So the Yule shopping is going on…and on… and on. The human female is looking for brocade ribbon. And books for small people. And a certain “yummy bergamot and cedar” hand soap recommended by a friend of her mother’s. But can she look at just ribbon and books and hand soap? NO, SHE CANNOT.
She is looking at everything, and by Odin’s monocular vision there is so. much. CRAP to look at that we will probably still be wandering aimlessly come the spring equinox.
And the crap is starting to take on a very disturbing slant. Look at these!
As much as I adore the thought of blowing my nose on my brother’s oafish face, and as much as Steve’s goody-goody-ness still gives me a rash and kidney failure so I don’t mind if he is snotted on as well, I fail to see the pressing need to make a product like this at all. What’s that? The actual tissues aren’t printed with their stupid faces? That takes away all the fun and makes them an even more ridiculous idea.
Sweet glittering Bifrost! There is more:
NO! The godson does not not need any stickers this year! Keep moving!
Augh! There is my stupid
brother not brother again!
The shelf may say “Charlie Brown,” but the hammer and the dorky helmet are a dead giveaway.
The thorribleness is everywhere.
There are thornaments…
Vintage thor… (Yep, 12 cents is about what he’s worth)
Ugly 3-D thor…
This thor has bits you can swap out with Frost Giant parts. That… That is a good idea, actually. Let’s see how he likes being ostracized and ridiculed for a little chilly DNA.
All in all, far too much blonde Asgardian beef on sale today. I think the needle on my thor-o-meter is ticking into the red zone.
Please, can we go HOME now?