Spring Has Sprung

Ahhh, Spring, when a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of...

RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!!

Thanks to John B. for the hare-raising peep at the original Playboy Bunny. This explains so much. 

(Like why the Easter Bunny never mentioned having a sister.)

Naughty Bits

Note to responsible parental units: Hide ya' kids! Hide ya' wife! Today's post is rated PG!

Here's a behind-the-wreckage tidbit for ya: when you send in your submissions, they get labeled according to what you think is wrong with them. So, if you say your cake looks like a poo-covered-patriotic-pirate-cat cake, it goes in the poo-covered-patriotic-pirate-cat cake folder.

(Note to self: write post about poo-covered-patriotic-pirate-cat cakes.)

Now, my favorite to browse is the "suggestive" category, because, frankly, you guys see naughty bits in everything. It's actually kinda cute, in a maturity-of-a twelve-year-old-boy kind of way.

The only problem is you're corrupting my wife. Seriously. For example:

Me: "What's wrong with this one?"

Jen: "Umm...Oh! I see it now. It's boobs. On the face. [head tilt] In fact, if you cross your eyes a little it almost looks like a scruffy guy with his face pressed..."

Me: FORGET I ASKED.

Me: What about the cute little babies on clouds?

Jen: Clouds? Really? Is THAT what you see there? REALLY?

Me: What? Hey, you're not the judge of me!!

Jen: And I suppose you didn't snicker at ALL over the guy with the giant pole sticking out of his lap.

Me: He's FISHING.

Jen: Well, those fish are definitely getting the shaft, then. HEYOOO! Up high!

Me: YOUR PARENTS READ THIS BLOG WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

[pause]

Me: Ok, I'll bite: what's wrong with the gavel?

Jen: Er. Actually, I have no idea. I think some of our readers just have their minds in the gutter.

Me: I know, right?

Jen: Like that bathing suit one. Seriously, what's the problem there?

Me: Yeah, beats me. People are so weird.

"Is nice for you! Not."

Thanks to Lindsey W., Leslie W., Deb K., Ashley I., & Jane A. for today's mind-trip. To the gutter.