This weekend was one of my two long weekends per month, which happily coincided with earthdotprime‘s visit, hereafter referred to as M’ris. I started stalking M’ris on the tubes sometime in…2006, I think. I’m not even sure anymore, it’s like I’m some sort of insidious worm that finds one interesting livejournal and all of a sudden I am friends with half that person’s friends. Anyway, M’ris and I have since separately determined that the other one is either not Internet Crazy or at least crazy in a highly entertaining, most likely non-lethal way, and that we should definitely meet when she was in town. M’ris was at least crazy enough to entrust her life to the terrifying garbagewagon, and so we set off on the road for adventure. The day started off with auspicious signage, portending awesome. Our first stop was the giant metal Lenin, which M’ris promptly scaled.
Our second stop was the Fremont Troll, where we witnessed dudes climbing up and flashing gang signs for photographs; we both openly mocked them, and M’ris confessed that she’d never been able to make the Bloods gang sign that apparently everyone learns at summer camp. I spent a few minutes trying to rearrange my sausage fingers into the appropriate arrangement before I realized it was probably not a good idea with y’know, actual gang members hanging around.
As soon as they left, we realized we had our theme for the day: Climbing things and flashing gang signs.
Here is where I suggested M’ris find a way to slide down the face and straddle the nose. She began contemplating it, and I began to fear that I’d underestimated her potential craziness and exactly how I was going to explain her cracked skull to the internet at large.
I’m not going to lie: When she found a way to do it, I was both impressed AND jealous. Here she is as a human Q-tip.
I have determined that more pictures need to be taken of me straddling things, throwing the horns, and it might be my new Thing.
M’ris is gang-signing, I’m picking the troll’s nose. As you do. Then it was time for some tree-climbing action!
Keeping strong with our theme. After tree-climbing, it was time to visit Archie McPhee, because there is never NOT a good time to buy pickle-shaped band-aids. I love double-negatives.
The Mac & Cheese one cracks me up every time I see it.
M’ris was almost attacked by penguins, but then it was determined that we were all in the same gang, so everything was cool, dawgyo.
“Please don’t touch me, I am very expensive and short-tempered”: This is a sign I should probably be wearing, myself.
If anyone loves me, they will buy that tacky Sasquatch painting for me. It will hang on the wall next to my Baba Rama Nana!
Totally plotting to kill one another.
I really, really wanted to buy one of these cockroaches for Napoleon to battle, but the wires in the legs gave me pause, because the last thing I want is a dog with a broken tooth.
I totally don’t even care if I have lice now from trying on wigs and hats. Don’t even care. All of that battling works up an appetite, and thus, we went to the Lunchbox Laboratory and executed experiments in deliciousness and pants-expansion.
After lunch, we took a bit of a roundabout way back to the car and happened upon a bus stop painted by people on drugs.
ONE OF THESE PAINTINGS IS NOT LIKE THE OTHERS. ONE OF THESE PAINTINGS DOES NOT BELONG. We then drove to visit Bruce & Brandon Lee’s graves, only neither one of us managed to determine whereabouts in the cemetary they might be beforehand, so there was a lot of driving around and “I think Brandon’s is a big black twisty headstone. Like, beveled and twisty.” and backing around a corner praying to Cthulhu that I wouldn’t veer off and accidentally back over a headstone and once and for all destroy any chance I ever had at becoming President Mellzah. As it turns out, their graves are hidden behind bushes and we only found them via a stroke of luck.
All in all, a very, very awesome day.
Category Masticating With Mellzah
Something other than pie in your piehole
The special of the day is tossed salad!
Wisconsin Day Three: Tomfoolery and Boozehardiness
After House on the Rock, Nicki and I went to New Glarus, tiny Wisconsin Swiss town, home of the Glarner Stube and a supposedly awesome brewery that was closed by the time we got there, in line with my family’s tradition of being a day late and a dollar short for everything, particularly themed towns. I’d originally intended on visiting Dr. Evermore’s Forevertron on the same day as The House on the Rock, but Roadside America lied to me when it indicated that Baraboo was anywhere near Spring Green, which I should’ve cottoned onto when they said that after visiting the Forevertron, it was only a short jaunt to Wisconsin Dells for their torture exhibit. Wisconsin Dells!? That’s FAR away from Spring Green! However, Nicki told me there was something I needed to see in New Glarus, and that I would be suitably impressed.
After some delicious Swiss cheese fondue with wine, garlic, and kirsch, I decided that I should probably order the Schublig, which was billed as a mild spiced beef sausage made by Ruef’s Meat Market, and sure to please a true sausage lover. Who could possibly love sausage in their face hole more than me? I was NOT prepared for the scale of the Glarner Stube’s sausage, however. Laid out onto a plate and brought into the light, it looked almost obscene. The green beans seem like almost an afterthought compared to the sheer amount of sausage majesty* set in front of me.
I couldn’t even make a sizeable dent in the sausage–it was no meal, it was a task! A challenge! A trial! The waitress seemed appalled that I asked for a box after about two bites, but I wasn’t there to impress her, I was there for something else. Are you ready to find out what that something else was? That something else happened to be none other than the midwest’s largest urinal. I was a little disappointed that the Glarner Stube doesn’t really promote that they have the midwest’s largest urinal, nor is it in a sizeable room with tasteful lighting. Rather, it’s crammed into a one-man bathroom, where you can hardly appreciate its massive scale. That still didn’t stop me from opening the men’s room door to snap a photo, giggling so hard at the absurdity that I could hardly hold the camera up, whilst the people at the bar had a good laugh at the girl busting up while taking a picture of a urinal with no fewer than four pink cakes inside. …I suppose when you’ve got a big sausage, you need a big urinal. Yes/no? *’Sausage Majesty’ would be an awesome band name.