Not many nights till Christmas now, dear Reader, and even less if you're Scandinavian/German (we celebrate the 24th, you know). Just in case you've been caught short of shopping time, with someone in your life still lacking a Christmas present and you all out of ideas, we here at Future of my Past would like to lend a hand. Behold, the gun-shaped egg mold - the perfect gift for young and old, male and female, with four different firearms to choose from.
(And yes, it is a thing, just google "gun-shaped eggs" and purchase yours today.)
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Stuck for pressie ideas? Fret not, help is at hand...
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19 comments:
How do you find this stuff?!
word ver: phipla - the kind of noise a gun made from egg makes when it fires.
By George, you are right, I just googled.
I know just the person I should send this to.
The mind boggles, it really does. I have to say though, that aside from the weirdness of such a thing, the photo in question reminded me of this.
I've been wracking my brains trying to think of the painter who did it, I remember seeing a few other works by her, but I just can't recall her name.
word ver = whing, which is when you book an aeroplane flight purely on a whim.
Oh my good God! There are so many other fun culinary pressies to hand, inc. heart shape toast impressions, and Mickey Mouse fried egg shapes. Why? Just why?
But... but...
How does one control where the yolk ends up? It could make or break the aesthetics of the finished article.
But really, I'm caught between despairing and celebrating the absurdity of a world and free market which has produced such a marvel...
Merry Christmas, FomPie
x
Sweet NMJ, the truth is I don't find this stuff, for it seems to find me. Nonsense and I are inextricably connected on some deep level (it seems).
I likephipla. Well done, Cyberfriend, that is silly beyond measure.
Of course I'm right, Signsy. Did you think I was trying to send you on a wild goose chase down the information superhighway, in search of gun-shaped eggs, whilst knowing I'd made the things up myself? Shame on you, Signsmeister, I would not do such a thing (I think), and neither could I invent such nonsense myself (I think, again).
What really worries me is you knowing a suitable gun-egg recipient. Just, you know, saying.
(And I hope you've had a most Merry Christmas, too, dear heart. Mwahs abound.)
You are right, young housut, there is a similarity between the two images (and the mind does often boggle, too). I can't help you in the quest for the name of the artist you're referring to, though, for I know for a fact I don't know. I could maybe make something up, though - how about, let me see, Lisa Applecart or something? Or Flora Appleston (apples seem to feature in her name)? Pippa Cox (blame Signs, she's got me thinking I could pass off as real and true stuff I make up myself)?
A-wibble. Have you enjoyed your Christmas? And are you enjoying your holiday, young housut? I surely hope so. Post-Christmas greetings from here.
Professor Gaelileo, hei. That is indeed a very good question - why? - and one that seems to apply to most, if not indeed all, stuff that goes on in the world. I will confess to you (and you alone, you understand, so this is strictly mum's-the-word) that there was a time in my life when I was young and hot-headed enough to think that even innocent things like Alphabetti Spaghetti was of the Devil himself, a fruit of Capitalist Imperialism, whereby our spoilt-rotten kiddies would only agree to eat their (commercially-produced) fodder if it was in a fun shape, while elsewhere on the planet, a child starved to death each second. I have mellowed out since then and just kind of sit and wonder.
May I also say how much I enjoyed the fact you shouted out your Why? to the cold, unhearing ear of the universe, and along rode Dr Why? herself...
(Gael? I hope you and the family have had a lovely Christmas, okay? Don't mind my nonsense about the Imperialist Devil, please.)
Dr Why?, our knight in scientific armour, hei. Lovely to see you, and how typical of your thinking it is to worry about the placement of the yolk. I guess if I was about to cook gun-shaped eggs for those I love, I'd break the shell against the mold itself and ease the contents very gently into the general area I'd like it to land in. Nothing quite as disappointing as a broken yolk in a fried egg, though, is there - whatever the shape of the finished product? I feel myself sharing your worry. I think maybe there could be an additional device sold which would ensure the yolk lands up in the trigger area. Quick, go to it, girl, you are the very person to design it.
Hoping you, the tiger, the goose, and the penguin have all had a lovely mid-winter fest, you alternative theologian-thespian, you (yes, I've been spying on your activities).
Jolly merry happy berry to you, and here's something rare: a genuinely good Christmas song.
It was very nice to return and see you again, as I missed you also.
I needed a break from myself, so it was best to withdraw a while.
You do find the most ourageous things.
I truly like the earlier little figurine, the Venus of Willendorf with large antlers...or were they the necklace string? I prefer to think of them as antlers.
I certainly am enjoying myself ms mr, and thankfully have been able to find out the name of the artist in question: Lisa Milroy.
One of those where I thought her name was on the tip of my tongue and that it would reveal itself to me eventually, but no I had to ask a friend, and I don't think I would have remembered it otherwise.
I hope you are in fine fettle.
word ver = cheatie - are they saying I shouldn't have asked my friend for the answer?
Miranda, you devious thing, you snuck in there somehow, all undetected. Hello, and a jolly merry happy berry to you too, or even several. And you're right - I liked the song. Apparently this band's been going on so long I should have heard about them - given they seem to have started their career before I became totally out in band matters (my ex used to follow stuff and I had information passed on to me) - but, well, I hadn't, till now. You are a veritable treasure chest of stuff I never heard of, to be sure.
Hoping all is well in your world.
Sweet Montag, you are absolutely correct. They are genuine leather Venus-antlers, which I casually wrap around my neck when I go to wear her.
(Super lovely to see you. I know the needing-a-break-from-oneself thing, on a personal level, but I'm very glad you're done with your break now.)
Cheating young cheatie housut, yes, most emphatically, that's exactly what they're saying. You should not have asked a friend, you should've writhed around for nights on end, in agonising pursuit through the, um, arid landscape of your mind, over the lost name. That's what you should have done (mind you, your mind might not be an arid landscape, at all. Artistic license, k, housut? Be not offended, please). The word ver leprichauns see things, you know (and no, I'm not going to bring here what they said elsewhere - yes, I've just seen it - for no, we don't want a certain S***s to get all carried away, again, do we?).
Fine-fettled, yes, inasmuch as the Christmas season allows for such stuff. And oh, but I do find it a little uncanny that out of all the female names on the planet, I stabbed at "Lisa" in my first guess - ooo-eee-ooo - I must be receiving messages from another plane.
A-wibblingly yours, as ever
x
My mind has at times been an arid landscape, ms mr, but just as often it is a plate of spaghetti. In fact I'm led (by myself) to wonder whether its default state is that of an arid landscape strewn with platefuls of spaghetti: perhaps a cold pasta desert (pasta tundra), you might say.
Your guess of Lisa - spooky, just like the word vers (current one is pallowed, which sounds perhaps the way a malnourished, laudanum-addled romantic poet might describe his or herself). I do wonder whether, had I read your comment before asking my friend (ok - cheating), it might have triggered off the elusive name in question.
We'll never know, I suppose.
Sigh.
Well, young housut, I believe that your despicable cheating can be forgiven (for the time being) because of the amazing mental imagery you come bearing - an arid landscape, strewn with platefuls of spaghetti is something to behold. Pasta desert, pasta tundra, even pasta taiga (taiga being the biome I inhabit) - they are good. It was clearly worth your while pallowing in front of your computer, housut, and we'll say no more about cheating with Lisa. Maybe.
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