Velociworld

The Shelf of Shame

Here you go. My Shelf of Shame. Why do I call it that? Because it is a rather inclusive compendium of the things my fellow bloggers have gifted me with. Wonderful stuff. And I say shame because I have never reciprocated at that level. Shame, shame on me. But I can give you the blow by blow:

Monkeys: I bought the cymbal clapping thing, and named him Robbie at Jekyll, but he belongs in the tribe. The cocoanut head monkey? Some poor lass gave it to me, and she must remesmerize her name in my comments. I forgets! Think she was hot, though. Are you, hon? History here. Don't be afraid.

And of course the Curious George lunchbox from Eric. Sa-fucking-weet! Ever so often I take the George box to work with a hard on and an attitude. Banana inside. George would want it that way. Eric would want it that way.

Hats: See the beautiful fedora from Elisson? Mother, Mary, and Joseph as the Romanists say. Or Oy Vey! as Elisson would say. Dat are fine hat! I am almost as sexy as Elisson wearing it. I do pose about the Velocihovel with it on, sometimes in vigoro, if you know what I mean. Damn, I am a dashing figure!

The straw thing I came staggering out of a bodega on Bourbon Street wearing. Wanted a pack of smokes, came out with a hat. I was tore the fark down. But did I look hot in it? Bet your fucking bippy.

Travel goodies: I ate, well threw up the Marmite Chrissy gave me, but it is there in heart. And that Scottish snuff? Weird. I think my brother gave it to me, but if not Chrissy, I am so bad. Showed you the MRI, though. Looks terminal, don't it?


Birthday goodies: Well, the wonderful leatherclad hip flask Kelley gave me. Something about Kelley and black leather gets me all a whompus. Indeed! She sweet to me.
Unlike you people! Step up to the plate. I covet things like leather clad flasks.

The Rockin Rabbit. This is some type of egregious sex toy. Egregious in that no man is necessary. The Bride bought this because I kept disappearing on blogmeets. I like it. Kind of. Takes the pressure off me, but then there is the whole replacement issue. I think the Rockin Rabbit has my Social Security Number and my game. Fucker!

Key: There has to be a whole section devoted to Key, because she is a gifter to people. When I first met her she had like 3 foster children, a totally giving soul. And I think she looks at me that way. An unbathed retard, spawn of methamphetamine addicts, who must be freshified, made acceptable for decent society. A challenge. And I would agree. Although my Spanglish is pretty friggin decent!

Howsomever: witness the crowning glory of my Key Blogouvre: the Pimphat, as birthday present. Add one part voodoo doll in New Orleans because I was bitching about my boss, a doo-rag you can't see, a Zippo lighter for my birthday, and a faux testicle I won in a contest. Slam dunk! Key wins the prize. I have no idea what it is, but the point obtains.

Did I mention my cowbell? Leslie gave me a cowbell and shirt! And she in Chicago tonight at a blogmeet, otherwise we would be discussing said bell in a hot tub, I reckon. Hit's clain, I say.

I also have a small purple devil hanging from my rear view mirror that Maeve gave me. It has a double jointed silver cock, the more to bring the dry cleaner closer. I swear! That a strange tale.

And so: Shame? Oh yes. I can never repay this largesse. My peeps are too good to me. And I appreciate it. As Mickey Rourke said in barfly, To All My Friends!!!

Update: Ach! Elisson reminds me I forgot to mention the Blown Rectum Spidum Yabu gave me that led to those misunderstandings of the liberties of breaking left. I had it hanging below the pimp hat, but I must have posted the wrong pic. Probably deserves a post of its own, though.

Update 2: the pic is fixed. Long live the Blown Rectum Spidum.