Tchotchke-less entry

Someone really needs to stop me and my tchotchke collection. It's to the point where, when I come home with a new bendy figurine, Jim gives me the look that says "That's going straight to your office, right?" As a result, my office at work is so crammed full of bizarre figurines that any other adult would likely be embarassed. I should just fight the urge to add to the plastic menagerie, swear off the Star Wars Pez dispensers, put up the Babylon 5 action figures (including Londo Mollari, two figures, one as middle-aged Ambassador Mollari, and one as aged Emperor Mollari), and turn my back on the little green guy and his orange well-hung horsie friend. Then I could more easily pretend to be an adult, blend into society better, perhaps be allowed to use the restroom at work without supervision. Sure, it's a crazy dream, but c'mon you guys - let a girl have her fantasies.

Frankly, You, the Internet as a Whole, have not been helpful in my quest to attain pseudo maturity. You only encourage this habit which erodes my brain on a daily basis, as I feel the overwhelming need to pose and photograph the figurines, my colorful little toys, my poseable pals. The need burns in me like a gasoline-soaked monkey in a bonfire. And I give in to it, again and again. Now You have to look, too.

Yesterday I opened my mailbox to find that my prize from Mrtl's masthead contest had arrived. All the way from Alaska! But it was all thawed and shit by the time I got it, hakuna matata and all. I tore open the Yukon-kissed carboard box, and here is what I beheld:



Dear sweet spearfishin' baby jesus, Mrtl sent me Gumby and Friends! Stars of Television and Movies! And, be still my jackhammer heart, there is a fan club. With 3 & 5 year memberships available. I love my life.




I truly believe that disturbed minds think alike, as just a couple of weeks ago, I received a pouchful of Gumby and his posse from Cherie.



Will the real Gumby please...fall over?


What's not to dig about Galaxy Gumby and Planethopper Pokey?

They are my newest li'l friends, sweet, uncorrupted, so full of the innocence I seem to have cast off lo these many years ago. It brings a tear to my eye, if you want me to be perfectly honest. Fills me with the sense of purity and wonderment of a child, when bendy arms and poseable legs meant that I was in charge of my own little universe and everything was in order.

And then I turn my back for one fuckin' minute...



This is Gumby's sister, Minga, havin' what one might think is a harmless ride on the tail of Gumby's friend Prickle, the miniature dinosaur. Think again.



Think Gumby would be happy if he knew his pal was yodelin' in his little sister's canyon? Facts is facts: Minga is a slut. Let's just say it's a helluva lot easier to keep those bendy legs open than it is to shut 'em.

Oh, wait, I guess Gumby won't give a flyin' fuck what Minga's up to with put-the-prick-in-Prickle. He seems a little....busy.



Looks like Gumby grew a little extra asparagus for Pokey.


But we all knew Gumby was the bitch, right?

They scurried like little poseable cockroaches when I came back in the room, not realizing I already had all the photographic evidence I needed to send them to an open flame demise, and pronto. Sodomites and dinosaur fuckers in my office? I could feel the righteous indignation tingle in me...oh, wait, no. The tingling is something else entirely.

They attempted to play it off as if no oral or anal pleasure had just taken place on top of my filing cabinet. I must admit, they're a bunch of cool-as-cold-stuff characters.



In case you're wondering...this post should be filed under Cry for Help.