Bringing New Meaning To The Expression "Sleep Tight."
Alright darling, it's time for beddy-byes!
No, no dear...you mustn't cry! Mother and Father have had such a long day. Frankly, Mother just can't take it any longer.
I'm counting to five and if you haven't stopped crying Mother will be forced to bring out the Crib Sleeper.
Oh no! Now you're crying even harder! Tsk, tsk...the Crib Sleeper it is then! Oh well...Mother gave you a chance and you blew it!
There, there. I don't know what all this fuss is about. Why, you look snug as a bug in a rug! No...that's doesn't seem quite right. Why would a bug be snug in a rug anyway? A rug if far too large for a bug. I'm afraid Mother doesn't know the answer to that one. Mother thinks you look just as cozy as a loony in a straitjacket. Yes, that's more like it...
Now, now...no more tears. Off to dreamland you go! Don't worry...Mother will be right here when you wake up in the morning.
Oh, now you've started crying all over again! Honestly darling, Mother just doesn't know what to do with you sometimes...
Posted by Mary on December 12, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (50)
Damn That Helmet and Its Potty Mouth!
Posted by Kimberly on May 22, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (17)
Manchildren in Hand Knit Mittens
Posted by Kimberly on August 18, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (16)
Not So Sunny Side Up
Ahhh...nothing warms my heart more than seeing a boy with
freakishly elevated hair sporting a handmade sweater that memorializes the suicide
of an anthropomorphized egg.
What's that? You say he fell... like it was an accident? Grow up. Giant round body, pencil thin legs. Short pants with a matching coat and bowtie...not to mention the hat. They force nursery ryhme characters to dress that way. Let's also consider the fact that he had to walk around all day with a rotting pre-chicken inside his shell. Trust me. Humpty Jumptyed.
CELEBRITY SIMILARITY ALERT: This poor destined to be beat up behind the monkey bars kid looks like Greg Proops of "Whose Line is it Anyway" fame, who incidentally refers to himself as Prooproach on his official site.
Posted by Kimberly on July 6, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (7)
Hours of Entertainment.
Come along boys, it's time for beddy-byes! Yes, I know you're having "soooo much fun" but the string will be there when you get up in the morning. Tomorrow you can play with your string for many, many hours!
Timmy, we've all seen you use the string as an "invisible dog leash." Hilarious. That trick just never gets old, does it? It's as humorous now as it was the first fifty times you did it.
Now. Everyone get their ass in bed this instant or it will be no string for A WHOLE WEEK. You remember the last time that happened, what a long week you all had. Okay, that's what I thought.
Posted by Mary on July 5, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (11)
Golli-blog
Behold the Golliwog in all his glory:
I believe this pattern is from some time in the 40s. I was shocked by how freakishly scary it is. What the hell kinda kid would want to play with this thing? Check out those eyes. They make Jennifer Wilbanks look well-adjusted. I also find this thing crazy offensive. The Golliwog character was originally developed by Frances Upton to resemble a Black Minstrel. Wow. Have some stereotypes with your milk and cookies, kids. Thank goodness, by the time I was growing up in the 80s, our culture had moved past such horrible displays of racial intolerance and misunderstanding.
Or not. What the hell is this? Either this family is on their way to the weekly meeting of the Racist Memorabilia Collectors Club (Cracker Division) or they're just cruising to get their asses kicked down at the Family Dollar. Either way they are totally psyched about it. Check out the tot. "We hate Black people! Up with Whitey! Wheeeeee!"
Ten bucks says they have a Mammy cookie jar on their kitchen counter and a lawn jockey out by the car port.
Posted by Kimberly on May 18, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (65)
I Would Have Been Sick, Naked, and Unprepared
Apparently, in the 40s it wasn't enough to cook, clean and completely meet all the needs of both your husband and your offspring. It was also expected that, should you become ill, you would SEW YOUR OWN HOSPITAL GOWN. What the hell? Notice that the drawing on the lower right shows the the traditional "party in the back" option that most of today's hospital gowns offer.
Posted by Kimberly on May 4, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (9)
Speak to Us, O Spirits of the Strip Club

"Speak to us Mighty Spirits of the crystal ball. Speak to us of things that are and things that will come to be. Tell us, O Wise Ones, what will Krissy's profession be when she grows up?"
"Do you see anything?"
"Wait, I do see something...it looks like a list of instructions. It says do these things and your future profession should become clear."
"I'm so excited!! Read me the instructions."
"O.K. It says first take off your skirt. Then swing it over your head."
"Gotcha. What's next?"
"Kick off your stilettos and swivel your hips around and around."
"Like this?"
"I guess so. Now it says toss the skirt at the nearest man."
"O.K., but I'm not getting this. What do you think it all means? What will I be when I grow up?"
"I'm not sure, but I'm guessing you'll need a stage name and some pasties."
Posted by Kimberly on May 3, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (11)
It Was Hard Being Knocked-Up In The 1940's.
I've been trying to figure out why the women on this maternity dress pattern look so depressed. I've decided the Italian beauty on the left, Belladonna Frownovanni, is worried about what her boyfriend is going to think:
"I'm a gonna tella Frankie that I'ma knocked-upa but what if he adumps me? Ifa little Primo doesn't have a papa I'm agonna die-a!"
Belladonna's white bread friend in pigtails is sympathetic but she too is Knocked-Up In The 1940's and has her own problems. Also, one of those freaking Lilliputian women is hanging around, probably pregnant with a teeny tiny Lilliputian spawn, but we have already enough to worry about without her.
Bear in mind, gentle readers, that the dresses shown here are maternity clothes. And to that all I can say is....ouch. No wonder everyone looks so damn sad.
Posted by Mary on May 2, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (15)
Don't Even Get Me Started On The Pleats.
Once again, Fred was smug in the knowledge that his waist was indeed a fraction smaller than William's. And as always, William spent the rest of the afternoon sulking in the corner like a big baby.
Meanwhile, poor Spot hobbles around without any hind legs and nobody even gives a damn.
Posted by Mary on April 30, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (11)





