Before we enter our new exhibit, we at the Museum of Kitschy Stitches would like to apologize for the lack of an exhibit last month. The media has reported that we were experiencing plumbing problems, but as loyal museum members, we felt we owed you the truth. And now that the epidemic has been contained, we can finally share the facts. Unfortunately, we experienced a serious outbreak of yarn sores in January. It was a tragic, yet eerily cheerful scene as this acrylic plague tore through our offices and galleries. Everyone was covered in colorful tufts, from the receptionist to the security guards. Believe us when we say that a guard covered in fuzzy, rainbow-colored puffballs is not an effective deterrent to would-be thieves. Our receptionist, Tammy, on the other hand, really enjoyed herself and coordinated outfits to match her daily outcropping of fluffy sores. Eventually the Center for Disease Control had to become involved. Armed with sweater shavers, they worked tirelessly until the problem was eradicated. We have all received vaccinations and do not expect another outbreak. We do, however, expect Tammy to continue pouting. We all appreciate your patience during this trying time.

And now, we are proud to present a brand new exhibit that is of a very personal nature. Our very own Stitchy McYarnpants recently attended the McYarnpants family reunion and has documented it so we may all share in her rich family tradition. Join us in the We Are Fam-i-ly Cafe, will you?
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As I entered the Knits of Columbus* hall, the sound of the Pointer Sisters’ We Are Family pounded through the air. I immediately turned around, got back into my car and drove home. After 20 minutes of furious pacing in my living room, I returned to the McYarnpants family reunion. The Pointer Sisters were still going on about their sisters and them. It was going to be a long night. As usual, very few of the McYarnpants men bothered to show up, which left me wondering if they had switched to wearing khakis and were ashamed.

*The Knits of Columbus was founded by my great grandfather, Zachariah McYarnpants.

The first McYarnpant to accost me was the swinging divorcee, Mandy McYarnpants. Since splitting with her ex-husband, Irving, she’s gotten waaay back into her roots. She only wears what she can knit. She’s working in a pair of lopi platform sandals to achieve complete yarnification. Unfortunatley for all of us, Mandy has never mastered the art of knitting undergarments. I hastily excused myself and tried not to gawk as she boogied down and flopped around.

As I turned, I ran right into Helen McYarnpants. A very distant and mysterious cousin, she prides herself on the geometry of her pantsuits. “My legs look like perfect tubes” she whispered, as she gently touched my face with her gloved hands. “The lines match up perfectly on the arms and the tubes.” She pulled my face close and confided “The bottom of the sweater is equidistant with the space between the stripes.” And with that, she drifted away. It was one of the more pleasant encounters I would have that evening.

A drink was overdue at this point, so I headed to the cash bar. Seated in the lounge was Aunt Sassy (her real name is Stacey, but everyone calls her Sassy). Ever the sex kitten, she hasn’t aged a day since anyone can remember. Oddly, she always appears somewhat monochromatic, but it looks good on her. “Well if it isn’t little Stitchy.” she purred, “Why don’t you get Aunt Sassy another Irish Coffee and tell me all about it.” Unsure about what “it” was, I complied and spent the better part of our conversation watching her primp and posture. The woman can really work a pair of wool leggings, I’ll give her that. Fantastic ribs and cabled striping. She’s a helluva McYarnpant. But she has an unnerving way of looking at you like you’re a tasty chicken leg, so I moved on.

In the corner, I saw my cousin Barbie McYarnpants and her brother Ken. Uh-oh, did I just let loose with a deep dark family secret?

Nearby, I was surprised to see the black sheep of our family, Trisha McYarnpants. Also known among the cousins as “Trashy McNopants”. Her mother disowned her, but apparently she’s still on the family email list.

And then it happened. The one person I didn’t want to see was suddenly filling my entire field of vision. It was my uncle Bibba’s third wife, Mitzi Stiffle-McYarnpants. Mitzi is the cute-n-spunky drummer for The Giggles. They make upbeat music about self-esteem and proper hygiene. When I asked if it was music for kids, she squeaked and said, “No, silly. It’s for EVERYbody!” and poked my nose with her drumstick. She also believes that humans can fly if they love enough. She never stops trying. I have no idea what her outfit was knit from, but she was leaving strange marks everywhere she sat. I think it might have been a cheddar/sandpaper blend.

She had her kids in tow, as well. Here’s little Oompah.

And this is Loompah and Verouca.

Mitzi has issues.

Luckily, I was rescued by my niece, Erin McYarnpants. She’s a sweet girl, despite the fact that ever since a nasty bump on the head she thinks she’s a true leprechaun. She’s always on about rainbows and clovers and pots o’ gold and her burning hate for Jennifer Aniston. I’m not really sure where the lederhosen fit into the whole thing, but I’m sure she has her own reasons. However, when I got a look at those fantastic boots, well, her luck ran out. I slipped her a Mickey and when she was unconscious, I took off with them.

Don’t worry, I didn’t drug her, I got her stuck in a conversation with Mickey McYarnpants, the most annoying girl in the world.

I’ll give you one guess about what she likes to talk about. All the time. Without stopping. The big-wigs at Disney have actually sent her cease and desist letters. All of the costumed characters at the parks have restraining orders against her. She’s even banned from owning pet mice (this is a long and disturbing story). She was especially proud of her new outfit and explained as she danced to the Pointer Sisters. You see, it looks just like frosting on a cake! A Mickey Mouse cake! It’s Mickey Mouse just the greatest? Her favorite kinds of cakes are ones with pictures of Mickey Mouse on them. Her favorite kind of anything is the kind with Mickey Mouse on it. She thought it would be great if Mickey Mouse were singing We Are Family instead of the Pointer Sisters. She wishes Mickey Mouse was part of our family. Then he would have been there that night. This was about when Erin hit the floor and I got a new pair of boots. And baby, those boots were made for walking, so I walked right out the door.

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On the way out, this old family photo was on the wall, so I started running and never looked back.

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Thanks for joining me on this adventure! In the immortal words of Dorothy Parker, “This wasn’t just plain terrible, this was fancy terrible. This was terrible with raisins in it.”

Stitchy

‚ 

Before we enter our new exhibit, we at the Museum of Kitschy Stitches would like to apologize for the lack of an exhibit last month. The media has reported that we were experiencing plumbing problems, but as loyal museum members, we felt we owed you the truth. And now that the epidemic has been contained, we can finally share the facts. Unfortunately, we experienced a serious outbreak of yarn sores in January. It was a tragic, yet eerily cheerful scene as this acrylic plague tore through our offices and galleries.

Everyone was covered in colorful tufts, from the receptionist to the security guards. Believe us when we say that a guard covered in fuzzy, rainbow-colored puffballs is not an effective deterrent to would-be thieves. Our receptionist, Tammy, on the other hand, really enjoyed herself and coordinated outfits to match her daily outcropping of fluffy sores. Eventually the Center for Disease Control had to become involved. Armed with sweater shavers, they worked tirelessly until the problem was eradicated. We have all received vaccinations and do not expect another outbreak. We do, however, expect Tammy to continue pouting. We all appreciate your patience during this trying time.

And now, we are proud to present a brand new exhibit that is of a very personal nature. Our very own Stitchy McYarnpants recently attended the McYarnpants family reunion and has documented it so we may all share in her rich family tradition. Join us in the We Are Fam-i-ly Cafe, will you?
___

As I entered the Knits of Columbus* hall, the sound of the Pointer Sisters’ We Are Family pounded through the air. I immediately turned around, got back into my car and drove home. After 20 minutes of furious pacing in my living room, I returned to the McYarnpants family reunion. The Pointer Sisters were still going on about their sisters and them. It was going to be a long night. As usual, very few of the McYarnpants men bothered to show up, which left me wondering if they had switched to wearing khakis and were ashamed.

*The Knits of Columbus was founded by my great grandfather, Zachariah McYarnpants.

The first McYarnpant to accost me was the swinging divorcee, Mandy McYarnpants. Since splitting with her ex-husband, Irving, she’s gotten waaay back into her roots. She only wears what she can knit. She’s working in a pair of lopi platform sandals to achieve complete yarnification. Unfortunatley for all of us, Mandy has never mastered the art of knitting undergarments. I hastily excused myself and tried not to gawk as she boogied down and flopped around.

As I turned, I ran right into Helen McYarnpants. A very distant and mysterious cousin, she prides herself on the geometry of her pantsuits. “My legs look like perfect tubes” she whispered, as she gently touched my face with her gloved hands. “The lines match up perfectly on the arms and the tubes.” She pulled my face close and confided “The bottom of the sweater is equidistant with the space between the stripes.” And with that, she drifted away. It was one of the more pleasant encounters I would have that evening.

A drink was overdue at this point, so I headed to the cash bar. Seated in the lounge was Aunt Sassy (her real name is Stacey, but everyone calls her Sassy). Ever the sex kitten, she hasn’t aged a day since anyone can remember. Oddly, she always appears somewhat monochromatic, but it looks good on her. “Well if it isn’t little Stitchy.” she purred, “Why don’t you get Aunt Sassy another Irish Coffee and tell me all about it.” Unsure about what “it” was, I complied and spent the better part of our conversation watching her primp and posture. The woman can really work a pair of wool leggings, I’ll give her that. Fantastic ribs and cabled striping. She’s a helluva McYarnpant. But she has an unnerving way of looking at you like you’re a tasty chicken leg, so I moved on.

In the corner, I saw my cousin Barbie McYarnpants and her brother Ken. Uh-oh, did I just let loose with a deep dark family secret?

Nearby, I was surprised to see the black sheep of our family, Trisha McYarnpants. Also known among the cousins as “Trashy McNopants”. Her mother disowned her, but apparently she’s still on the family email list.

And then it happened. The one person I didn’t want to see was suddenly filling my entire field of vision. It was my uncle Bibba’s third wife, Mitzi Stiffle-McYarnpants. Mitzi is the cute-n-spunky drummer for The Giggles. They make upbeat music about self-esteem and proper hygiene. When I asked if it was music for kids, she squeaked and said, “No, silly. It’s for EVERYbody!” and poked my nose with her drumstick. She also believes that humans can fly if they love enough. She never stops trying. I have no idea what her outfit was knit from, but she was leaving strange marks everywhere she sat. I think it might have been a cheddar/sandpaper blend.

She had her kids in tow, as well. Here’s little Oompah.

And this is Loompah and Verouca.

Mitzi has issues.

Luckily, I was rescued by my niece, Erin McYarnpants. She’s a sweet girl, despite the fact that ever since a nasty bump on the head she thinks she’s a true leprechaun. She’s always on about rainbows and clovers and pots o’ gold and her burning hate for Jennifer Aniston. I’m not really sure where the lederhosen fit into the whole thing, but I’m sure she has her own reasons. However, when I got a look at those fantastic boots, well, her luck ran out. I slipped her a Mickey and when she was unconscious, I took off with them.

Don’t worry, I didn’t drug her, I got her stuck in a conversation with Mickey McYarnpants, the most annoying girl in the world.

I’ll give you one guess about what she likes to talk about. All the time. Without stopping. The big-wigs at Disney have actually sent her cease and desist letters. All of the costumed characters at the parks have restraining orders against her. She’s even banned from owning pet mice (this is a long and disturbing story). She was especially proud of her new outfit and explained as she danced to the Pointer Sisters. You see, it looks just like frosting on a cake! A Mickey Mouse cake! It’s Mickey Mouse just the greatest? Her favorite kinds of cakes are ones with pictures of Mickey Mouse on them. Her favorite kind of anything is the kind with Mickey Mouse on it. She thought it would be great if Mickey Mouse were singing We Are Family instead of the Pointer Sisters. She wishes Mickey Mouse was part of our family. Then he would have been there that night. This was about when Erin hit the floor and I got a new pair of boots. And baby, those boots were made for walking, so I walked right out the door.

On the way out, this old family photo was on the wall, so I started running and never looked back.

Thanks for joining me on this adventure! In the immortal words of Dorothy Parker, “This wasn’t just plain terrible, this was fancy terrible. This was terrible with raisins in it.”

Stitchy

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Good intentions gone bad isn’t that what the holidays are all about? Here at the Museum of Kitschy Stitches, we understand that it’s the thought that counts. What we don’t understand is just what on God’s Green Earth some people are thinking. Honestly, wouldn’t a simple card or a punch in the face suffice? We know we’d rather have our hamstrings sliced than get another lovely frock for the dishwashing liquid. But if there’s a not-so-special someone in your life that’s just not taking the hint from the restraining orders, perhaps some of the pieces in our Ho Ho Holy Crap Gallery will inspire you.

As ever, click on a picture to see larger version.

This festive wreath evokes all the charm and warmth of a toilet seat on a cold Christmas morning. Honestly, spend the $5 at the grocery store and get a real one. Or go into the woods to collect some fresh foliage and make one. Or steal one from the neighbors. Or buy a plastic one. Or hang a dead cat on your door. Anything but this.

Kids at the playground can be cruel sometimes. If you want to make sure they always are, knit your grandson a sweater that will earn him wedgie after wedgie. It’s yellow. It has a bear on it. The bear is a baby. The baby is wearing a diaper. A diaper. On a boy’s sweater. What the hell, grab a handful of underoos yourself once everyone is done opening their presents, perhaps it’ll be the makings of a beloved family tradition.

Pssst! When you told your sister that your wanted to make her a sweater for Christmas, she didn’t say “Oh, duck!”

Ding Ding Ding! We have a classic! For years, tissue cozies have darkened the doorways of people all around the world. Joyeux Noel, here eez a geeft for your tissues! Froehliche Weinachten, ve haf ways off making you keep your tissues cosy. Bono Natale, I hope-a you like-a the gift-a I bought for your-a Kleenex. Merry Christmas, I didn’t feel like spending any money on you or putting any thought into your gift, and I had all this cheap yarn to use up, so . . .

You know what this world needs? Fewer drunk rabbits in yellow pants ranting about the rising price of carrots and Medicare not covering the cost of his fake foot that those bastards thought was lucky – lucky for who, tell me that! – and another thing, I love you man. Merry Kizzm . . . kizzmu . . . kriszzmi . . . Happy Holidays ~belchhh~

So your nieces are well-adjusted and brimming with self confidence, eh? Makes you nuts, don’t it? Kids today need to learn that it’s not what’s inside that counts, it’s all about looks, baby. Size 0 clothing is on the rack for a reason, after all, and you’re not going to get on the Mtv by eating pizza. With this cool set of dolls, you can help them set those unattainable goals we all set for ourselves. This frumpy couple appears to be in love, but are they really happy? Do they look happy with those comfortably fitted clothes, oversized eyebrows, and outdated hair color? Click the picture to see what happened after they ate nothing but buttered beef for 6 months and subjected themselves to the ghouls at What Not To Wear. Zowie, now there’s a happy couple. Just don’t stand near them, they smell like rotting cows.

I am the Pom Pom King and you lesser Pom Poms will DO MY BIDDING! Go, my children, go into the night and bite the ankles of the unfortunate urchins who dared to receive me as a gift. They will rue the day they ever unwrapped that shiny, ribbony package and soon their delicious souls will be mine! Mwah ha ha ha haaaaa . . .

A lot of people thought it was cruel to conquer the planet of Floweria. Protesters were outraged when we captured and anally impaled its citizens for decorative purposes. But look how cute they are.

Live things are overrated and that’s why knitted plants are perfect. No challenge, no trying, no trying to try, no growth, no responsibility, no sense of accomplishment, no death. Isn’t that how life should be? Oh, and Happy New Year.

We at the MOKS were hesitant at first to include these Psychedelic Psnakes. They’re actually kind of cute. And therein lies their insidious nature. They’re almost cute enough to make. And when you give one to someone, you’ll do it out of genuine affection. They’ll even smile and say “How cuuuute!” when they open it. It will have prominent placement on the dresser for a while, but then it will start to be in the way. It will be moved to a shelf, but will keep rolling off because there’s not enough room. It will end up unknowingly kicked under the bed, where it will marinate in dust, old tissues, and toenail clippings. When it is recovered in 5 years during a frantic left-shoe search, it will be briefly mourned, maybe even dusted off a bit. And then it will be included in the next yard sale. To make it easier for everyone, please attach a price tag of 10 cents before wrapping to expedite the process.

In searching for items to enrich the Ho Ho Holy Crap Gallery, we came across a recurring theme among various craft patterns. It seems that whether you knit, crochet, sew, or just have a glue gun and some random offal around the house, you want to make a clown for someone. Yes you do. You do. Stop shaking your head and backing away and deal with the fact that because you are crafty, you want to make a clown. In just about every magazine we looked at, there are handcrafted clowns. Some happy, some crying, some evil, some disembodied, all wrong. And so in celebration of all things that would make the baby Jesus cry, we present for your dissatisfaction: A Very Clowny Christmas.

Hey, kid. When you go to sleep, I’m going to stuff you inside myself.

Now fussy babies can be scared straight!

Ooh, look! It’s Mr. Bear in his bow tie, Funky Monkey in his funny fez, and Conjunctivitis the Clown with his oozing eye infection. Let the puppet show begin!

At least some of these clowns are dead. And I have a pretty good idea who did it. Those live ones look pretty pleased with themselves.

This sanguineous fella is intended for decoration in a baby’s nursery. More specifically, for Rosemary’s baby’s nursery.

You may as well wrap a shiny new butcher knife with this lil’ treasure because when he comes to life, he’s just going to head to the kitchen to get one anyway. How else is he going to kill everyone in the house in a violent orgy of blood and screaming?

Thanks for dropping by, Happy Holidays!!

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This month, we’ll be exploring a collection of atrocities for the unlucky men in our lives. Are they hand-crafted out of love or masterminded to drain a man’s essence? Either way, if you can get him to put it on you’ll know that his soul is yours for the crushing. For maximum effect, show this to the man you love, wield your knitting needles and crochet hooks menacingly, then ask him to do your bidding. Repeat as necessary.

(as ever – click the pictures for enlarged view)

Some situations demand extreme action. This man has taken Shakespearean steps to exact a swift revenge for the misdeeds of the granny-square crocheting she-devil by his side. While it may look like he’s bestowing a sweet kiss upon his lover, in reality, he has coated his lips with a hat-penetrating poison that will render her unable to hold a crochet hook for the rest of her days. Little does he know, she’s using the new Rowan’s new Poison Proof and Pretty Cashmerino.

If only his sweater were loaded. A quick, clean shot to the heart is the only way out of this disaster.

I’m not even sure I understand this outfit. Stripes and cables and tassles, a yoke and collar, all topped off with matching mittens and a precariously placed beanie that will fly of his head at the very thought of shooshing down a mountain. It looks more like a 1950’s futuristic outer space uniform reconfigured for slope-bound humans. Danger, Will Robinson! Do not accept this offering!

Speaking of outer space creatures . . . yikes. This is from a Red Heart book from 1941 called “Knit for Defense” and it features lots of patterns you can knit for soldiers in WWII. Apparently the idea was to make the Germans think they were battling Martians, causing them to flee in terror. Perhaps we could all get together and try the same thing for our troops in Iraq. Let’s send ray guns along, just to make it more convincing.

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Huh, that’s funny – they all look like Dicks to me.

While perusing many vintage pattern books, I uncovered a diabolical plot. I’m not exactly sure of the intended outcome, but frankly, the men do not fare well. I suspect that might actually be the intended outcome. It seems that if it’s good for the gander, what the heck knit one up for the goose! Both the mens’ and ladies’ versions are heinous, but the fellas always seem to come out with the fuzzy end of this bitter little lollipop. I imagine that a version for Fido would be equally as bad, but since he’s already had his nuts surgically removed, there’s no need to do it through knitwear.

Confuse your neighbors, upset your friends, and to heck with those gender roles. Blur that line between fashion and folly I’m sure he’s done something to deserve it! Toss in a pair of polyester crotch-restricting short-shorts and the kids will be asking ”Why doesn’t daddy come home any more?” in no time!

Warm Vest, Cold Shoulder. How could it have gone any other way? She seems to be trying to smooth things over with a playful pinch on the bum, but he’s not having it. This time she’s gone too far. Looks like someone is sleeping in the rumpus room tonight and if there’s a matching afghan in there, it’s not going to be him.

Let’s see, we’ll use gray yarn . . . aaaand take of the fringe . . .hmmmm . . . make it a little longer . . . nope still looks like a complete and utter goofball.

Here’s a set that seeks to answer the age-old question just who in the hell does she think she is? Her sweater is fit for a queen, and so is his. Or at the very least an extremely happy king. And by the looks of it, he is most definitely not a happy king.

This couple might actually be from a reality-based pattern book – I don’t think they’re models at all. Above, he appears to be giving the missus a hard time about her “crowning achievment” and here he is at home yelling at everyone to “Shut the hell up, I’m on the phone!” I suppose he’s trying to call someone to ask just why he has to wear the bottom of his sweater flipped up. He doesn’t realize that he’s the proud owner of an Aran crumb-catcher, state of the art stuff in 1957.

Why wait until he’s a full grown man to start humiliating him? Smart moms can mortify two birds with one pattern! With any luck, Junior will bypass puberty altogether and start collecting Precious Moments figurines right away – just like his old man. (Note that dad is leaning on the railing with all his weight. Also note that the railing has a sign that says “Danger Keep Off” in giant red letters. His silent scream is deafening.)

“Boys, this is where we’re moving to. Don’t tell mommy!”
“Does this mean we don’t have to dress like fuzzy kittens anymore, daddy??”
“Yes, son. Everything’s going to be alright now.”

And finally, some help for all you men out there who are not sure what they can do about this knitting scourge. How can you avoid the humiliation of having to wear a fringed purple and orange tartan sweater or a belted vest of the finest salmon-colored boucle? Well, perhaps you can learn by someone else’s mistake. For instance, when your wife or girlfriend is trying to make pleasant conversation and asks what your favorite Lifesaver flavor is, there are many right answers. There is also at least one extremely wrong one: “Fer Chrissakes, I don’t know. All of them. Not shut yer pie-hole and get me a beer, dammit!” This man actually prefers the subtlety of Butter Rum and wishes he had politely said so. Clearly this is revenge knitting at its finest. You go, girl.

Thanks for coming, and remember – only use your knitting powers for good. 😉

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Welcome to the new edition of the MOKS (I just noticed today what the acronym spells out. Works for me!) Today’s feature brings us to the “You Knit for Your Mama with Those Needles?” exhibit about the seamier side of knitting and crochet. There was a time, long ago, when women flaunted their sexuality with hand-crafted fashion. Clothing was revealing, love was all around, and baby – it was free! Luckily, society has moved past that, but here’s a look back at a decade where flesh and acrylic yarn played dangerously together. (as always, you can click on the pictures for a larger image)

Get cozy and enjoy! Here’s an erotic pillow for your comfort.

“Color is only one of the vital notes of excitement in these lively fashions!” boasts McCall’s Needleworks and Crafts’ 1972 winner of the Master of the Obvious award. They call them “mini shorts”, I call them “underwear” – tomato/tomahtah, really. Whatever you want to call them, these hot little numbers demand to be made from that camel hair yarn you’ve been wondering what to do with. They’ve already got the toes, you may as well toss the rest of the camel in there.

Tired of all that pesky undressing when you want to go streaking? Well, strip no more! Now you can be naked all day AND wear shoes to match with this fabulous Peek-a-Boob pant suit – now with 25% more nudity! You’ll be the envy of all the girls on the corner.

If only there were a way to capture the comfort and ease of the exam room. Imagine relaxing poolside and being able to just scootch down a bit in style. Well, stop dreaming, sister, because with the GYN Jumper, every day can be like your last pap smear!

Well, wait a minute. This lovely sweater is the height of modesty. Long sleeves, high neckline – nothing revealing about this. Why this demure young lady could be the head of the PTA.

Oh my! I guess I didn’t realize that PTA stood for Pants Tossed Aside. I defy anyone to maintain eye contact with this woman for more than 4 seconds. Go ahead. Try it. You can’t! And she knows it.

Ever wish you could have a wedgie consisting of an entire skein of your favorite yarn? Were you disappointed with the all-over body rash you didn’t get on your last bike ride? Do you want to learn how to felt wool with sweat while wearing it? Step right up, Lady Jane, have I got a project for you – straight from the pages of Seventeen’s Spring/Summer 1973 issue of Make it! Now, maybe I’m a naive child of the 80’s who believed what they said about the green M&Ms, but does ordering a bunch of teenage girls in the 70’s to “Make it!” seem like a bad idea? Yeah, I thought so.

uuuuh . . . and if your “thing” happens to be diapers – all the better! At least they’re offering a guarantee they can stand behind. Good lord, there aren’t enough crocheted unhappy faced pillows in the world to express my feelings for the Patron Saint of Perverse Yarn Fetish. (I can’t wait to get my first site hit from someone Googling “Yarn Fetish”.)

And that wraps it up for today’s adventure in knitting for gals looser than a new knitter’s stitches. Whatever became of these women of easy virtue and cheap fiber? Did they overcome their wanton ways or succumb to the acrylic heartache for which they were bound? I can tell you in two simple words.

Yarn sores. Don’t let it happen to you.

Thank you all for coming, watch your step on the way out and we’ll see you next time! Buh-bye.