Ouija Board, Ouija Board

It's Friday the 13th? Again?! Sigh. You know, I was all about it when it was Friday the 13th last month but again this month is starting to get desperate, like it can't find anything else better to do. I'm sick of you, F-T-13th. So instead of doing anything 13-ish today, I'm gonna show some vintage 50's sci-fi comic book covers to "celebrate" (read: yawn uncontrollably and mockingly) the day. Again.



Thanks to genetic manipulation testing of the 1950's, we've learned that you just can't successfully mate with Sea Monkeys.



Doctor: Mr. Jones? It seems you have an extreme case of Gluteus Maximus Swollenitis. In other words, you have a big ass. There is help, however! There is tricky surgery we can do on you involving a Cuisinart, Jackée Harry and a gallon of Tang. There's no time to explain. As soon you sign these consent forms, we'll get to it!

Mr. Jones: But my company just cancelled my Blue Cross plan! Nnnoooooooooo!



Here at your friendly Underworld Crime Mini Mall, you'll get treated to a soothing head massage and a delicious Creamsicle while you wait for your torture! Remember: that's the Underground Crime Mini Mall located off I-95 behind the dumpsters, next to Miss Chang's House of Nails, where you'll come for the lip waxing...but stay for the happy endings.



Before the Blog turned evil, he was known at The Buzzkill.

"Hey guys, where ya *hic*...where ya goin'? It's still early and we didn't finish the *hic* poker game! My wife didn't mean to call you a bunch of drunken *hic* losers! Aww, COME ON! You guys are *hic* dicks!...I'm sorry, I didn't mean that...I *hic* love you guys...I mean it, I love you guys, not in a gay way or anything, just like buddies, you know? Dude, I'm so hungry I could eat...what's the word? A norse? I said "norse"! Ahahahaha....*hic* so hey guys, where ya goin'? *hic*


"Ouija Board, Ouija Board" by Morrissey.

Way-Out Wednesday: Return To Sender

One of the new things I'm going to do around these here parts (in addition to the Vintage Giveaways) is a little something that's called "Way-Out Wednesdays", where I'll find something vintage in nature on the interweb that's bizarre, hideous, creepy or just plain ol' fug. Try not to think of it, but last Wednesday was the Terrorphone. I think I sort of prematurely shorted-out with that beast. Nothing will ever top that, so everything else will seem so much more normal in comparison. But that's OK. Fugly is as fugly does.

Today's Way-Out Wednesday's pick is vintage gift wrap. Horrible stuff, this wrapping paper is. (I sounded like Yoda just there.) Nothing says "I hate you and my mom made me give you a stupid present at your lame-ass party" than when you wrap it in this crap.

(All the wrapping paper below is for sale. If you care enough to send the very worst, just click on each pic to take you to the listing.)



This is wedding gift wrap, people. Soft core porn paper. "Did somebody here order a pizza...and a mustache ride?" You can just hear "bom chicka wah wah". See? This is why I hate the 70's. It's just so...70's.



She's playing with hand puppets that look like her. One of the best parenting lessons you should instill in your child is the importance of narcissism.



It's feeding time at the zoo.



How do you know when the soup is done? When the babies turn bright pink.



Self explanatory.



This is a 2-parter because there's so much evil going on with this sheet. First, these little bastards. "Final Destination 4: The Dead End Kids Bump Off Their First Victims." This is why you never sit in the front seat, people!

And this is another section of the same paper. Apparently it's Murder Day at the carnival...



When you don't give little Johnny his money, he will cut a bitch. Aww, they grow up so fast. One minute they're learning to talk, the next minute the have to shiv their triflin' ho's for not paying up. They're so cute at that age. Needless to say, I love this paper.



OH SWEET JESUS. Thinkofahappyplace...thinkofahappyplace....

Open Book

It's time for the March vintage giveaway! Can you even stand it? I know I can. I'm jumping the gun this month and doing it (I said doing it) a little early, since at the end of the month I'm going away on a super awesome happy fun time vacay and will have no time to delight the world with with the free crapola. (Actual "super" "awesome" or "happy" is debatable, since it is a vacation with family, after all. But they do put the "fun" in dysfunction.)

This month it's a vintage book. And before you're all "Uhh, a book? Thanks, mom. That's exactly what we always wanted. A book. Maybe next month you'll give us new socks if we're really good and do our chores. Swell." But there's hardly any actual reading required, just a social commentary of post-war America told through titled black and white photos. (Ha! I sounded like I knew what I was talking about there for a second!) Also, Reading Is Fundamental, bitches. The book is called: "The Fifties: Photographs of America." (Ok, so the book is vintage 1985, but it's still vintage so shut your pieholes. You'll love it. Why? Because I said you'll love it, that's why.)

As usual, everyone and anyone is welcome to sign up for the giveaway! (Except hippies.) Either leave a comment that you want in, or drop me a line at fasteddiesretrorags@yahoo.com. I'll randomly pick a winner (or whomever bribes me the best) in a week, on March 17. As usual, you don't pay a thing! And for your own protection (from loan sharks and common mob goons) don't post your name and address here!



Behold what you you'll feast your eyes on, through my crappy photo skillz. I said behold!



"Life in a trailer park."



"Working on the car." It's a good thing the author told us they're working on a car. I thought they were baking a pie.



"Showgirl and Eddie Fisher." More like "Eddie Fisher: Big Pimpin'." (Do you think he tried to sneak a peek at her rack?)



"Gang." Amy Winehouse and the Gang pile into the Mystery Machine and head on down to Coney Island, to crack The Case of the Missing 8 Ball.



"Jane Mansfield and her dog." Aww, c'mon, you knew there'd be a gratuitous JMan shot! (Her leopard swimsuit= love.) Making tiny, pain in the ass designer dogs that you carry in a Louis Vuitton handbag cool, way before Beverly Hills Chihuahua and that useless Hilton broad. (No, I mean, the other one.)



"Motorama". The cars of tomorrow, today.



Bunny Hop. Blasphemous teens! Avert your eyes to the sinning! Don't they know that dancing combined with rock and/or roll music sends them on a path straight to sexual intercourse- and then girls getting jobs- and then to the devil? It's time for an old fashioned bible-thumping, Footloose-style.

"Open Book" by Cake.

Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue

In more Barbie news (I know, I know, enough with the Barbie already, but this is so ridonkulous I have to share the stupid), you'll be happy to know that Mattel is branching out in it's hipness and releasing a Tattoo Barbie. I kid you not. Because that's exactly what 6-year-olds have been wanting. Apparently the company tried it once before to the outrage of many, but they're giving it another go? Because tattoos aren't just for high school senior football players and 45-year-old midlife crisis moms anymore! Now, I'm all for self-expression. Or whatever. I have many tattoos myself, but you bet your ass not a one is someone's name nor does my abdomen say "Thug Life" in Old English lettering. Although I would not object to "Slug Life". Tattoos are rarely about self-expression these days. What are you expressing with that Tinkerbell tattoo, exactly? Yeah. That's what I though.

So just what will Miss Thang look like? So whatddya think: will she look like a college sorority skank with a peace sign on her ankle and a barbed wire arm piece? Or will she look like a Rock of Love reject? Let's see the 1999 version...



She's gonna look cool. If you think having a "tribal" lower back tattoo and a "Ken" in a heart on her chest is cool. Which it is not. And for the record, what the hell does "tribal" even mean? What tribe are you from exactly, to necessitate representing it in a tattoo? "Doucebag Tribe represent, yo." That's about at stupid as getting any Asian character tattoo. How do you know the tattoo you thought meant "peace and love" in Chinese doesn't really mean "jackass"? This just in: tattoos are officially over.

Call Me

I think I'm going to start a new installment on this ding dang blog called Weird Wednesdays. Or something. I don't know, that name's not set in stone, people. It's a little too cliche, I know. But for now let's just roll with "Weird Wednesdays" unless someone else can think of something better to call it.

Moving forward. Please enjoy the inspiration for Weird Wednesday (Or "Name Pending"). Brace yourself, it is FUG and SCARY and SCARY FUG and might make you queeze if you have a weak stomach:

....

Now's the time to walk away, pansiefolk, and get yourself a Mr. Pibb.

....


Get ready to feast your eyes on the freak show which is called the:

"VISIBLE MAN/WOMAN Rotary Torso Phone Outsider Art 1970s
Hermaphrodite Tested Works hand made Folk Sculpture"



What. The. Frick. It's a telephone, but it's art? It's a terrorphone. (Sounds like Engrish. Ha!) The nipple! Not good. The vintage-iness of it is so-called 70's, but you can take any old phone laying around and build a flesh-eating diseased, paper mache carcass around it and call it vintage, so that's debatable. But whatever, that's the least of my concern. It's "hermaphrodite tested"? I was not aware of hermaphrodites' excellence in phone-testing skills. Huh. Learn something new every day.*




It's a man, baby.




So...it's a woman? I don't get it. Oh! Ohh....OH. Now I get it. It's a hermaphrodite phone. That makes sense now. Wait...No it doesn't.




Oh sweet moses. I wasn't ready for that. I WASN'T READY! You'd be glad to know it's a real working phone. In the market for a skinned torso he/she phone? (And who isn't?) You can bid on it now, on ebay. From Hang Fire Books. You're welcome.


*No hermaphrodites were harmed in the making of this phone. Although, good taste and humor have pretty much been obliterated.

Ain't She Sweet

Barbie turns 50 this month, having made her debut in March, 1959! Who knew people thought she's still socially relevant? Well, not that she ever really was, but damn if that girl didn't have the best friggin' closet. Excluding the plastic stripper heels, they were and always will be fug. The plastic doll that could, Barbie's look and career (Ha! Like girls have careers) sure have changed with each passing era. Although we all want to root for Veterinarian Barbie or Stewardess -nay- Flight Attendant Barbie, you know you're not kidding anyone because every girl loved the vapid Barbie best, the one who did nothing all day but cruise around in her Barbie Corvette and sit in her Barbie Hot Tub and drive to to the Barbie Nail Salon in her Barbie RV. (The "poor kids" made hot tubs out of water-filled zip lock bags. FAIL. Not the same.) I personally enjoyed the Barbie-as-Bimbo eras best, never owned a Lawyer Barbie or Doctor Barbie, but had just about every pink, sparkling, tulle gown monstrosities created. And not once did I ever compare myself to her or get an eating disorder and a boob job to compete with her image, so put that in your un-PC Barbie Cigarette Holder and smoke it.



To honor her 50th birfday designers including Vera Wang, Badgley Mischka, Tommy Hilfilger and Calvin Klein designed Barbie-inspired fashions throughout her years for New York's Fashion Week last month at Bryant Park.

Remember your Barbie wardrobe envy:



(If I had this green ensemble, I'd wear it everywhere, yo.



(Can I just say I covet her Coal Miner's Daughter-meets-June Carpenter hairdo?)







(Would.Kill.Anyone.For.Polka.Dotty.Bathing Suit.)





(Trench coat and 1959-inspired swimsuit? Umm. Ok, I guess. whatever.)

People Are Strange

So I've been getting pictures ready for this month's giveaway and came across this awesomely cheesetastic picture which pretty requires mocking. It's from the 1958 inauguration of some random college president at the University of California and it's sort of fascinating in a "people-watching at the park" kind of way. Except it's not really fascinating, more like a way a super awesome dork like me likes to waste time. And it's not at the park. And it's a picture from the 50's. So I guess it's not really people-watching, more like...picture watching? It's not at all like people-watching, so nevermind.

The crappy picture:



Ok, ok, the faraway view isn't that entertaining, just a bunch of nerds at the stadium. But zoom in on:



It's Napoleon Dynamite. Gosh.



I have these *exact* same sunglasses! Only mine are held together with clear tape, since the pin dealies fell out of the hinges on the arms. Yeah, I'm a nerd and I deal with that every day. You should too.



Digging for gold? Busted.

(And if you haven't guessed it by now, this month's free crapola giveaway will be a vintage book! Duh. Don't you roll your eyes at me, it's a cool book! You better watch it mister, or else I'll sign you up for a year's worth of "The Watchtower" pamphlets.)