This may be the single coolest thing I’ve ever seen at the ratty antique mall on A Street. (You know, the one with the as-is bathroom.) Gorgeous type, an eerie-lovely name, plus instructions for how to blow insecticide all over yourself by accident. El Perfecto!

Here’s the top view:

And the very imperative side view:

This is going to be my new command. When I want a foot rub, I will gesture footwards and say, “SWAT THAT FLY,” and should I want more chalupas, I will nod toward the platter and say, “SWAT THAT FLY,” and if I want some irritating person out of my grill, I will glower and hiss: “SWAT THAT FLY.” You may call me Yo, Majesty.

Isn’t this what we’re all hoping for? I’m afraid it doesn’t come in a bottle (unless that bottle is Sake, and it’s accompanied by Ankimo, Toro, and Uni in vast amounts).

Meet Elmer the benevolent bear, who just wants to help you stick stuff together:

Can’t you just hear him saying doh-de-doh, with his blue overalls, his wide eyes, and his half-a-grin?

I’ve been taking pictures at thrift stores and garage sales lately, and now I’m sharing them with you. First up, old Hay-Soos, the Prince of Pissed:

Don’t his eyes seem to judge you no matter where you’re standing? And I love the rays of rage coming off his jesusy headwrap. If your god is an angry god, then this must be his son.

Here’s Ricky Gervais.

With a monkey.

On his shoulder.

(Better than a monkey on your back, I’d say. A cleverer straight man, at least.)

Be sure to watch the monkey’s face midway through. He’s sweetly Shempish with a Dyn-o-monkey grin.

Gervais can riff with anyone. Don’t miss him dishing with Elmo.

(Whither Degas??)

My sister came over with Ford last night, for a night of red wine and nephew snorgling. But first we gave him a bath in my kitchen sink, and I took the opportunity for some prurient newborn shots. And since I’ve already posted pictures of a dead rabbit, a gnawed pastry, and a tragic sink today, why not a baby wanger???

I asked about using the bathroom in an antique store the other day, and the shop guy told me it was “as is.” And this is what he meant:

I did not wash my hands. I am sure you understand.

We had a little potluck last week, in celebration of visiting friends. It was a good excuse to check out the new Mexican grocery in town, where I scored fresh tortillas, tamales, and some pastries. Only one of the sugar treats didn’t get eaten, probably because several guests let the whiskey do the talking for them, passing the baked good around and holding it up to their chests as though it was a big pink…well, I’m sure you can imagine. You’ve probably had whiskey yourself, and used it as an excuse to fondle pastry. Haven’t we all?

Here it is after the party:

And the next morning, once I chased Archie off the kitchen table:

Archie is a tit man, apparently. And a lift-his-leg man. And a sniff-your-ass man.

This is what we did at my house over the weekend: some leaf raking, some garage cleanup, and a little light slaughter. Stella and Archie are fully blooded now, and meated, as well. This poor rabbit was hardly carcass by the time I discovered it, just an empty fur suit and a bloodied head. Luckily, I am stout of heart and do not suffer much from squeam, because it was a bit confronting to reverse out a kitchen garbage bag and scoop up the leavings, as though it was a very large shit taken by 2 small, yet mighty dogs.

Every time they go out now, my little predators snorf around for traces of their kill, prancing like proud orcs. You’d think they’d taken down a bear.

We’re a family of readers. Here, my sister gets Ford started on one of our childhood favorites: Alexander and the Wind-Up Mouse by Leo Lionni.

If he could focus his eyes, he would especially like the part where the lizard tells Alexander to bring him a purple pebble.

Right now, Ford’s favorite thing is the sound of his mom’s voice.

Oh, and the delicious cush of her chest. Mmm, milk!

Photos by dad.