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First things first, it seems Charlene wants to add something to yesterday’s post. She added it in the comments, but I figured I’d just put it here for ease of use.

From Charlene:

“Did Stitchy also mention a guy in his late 70’s beat us by about 10 minutes? We were much closer to death that day than he’s ever been. We couldn’t even win the raffle at the end¢â‚¬¦”

~ahem~ no, Chuckles, as I matter of fact I didn’t mention us getting out asses thoroughly kicked by a 70something-year-old man, nor did I bring up our stunning defeat at the raffle. I also didn’t tell them that you could only name 6 of the 8 Red Sox players on the raffle sheet for the Red Sox tickets. I mean, who doesn’t have Trott Nixon’s image burned into their mind? (ok, I knew the name, but I thought he was a rodeo guy or something. You know, like Tuff Hedeman.). And that other guy whatsisname. Pfffft. So yes, we did good by showing up and eventually finishing. But everything in between? Well, we’ll do better next time.

And now on to something from a couple of weeks ago. Wendy had a Duct Tape Dummy party where we were invited to wrap ourselves and each other in duct tape, then snip each other out of our new shiny adhesive shirts. Sounds pretty kinky, eh? Well, I have to believe that somewhere, there’s a fetish for this kind of thing, there just has to be. Hey, you. The one who found this blog entry by using some keywords about your duct tape fetish, is this really a huge scene? Don’t be shy. I know this is a knitting blog and all, but we’re curious. Do tell. But tell in the comments.

Anyhoo, I brought all the necessary equipment to have Dummy Debbie made up, but I chickened out at the last minute. I ended up helping Ben and Cheryl do theirs. It was fun, like making a mummy without all that pomp and circumstance or the mess of coptic jars and brain hooks.

When I got home, Jon was disappointed that I didn’t have a carapace of myself for his amusement. Really disappointed. So much so that he insisted on making one right then. So pretty much as soon as I got home from the party, we got to work. I made sure he understood that this would not become a regular “thing”, so not to get too attached to the process, if you know what I mean. It took a while, but eventually, I ended up with this:

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I immediately regretted telling Jon to just let the tape follow the curves, for follow it did. Check out the frontal pooching. Yikes! Is that a sack of ham sandwiches in your shirt or did you just eat a sack of ham sandwiches? But I must say, it’s an accurate representation of yours truly. It’s kind of hard to tell with the tripod stand and fake head and all. Here, maybe this will give you better scale.

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HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAA! Never let it be said that my husband does not indulge me. He was rushing out of the house the other morning when I needed pictures of this thing and he kept refusing to put it on (although he had put it on a few times before and seemed to like having his own set of boobs all to himself). He finally relented and is now totally nerve-wracked that I’m about to post it. Hee hee.

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Honey? I’m posting it. Right . . . . NOW! Too late, there’s no going back on this one!

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So we’re redecorating the upstairs powder room and I’m looking for, I don’t know, something special. Something feminine to class the place up, and that also reflects who I am as a person. How can I combine my love of mid-century pop music with my passion for taxidermy?

I know!

The disembodied heads of renowned 60’s girl group, the Kleenettes! I’ll just replace all that neural tissue with soft, absorbent facial tissue and Darlene, Marlene, and Charlene can be with me forever. They’ll go perfectly with my Sha Na Na toothbrush holders.

There’s an old adage that says “there are no atheists in foxholes.” Judging from the list of religious intonations that poured out of my mouth the very second I stumbled across these twisted playthings of the Dark Lord, I’d say that adage also holds true for anyone in their presence.

Toto the Clown, seen at the bottom, seems evil enough on his own. His apparent possession of two mouths, both most certainly full of needle sharp teeth meant for penetrating tender flesh, is enough to make your skin crawl right off your body and into the next room. But add his pal, Tony, and you may as well ask Old Scratch himself for a play date. Did I mention that according to the pattern, Tony is an Organ Grinder? The very thought of him snatching my liver and stuffing it into his monkey-powered gore machine while playing a merry tune is just too much to bear. I’m going to need a little lay down.

At long last, I’m free from the shackles of Charmin! Take that, underwear overlords! Finally, someone has addressed my need for a garment that is both fashionable and convenient. I’m done wasting time with “bathrooms” and “hygiene” and “common decency”. Who’s with me?!

It’s an exciting day here at the Museum of Kitschy Stitches. We’ve been bringing you the worst that yarn has to offer since 2004 and at long last, you get to meet the staff members who make it possible. These are the folks who have been working somewhat tirelessly, but mostly sporadically, to meet your need for acrylic thrills. Their often half-assed attempts to amaze and amuse are the only thing that keeps them going between office birthday parties. Not since the great Yarn Sore Outbreak of ’05 has there been this much buzz (or fuzz) in the air. So get ready to meet the whole crew, from the hunky head of Security to the tumultuous Tammies in accounting and reception. Enjoy!

Belinda and Jane in Exhibits

The two are the go-to gals when it comes to thinky things. Their intelligence is directly proportional to the size of their glasses. They’re responsible for arranging and writing descriptive text about the images you see throughout the museum. Belinda loves to use her prose to highlight the creativity and uniqueness of the objects on display. Jane loves tearing up Belinda’s flowery dissertations about the artists who created these steaming heaps and replacing them with her own bitter admonitions.

Belinda’s overzealous use of stripes and large wooden anchors to release her perky inner pirate is matched only by Jane’s inexplicable need to direct your gaze to her chest with not-so-subtle knitwear. Yo-ho-ho, Belinda. Time for a boob job, Jane.

Ted and Jim in Acquisitions

Ted and his apprentice, Jim, are responsible for gathering the pieces that are displayed in our many galleries. They regularly scour estate sales, flea markets, and Ted’s elderly mother’s book shelf for new treasures. Ted really enjoys his job. Reeeeally enjoys it. So much so that everyone who works in the Acquisitions Department is required to wear a uniform knitted in his signature colorway €“ Red Hot Red Heart. Since he’s the boss, he gets the three-button pullover. Jim, being an entry-level assistant, must wear the sweater vest. No one has ever applied for the intern position because no one wants to wear the thong.

Gail in HR

Gail is a brave woman who has faced adversity and overcome great odds. She is truly an inspiration to us all. She suffers from a rare disorder that causes her to be convinced that common household items are to be worn on the body. Some days it’s a teapot hat, others it’s a sofa cushion skirt. On this particular day, her non-skid, suction-cup bathtub mat became a fetching poncho. She feels right at home here in the offices of the MOKS.

Vito in Security

Vito joined the team as head of Security after his hair product modeling career abruptly came to an end when it was discovered he was using follicle-enhancing drugs. Vito is the man. So what if he’s wearing a boatneck sweater made with green, purple, and maroon heathered yarn with dropped puffy dolman sleeves and a blousy fit at the waist!? Who else would have had the sheer strength to get Gail of the floor when she tripped and suction cupped herself firmly onto the linoleum? Notice that no one has ever stolen anything from the MOKS collection with Vito heading up security. Would you mess with this guy? No, I didn’t think so.

Tammy in Reception

Tammy is the light-hearted, fun-loving receptionist here at the MOKS. She’s on top of everything that goes on in the office and no ones’ personal problems escape her notice. If there’s even a hint of a special occasion, she wastes no time in festooning cubicles with theme-appropriate decorations. From birthdays to showers to settling out of court over troublesome harassment lawsuits, she’s got just the thing. Sometimes we have up to four cakes in a day. Having a bad morning? You can always count on her to remind you to turn that frown upside-down. Over and over and over, until you comply. Yep, she’s a real peach, that one.

Lately she’s been troubled because she keeps getting mistaken for Tammy in Accounting who has a bit of a . . . reputation. It seems that Recpetionist Tammy has been getting a lot of Accounting Tammy’s emails. Emails that are most certainly not fit for a beunicorned beauty. The water delivery guy has been giving her long, lascivious looks through the empty bottles. The snack machine guy keeps offering her free nuts! Who could have possibly caused this mix-up that vexes her so?

I haven’t the slightest idea. But perhaps next time it would be wise to allow one to do with one’s frown what one pleases.

Tammy in Accounting

Tammy’s her name and crunching numbers is her game. Much like Tammy in Reception, she’s pretty much on top of everything in the office. Or more accurately, everyone. Surprisingly, the only thing about her that doesn’t look like it’s spent the past three nights in a strange place is her sweater. Even her pearls look a little rumpled. That’s because she spins her own yarn from the wool of a very special sheep. Dolores is the dream fleece for hoochies everywhere; it’s gin-soaked and ready for action. Her sturdy fiber can stand up to one drunken, anonymous hookup after another, and washes free of any grime, grass stains, or guilt whatsoever. Rock on with your bad selves, Tammy and Dolores.

Board of Directors

Meet the Board of Directors, the Orlons. This influential family is the backbone of the Museum of Kitschy Stitches. They’re the deciders, the financiers, the ones with the eBay account. They come from a long line of well-to-do oil barons and their fondness for non-renewable resources inevitably led them down the path of knittable petroleum products. Generations of Orlons have ensconced themselves in the sweaty embrace of acrylic, leaving the family’s trademark rash on the scalps and necks of all. Hives truly are the mark of Orlon.