Posted by Stitchy McYarnpants 15 COMMENTS

Is there anything more pleasant than an afternoon in the crisp autumn air? It’s the perfect way to spend the day with your family. Nope, there’s nothing finer than enjoying nature’s bounty and bringing home . . .

A Bushel of the Damned!!!

Move over Johnny Appleseed, little Joanie Badseed is on the scene. Clearly, she’s just caused untold carnage in the orchard. In the movies, this is the part where the end credits would roll and we’d gesticulate wildly at the screen trying to warn her parents.

Can you hear the apples screaming, Clarice?

I see a lot of bad sequels in this girl’s future. Panic in the Pumpkin Patch. The Strawberry Field Massacre. Children of the Corn Maze. Pick a Peck of Pickled Death . . .

Posted by Stitchy McYarnpants 12 COMMENTS

Breaking News: War on Christmas leads to shocking discovery in North Pole!

While carrying out the nation’s clear but double-super-secret strategy for victory in the War on Christmas, covert operations in the wintery wonderland have lead investigators to a shocking cover-up in Santa’s Workshop. While searching for signs of non-compliance to the new regulations meant to insure acceptable enjoyment and celebration practices during the Christmas season, officials discovered that the jolly fat man is not who we thought he was. Sure, he’s still fat, but his jollies are not derived from delivering gifts to good boys and girls across the land. In fact, good behavior is a sure-fire way to stay off the list that Santa really cares about.

Upon arrival at the Claus compound, operatives were met with ferocious guard reindeer, trained to gore interlopers with their mighty horns. It was the first of many frightening encounters they would have.

Once inside, they spied Santa and one of his favored elves lounging in the workshop.

After incurring heavy fines for operating under sweatshop conditions many years ago, Santa was thought to have improved conditions for his workers. Conditions have changed, alright. In fact, no toymaking was going on at all. Conveyor belts, doll-painting machines and jack-in-the-box stuffers have all been replaced with hot tubs and massage tables. The only toys in sight were the sort exclusively available to those with proper ID, many wrapped in plain paper so they could be delivered inconspicuously to the homes of Santa’s new, seamier clients. The environment could only be described as disturbingly over-affectionate.

As the officers wandered further into the holly jolly village of sin, they began to suspect that the true meaning of Christmas had been lost somewhere along the way. Not the pagan meaning from before winter solstice celebration was co-opted by newcomers, but the second, more meaningful meaning. The celebration of the birth of Jesus, which most likely took place in April.

As they shook their heads in distaste and wondered how they could make this about them and their moral superiority, they were captured and bound by a most curious creature – a reingimp. Born a normal reindeer with a mild chemical imbalance and a penchant for the unusual, he was not suited to be one of Santa’s slay team at the front gates. His bizarre use of red ribbon and leather straps festooned with jingle bells shocked the Christmas Warriors and they were easily overtaken.

It is unknown how long they were with the reingimp or what transpired during that time, but we were assured that it was entirely wholesome.

It was nightfall before they were able to free themselves and by then Santa, Mrs. Claus and all their friends were relaxing after a dinner party and a rousing game of Truth or Dare. What our noble Knights of Noel saw was scandalous at best.

Carols sung by Barry White blared as Mrs. Claus held hands with a visiting clown. Her blatant display of infidelity in front of her husband was astounding until, upon closer inspection, they noticed Santa’s hand was also resting on the clown’s shoulder. Suddenly a Leprechaun and an angel stumbled over just as they were reaching the punchline of a filthy joke involving elves, a feisty dove and a menorah. The scent of mistletoe was thick in the air, they were full of holiday spirit, alright.

One can only imagine the debauchery that ensued, and unfortunately, that is what we must do as this is where our coverage ends. The Crusaders of the Creche turned in their story rather abruptly and were last seen buying pointed shoes and green tights from a local costume shop. There is no word on their current whereabouts.

Posted by Stitchy McYarnpants 59 COMMENTS

Just in time for the holidays! It’s the new Home Plastic Surgery Kit from StitchCo! Just slip it on and follow the easy-to-follow color-coded cut lines. Refresh a hairline that isn’t just receding, it’s gone into full fledged retreat. Tighten droopy eyes which are no doubt suffering the ravages of your non-stop sobbing. Lift up those lumps of glutinous dough you used to call a jawline and for heaven’s sake, just pick one chin and stick with it while you’re digging around in there. And feel free to do something about those earlobes, too.

This ski mask gets extra points for thoughtfully including a faithful replica of this man’s weeping cold sores. Might as well warn the snow bunnies right up front, eh? And toss in some gin blossoms while you’re at it.

Will you just look into those eye? This kid is pleading for his mom to just forget what he said about becoming a model and drive him right back to school as soon as possible. Like now. That little eyebrow of despair speaks volumes, let’s listen . . . “Please, mom? For the love of all that is holy, mom? Please can we please leave please? I’ll never ask for anything or come up with any other big ideas about my future again, I swear. Take me right to the dentist or the nursing home so I can visit with strange old people, I don’t care. I’ll go anywhere. I’ll clean the hamster cage every day. Please?”

P.S. From the description: “Warm little Indian wears his feathers knitted over pipe cleaners, his war paint of duplicate stitch.” uhhhh-huh . . . and people wonder why ancient Native American burial grounds fight back.

It’s too late for Sally. The darkness has got her now. She’s no longer the girl we loved, the transformation has already begun. Soon she’ll be coming for us and unless you’re aching for a set of acrylic bangs, I suggest we run.

P.S. From the description: “Fringed yarn bangs and pompon “hair” are amusing.” I think they used waaay too few quotation marks. Tell me, doesn’t this make more sense: “Fringed yarn “bangs” and “pompon” “hair” are “amusing”.”

Now, this family of ski masks already made the rounds on the internets a long time ago. I wouldn’t re-hash them if I didn’t have a really good reason. I’m sure everyone who has ever seen these things has laughed and recoiled in horror and thought “Who would ever make something like this?” And because the way the human brain has evolved, there are built-in protections for our delicate psyches. We tell ourselves that obviously no one has ever made one. How could they? It’s just too much to fathom.

Well, in the immortal words of Danny Bonaduce, I am about to shake your foundation. I will shake the f’ing rafters. Nobody’ll be the same.

This is 6-year-old Charles C. In 1966, he lived in Mogador, Ohio. I guess that would make him 46 now. This was his mom’s first knitting project. I know this photo looks like surveillance camera footage from some crazed, yarn-fueled crime spree, and who could blame the little guy. But in actuality, his mom was so proud, she sent it to McCalls magazine so they could put it in the section of the magazine called “Show Us How You Did It With Snaps!” (snaps, in this case, being snapshots. Although maybe the hat could benefit from some extra closures) Charles, email me. Seriously, we need to talk.

*And before you ask, I can’t post the pattern or send it out. I just don’t feel comfortable doing it for copyright reasons. Sorry, it’s just better this way, I mean, you don’t really want to make one of these, do you? Consider it a public service.

Posted by Stitchy McYarnpants 26 COMMENTS

Ditch the needles, put the yarn in the disposal, tuck that pattern where the sun don’t shine! You don’t need ANY of it now that there’s something new. Something amazing. Something that will keep your panty parts fresh for days with a space-age airtight seal!

That’s right – straight from the locker room at NASA to you, it’s . . .

Just point and shoot! Available in Jumpsuit and Hotpant.

And if you order now, you’ll get a free VacuWig – it’s a hairstyle, it’s a facelift, it’s the only ‘do on the market with lab tested all-over skin lift technology. Simply set the braided dial to your preferred tension level and experience anti-gravity as you’ve never felt it before.

And now . . .

Pantsuit Pour L’Homme!

Posted by Stitchy McYarnpants 13 COMMENTS

I found it! After years of searching, I have found the world’s most perfect visual representation of The Weather Girls’ classic homage to the nearly constant homoprecipitation that befell the earth in the early 1980’s. Oh, it’s raining men alright, and Roger from the MOKS Marketing Department just loves splashing around in the puddles – IF ya’ know what I mean.