have given it a second glance at such a price. But when the discounts were rung up, it came out to be a quick five bucks. Yeah, fucking into the shopping basket you go.



Count Chocula lip balm goes without saying. I'd rather my lips taste like cereal than nothing, so it was so worth the thirty cents. It also presents a, "Hey, why not?" kinda scenario. I've never seen breakfast cereal themed lip junk, so hey, why not? The other is a door cover, a massive, plastic sheet you can use to easily turn your apartment into nearly 1/4 of a haunted house. You get around, say, 12 of these things and it'll look like you're either living among the dead or a group of robed Michael Jacksons. I totally dig this thing -- the art, colors and general, Death-y theme is way fun, even for it's original price ($2.99 ain't bad before discount) but after discount, you're practically stealing the dumb thing. I approve.

I love these things! I love the soft, purpley glow they'll soon be emitting all around me while listening to Type-O and slowly and methodically applying the aforementioned Chocula chapstick. Maybe I'll be crying, or pantless. Just to make the ordeal all that much more weird.

I think it came out to a bit over a buck, not too bad for a solid night of immediate, Halloweeny ambiance. I'll probably string 'em up outside, give the ol' patio a nice, grape-like glow. This is definitley a good deal, for those planning next year's discount disco party, since seven bucks seems pretty steep for a row of ten, hollowed out, plastic bats. Well, maybe not. Hell, what do I know? B+!

So I guess that's about it for this month's haul. Which is really two months ago's haul. I'm glad it's over -- definitely don't mean the holiday, but since I finally documented all of my findings, I can, once and for all, get this crap outta my face. See you crammed in and piled on an over filled and dusty shelf, Halloween Shit '09!

See ya next year!

X-Mas is Xwesome.

Whooaa, it's been a while since my last update. I'm leaving you on pins and needles, I know. But I'll make it quick, since I'm sure you're all dying to know what I've recently blown my money on, but mainly 'cause I'm about to watch that new "It's Always Sunny..." Christmas special. Did I just spend twenty bucks on a bloated, overpriced, forty-three minute episode? You bet!

Alright, so X-mas. I'm so into X-mas. I feel like it's Halloween, but instead of candy, you get videogames and remote controlled cars. Yeah, I'll skip the Twix for a robot that can turn into a breakdacing firetruck. Aside from getting a tree (which I've yet to do and probably never will be able to muster up to motivation to actually do it) I kinda just rely on impulse buying to get the ornament/decoration action done. If it ain't random and ultimately useless to anyone over the age of four, I don't want anything to do with it. Naw, that's not true. 'Cause I want everything! Yay Christmas!

I picked this up, I'm really into it. Action figures are fun, but action figures that are Snoopy and holiday themed are even more fun. I'm smitten when it comes to classics being updated for the season. I used to hate the idea, just fnd it absolutely cheap and ridiculous to see the once-a-month-a-select-few-months-outta-the-year bandwagon being so thoroughly jumped on, but it's grown on me. When it's Christmas, Chanukkah or whatever else ya got, I really wanna know it. I want the toy aisles in every store telling me it's Halloween time. I want cereals and televison shows and main street parades going absolutely nuts over Thanksgiving. When everyone is in on the holiday insanity, life seems just a little bit more bearable.

So. Snoopy. Action figure snoopy. It's a bit hard to really call it an "action" figure, as it's not really gonna be apart of any high-flying, epic toy battles, but damnit if that Santa outfit isn't the cutest. You come with a detachable beard and bright red, floppy hat, my friend? You are sitting at the head of the table in Castle Greyskull tonight, my man!


This was a last minute grab at Walgreen's. Nothing says "buy me!" like a Grow Bumble. NOTHING.

For two bucks, I'm given an opportunity to grow, by an astonishing six-hundred percent, a fanged Wompa. I still don't even know who Grumble is, and have always agreed that anything even resembling an abominable snowman has, and will, attack Luke Skywalker in a frosty cave. It feels more complete that way.

You know the drill, you drop it in an appropriate amount of water, go to bed and wake up to something the size of your fridge. In this case, I'm hoping I wake up to Wompa-Grumble cooking me breakfast and relaying the day's agenda. It almost sounds like I'm hoping for a gay, interspecies relationship with the thing. Hey, it's the time for Christmas miracles, right?


This thing's great, because not only I didn't buy it, but it's Yoda! I'm easily amused, so you give the little guy a candy-cane-cane and an oversized cranium, and I've got myself one hell of a couch buddy.

You see, I got this for my birthday via snail-mail -- it's one of the perks of being in a band. I'd imagine, for anyone else trying to complete their rock and roll image, a stuffed, Yoda doll probably wouldn't cut it. But it does me just fine. Especially since strippers are expensive and drugs make me feel funny. You go with what you know best!

My original plan was to document a few of my birthday presents, but, along with my post-Halloween post, which has holy shit it's been forever and has yet to be posted, I will post it. In 2010. Post Power!

Oh, and I'll let you know how Wompy turns out, too.

Happy holidays!

KILTLIFTER!

I figure I might as well update/blog about something other than toys and...well, more toys. So I've got a running theme going on! No harm in that, right? Too bad, though, that this theme paints me as a thirty year old pervert typing out mini-essays on everything a thirty year old pervert might write about to perv it up with pre-teens. I suffer for my art.

Today on our list is beer. Good ol' beer.

I'm not gonna pretend to be the world's coolest alcoholic, but I can get down with some booze. There's no way I can smoothly order anything from the bar without pointing at it and going, "that one!" first, and I certainly won't be drinking something that smells like a mixture of gasoline and battery acid. Yeah, I'm a pussy. Anything that comes in a shot, bomb or you're-not-going-to-survive-this, I'm probably going to pass. Can't blame a guy for wanting to keep his guts and his most personal, disgusting secrets on the inside.

But beer! Glorious, delicious beer! How can you go wrong with that? It's sometimes smooth, sometimes skunky and yet it's always guaranteed to put a buzz on your brain and a smile on your face.

Now, let's get this straight, though. I don't drink swill. I refuse to drink anything even remotely reminiscent of Budweiser, and the whole Pabst Blue Ribbon/Miller High Life crew, after all that it's given to me and my blooming, glassy-eyed social life, can pretty much suck it these days. I don't think of it as being a snob, I think of how I'd rather spend a few bucks more when paying to damage my liver. Good beer is better beer, and piss-water rarely qualifies as something I'm gonna gonna enjoy now and enjoy later. Probably gag now, puke later. I prefer less gagging. Puking's still alright, though.

But like I said, I ain't no afficionado when it comes to the stuff. The only and greatest times to drink, for me, is right after playing a show. One might assume it to be of celebratory nature, but it's more economical (and sinister!) than that. After sweating all major liquids from my body for forty-five minutes straight, one pint of booze can really pack a punch. You're usually down and out after that, smoothly sailing the dull-eyed, speech slurring train for the rest of the night. Yeah, so one drink is all I'm sayin'. One measley drink! You get all that, March, 2010 east coast tour? See you at the bar!

Anyways, I'm a fan of a beer called Kiltlifter. Minus the fact the below photo is not Kiltlifter (sue me!) it's made in Tempe, AZ and is most delicious.

Now, there's not a chance I can describe its taste. It's like asking me what lies beyond space and time, or how a car works. Shit's way over my head. But if I HAD to describe it...I'd say nutty. Kinda hopsy. Brewed to perfection. Perfect head, with a slight, woodsy tone. Buzz-words and cliche phrases, anyone? Thank you, Sam Adams commercials!

If you check out http://www.fourpeaks.com/, you can see what all the hub-bub is about. Four Peaks doubles as a brewery, which makes and sells a whole line of other, fun named beers, and a really cool restaraunt that somehow manages to stay packed on every single day of the week it drives me mad why can't I find a place to sit. I'm destined to forever stand near the entrance looking confused, or sitting next to the woman who, in our hot, desert wasteland, absolutely prefers to keep the outdoor heating lamp on and above eight-thousand degrees. You gotta learn to roll with the punches. And the midday heatstrokes.

Another cool thing about Kiltlifter/Four Peaks is that it's a local company (well, to me it is) so you won't feel like such a corporate tool when drinking it. You'll only feel a little wobbly and more inclined to tell everyone how you're in love with them when drinking it.

Have fun!