Nope, honey, it’s a crocheted penis. Because reasons.
What are those reasons? Basically I blame Twitter.
Some of the unique things about Mr. Pinkie: he’s 1/3 full of rocks in the bottom, in order to weight him down enough that he’ll stand up straight. He’s 5.25 inches from base to tip. It’s really smart to add the snap-on eyes BEFORE crocheting the entire shaft. DH did not appreciate finding him cuddled into his pillow at bedtime.
**Ha! Originally published a couple years ago…but I wanted to bump it to the top, because funny.
Kid1 just “graduated” from a summer education program where they taught her to crochet. They also taught her about Australia, CSI and silly science, but the crochet class was what interested me. Obviously.
Anyway, the teacher provided all her students with a plastic crochet hook, probably a G size since that’s most common, to continue their yarn art on their own. I just had the following conversation with Kid1 regarding her yarn art.
Kid1: I want to crochet, Mom. Me: Good deal! Have at it. Let me know if you want to learn a new stitch. Kid1: I can’t because I don’t have a hook. I need a hook. Me: You have a plastic hook. You showed it to me yesterday. Kid1: I can’t find it, so I need one of yours. Me: Hm. You lost your hook? Kid1: I didn’t lose it, I just can’t find it. Can I get one of yours? Me: No, you can’t have one of mine. (I only have one G size hook, and it’s my precious.) Kid1: I don’t want to have it, I just want to borrow it. Me: But you lost your hook. I don’t want you to lose mine. Then I won’t have a hook. Kid1: I told you, I won’t lose it, I just want to borrow it. Me: What is my guarantee that you won’t lose it while you have borrowed it? Kid1: Well, I guess if I do, you can have mine. Me: But you lost yours. Kid1: I didn’t lose it, I just can’t find it. Me: Then…no. You can’t borrow mine. Find your hook. Kid1: *yelling* THAT’S NOT FAIR!!!! I LOST MY HOOK!
End result? I did not let her borrow my G hook, but now she has a one hour deadline to clean her room. Her plastic hook is either in there or between the couch cushions, guaranteed.
Farmer Ted was out tending the chickens on his organic farm when the zombies caught him. Because he’d never used pesticides, herbicides or hormones in his farm or his life, there were almost no barriers to the zombie virus that flooded his bloodstream.
That’s right–Farmer Ted became a dreaded “fast one”. He quickly realized bird brains weren’t nutritious enough to satisfy his new craving for organ meat and set out for the house.
On the minus side, his family had no warning and didn’t have time to escape. On the plus side–for human survivors–while the lack of preservatives allowed him to zip around like a hummingbird at first, he’ll deteriorate faster than other zombies.
(Zombie Manuel, not to be confused with zombie manual, which is more of a how-to book for the undead.)
It took Manuel, a wealthy, successful banker, a couple weeks to realize he was a zombie, turned a month after the onset of the Zombie Apocalypse. Not only did he think the apocalypse was a hoax, but he didn’t find it that unusual when one of his customers leapt across the desk and bit him when he rejected her for a loan.
Now that he understands his undead destiny, he thinks you should make a deposit…in his bank for BRAINS.
Grandma loves you, you little whippersnapper, and she is not happy that you haven’t been to visit her in six months. When you finally trek across country, dodging gangs and hordes and snipers, to rescue her after the Zombie Apocalypse hits, you may be in for a surprise.
Come closer to where she sits in her rocking chair. What big, buggy eyes you have, Grandma. What…moldy green hair you have, Grandma. What is that in your mouth, Grandma? GRANDMA!
Poor Teresa. She’d always been a bridesmaid, never a bride. Which was fine by her until she met Max and realized they were meant to be. The wedding would have been glorious, too, if it weren’t for the fact it was located at ground zero of the Zombie Apocalypse. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health…and in death they parted. Mostly because Teresa ate Max’s brain.
The front line of defense against the Zombie Apocalypse, the United States military was only able to stem the horde for a week before it broke through. And now, zombies like former army sniper Darrell have the training, the skill, and the commitment to shamble their way across all fifty states, proving once and for all that undead enlisted men eat more brains before nine AM than most zombies eat all day.
I requested that anyone who scores one of the zombies keep us informed of their further post-mortem adventures, whether photographically or otherwise. Sure hope some of the winners do 🙂
At the upcoming Authors After Dark convention (http://www.authorsafterdark.org/) in August 2012, fellow author and zombie apocalypse expert TJ Michaels (http://www.tjmichaels.com/) is giving away some amazing gift baskets full of literary, zombierary, and other assorted loot. In the spirit of how awesome this conference is, I have contributed several zombie amigurumis to the baskets that participants can possibly win, if they’re very, very lucky.
Here’s a couple group shots:
How terrified would YOU be if you saw this horde coming to eat your brains??
Here they were waiting patiently, with only a few protesting moans due to hunger, to be tucked into the box I mailed to TJ.
Thought you might want to get a better picture of their ravenous faces, so we did a little non-aquatic water ballet and snapped this shot.