Monday, December 17, 2007



It's a time of shifting identities. Some, like Ben, are moving to greater transparency. Some, like Hollywood, are moving to opacity. Me, I'm remaining in a state of stationary visibility.

It wouldn't take an at-all clever person to crack the secret of Thmazing's real-life identity. Can you use Google? Can you read? Can you click? You can figure out who I am. It's not that hard.

I miss my old opacity sometimes, and other times I envy the blatant this-is-me-ness of people who plant their names right up top. I see advantages and disadvantages to both. Behold!

      Sense of mystery
      Reward those in the know with a feeling of superiority
      A gatekeeping device
      Allows clearer differentiation between Self and Blogged Character
      Looks amateurish--real writers paste their names on everything.
      Limits the ease of a casual searcher finding all my work in one go.

      Looks professional--what kind of a writer doesn't put his name on things?
      Looks bold--no fear of being identified with my words.
      Makes it simpler for people to find me. (Although, if you Google my real name now, Thmusings does show up....not near enough the top though.)
      Risk of stalkers increases. Stalkers!
      Violent death.

The way I balance this is to have my website be super-transparent, and have it connect to all my blogs. What that does is make my official organ and Thmusings the place where my friends come to visit. By virtue of arriving somewhere without my name obviously attached, you join the in-club, you're hip, you're thawesome.

I've seen the Foblog stats, so I don't know if anyone will ever actually see this post, but I solicit your thoughts on this issue.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Fob East Bay, First Meeting


Fob East Bay met for the first time today; charter members Theric and Jane Dough were in attendance with their respective spouses Lady Steed and Data, both of whom proved able critics (Data, for instance, even having that thericonian habit of not being able to spit out just what the heck he's trying to say before first saying what he's not trying to say a good seventy-five times). Mascot Petra was not in attendance, as she was engaged in worship of the Most High God.

This was appropriate as the evening's first selection was one of Theric's contributions to the pending Fob Bible. He received several helpful notes and hopes to post a new version of the tale to Fobfiles sometime tomorrow, Friday at the latest.

Jane Dough brought the opening pages to her new novel for fifteen-year-olds (and their neighbors in age). The amount of insanity and brain trauma present was on par for a fobbian YA novel, so all may rejoice.

Also, for a goodly portion of her reading and the subsequent critique, the Big O was tossing walruses over heads and into laps. Typical.

The next scheduled meeting of Fob East Bay is two weeks from now, less two hours and fifteen minutes.

note: this was not recorded live.

Friday, October 26, 2007



The first meeting of Fob East Bay has been postponed till next week.

Sunday, October 7, 2007

A Call For Submissions

When speaking of FOBmatters, we must admit to ourselves that this last summer has been something of a silent one. There have been, we admit, some spatterings of creative output, but they have been slight in the extreme. I think only editorgirl has written something in entirety, but I suspect that the FOBmajority have not seen her brilliance as I have.

I propose that we are not stagnant beings. I believe there has been work out there. Therefore, I make a call that we, as the UFF (United FOB Front) share with each other the things we have been working on this summer. I have been so linguistically lazy that I need another few days to finish up my contribution, but--think about it. The lines of communication have been dead, but they may be revived again.


Friday, September 28, 2007

It's been 23 days and I'm posting because I can.


That power has been given unto me and I intend to use it. Nothing can stop me. I am typing and no one is crashing through my window on ropes with machine guns to stop me.

I am Theric.

I am posting on the Foblog.

And your opportunity to stop me has passed.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007



If Recent Fobbings is gone, how will I know what to do with my time?

Monday, August 6, 2007

A Dilemma

Gee I hope I spelled that correctly, considering the number of incredibly literate and English-Major-y people who read this. I capitalized that on purpose, by the way.

I don't think I've ever written for this blog, but I figure it's as good a time as any, especially since I'm barely getting anything written on my own.

But that's the point. I'm not writing stuff in my blog, and I've been trying to figure out why. After much self-analysis, I think I've found the reason.

Blogging Self-Consciousness.

Have you ever suffered these symptoms? Mind twitching and fingers itching to express, expostulate, examine, expose--but newly-awakened (and highly unrecognizable) part of the brain screaming "TOO PERSONAL!", leading to (I was going to use the word inevitable here, but after reading a certain blog, decided not to) complete blog-writing shutdown.

Truth is, there's someone who reads my blog that I don't want to have access to my inner, personal thoughts anymore. (Obviously this doesn't apply to the FOBsters.) What's laughable is that I'm not worried about faceless strangers (if there are any) reading some of my deepest angst and most personal emotives. I'm concerned about one, known to me, with whom I no longer desire to share the more private things I'm thinking. It's the need for personal disclosure but the desire for selective personal disclosure. Of course, I may have inadvertantly solved my own problem as that person may read this entry by following the breadcrumb trail of connected blogs. But what's to stop the wrong person from thinking I'm talking about them? These thoughts makes my stomach twist and writhe.

I miss blogging. I miss writing clever entries about the things happening in my life and reading the clever reactions from my clever friends, but I am very concious of not wanting to give away parts of myself to some who store them up as evidence of friendship intimacy that no longer exists.

Do I open a new blog? Make mine invitation only? Do I write bland things for the old one? Forget about the person or persons heretofore referred to and sally forth? Do I sell or give away all that I have, move to a new country, acquire a new name and start all over? Oh, wait. Already done that.

I find it a bizarre and likely, unsolvable dilemma. What would you do?

Help me, Obi-FOBkanobi! You're my only hope.

Sunday, August 5, 2007

I Miss My Friend

Oy vay! Oy vay! She’s gone away,
we’re really in a rut!
It’s been too long since we could say
“Hello, Queen Zippergut!”

Yes, Londonish lyres and Shropshirish shires
are housing her red, stylish cut.
While Fob-friends are fearing their love-light expires
without Queen Zippergut!

She penned female fears in their innocent years,
and never resorted to smut,
which puts her ahead of—well, all of her peers,
that novelist, Queen Zippergut!

She brought chocolate cakes for her Fobbish friends’ sakes,
and garnished it with cashew nut.
And she always forgave all their writing mistakes--
a saint she is, Queen Zippergut!

Yes—oy vay! Oy vay! She’s gone away,
and I will tell you what:
Come back! –and then you'll hear us say,
“We love Queen Zippergut!”

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Giving the love to editorgirl


So I was thinking that since the rest of us fall short of our Fobby Master in garnering compliments, we ought to buoy each other up. And since editorgirl just called me perfect, I think she deserves to be first.

I should take this opportunity to give her some meaningful compliment about what a clever poet she is and how brilliant her thesis presumably is, but instead I'm going to voice a complaint and call it a compliment:

Have you noticed the image she has connected to her Gmail identity? Man, every time my mouse happens to roll over her name and it pops up I go HOLY SCHMOKES!!! WHO WAS THAT??? Because she looks awesome in that photo.

Lady Steed wants to chop all her hair off.

She should get an editordo, sez me.

Yes, huh.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Monday, July 9, 2007

Today's Guest Fobber: Li-Young Lee
(filling in for editorigirl)


Sad is the man who is asked for a story
and can't come up with one.

His five-year-old son waits in his lap.
Not the same story, Baba. A new one.
The man rubs his chin, scratches his ear.

In a room full of books in a world
of stories, he can recall
not one, and soon, he thinks, the boy
will give up on his father.

Already the man lives far ahead, he sees
the day this boy will go. Don't go!
Hear the alligator story! The angel story once more!
You love the spider story. You laugh at the spider.
Let me tell it!

But the boy is packing his shirts,
he is looking for his keys. Are you a god,
the man screams, that I sit mute before you?
Am I a god that I should never disappoint?

But the boy is here. Please, Baba, a story?
It is an emotional rather than logical equation,
an earthly rather than heavenly one,
which posits that a boy's supplications
and a father's love add up to silence.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

It's a terrible, terrible thing that I suddenly need to post, just moments after Tolkers has regaled us and, no doubt, before most of you were regaled


Will your comments make Theric rich? Let's find out!

Nietzsche, On Us

How strange, that in Las Vegas land
we once combined with murderous will
to lift, like Brute, a knifish hand
against our Master Fob, to kill.

Then see us later--stern, concise:
when Jeph annoyed us by his breath,
we contemplated acts of vice,
together planned his merry death.

By ones, by ones, the tally comes,
each week another Fob-friend gone,
Oh, how the wailing skylark thrums
to see their corpses on the lawn!

How strange that we, of Fobbish band,
should be the authors of our dread!
From pole to pole, across the land,
is howled this message: "FOB IS DEAD!"

Monday, June 11, 2007

¡Synergy! II: Because If Theric Can Recycle Posts Then So Can I

Seven reasons I'm voting for avocado:

  1. It's so versatile. It can go on crackers, in a salad, in guacamole, and the list goes on and on. (And even if it doesn't, who needs more than those three?)
  2. It counts as one of the 3-5 fruits you should eat every day, and, on account of its greenness, doubles as a vegetable.
  3. All green things are good for you.
  4. Avocado is very similar to abogado, which means "lawyer" in Spanish. Um. Hm. Well. Okay, maybe that's not a good thing. But it's still quite tasty!
  5. It has good cholesterol. I mean really, you have to be pretty darn virtuous to take something as bad as cholesterol and make it into a good thing.
  6. No wars have ever been fought over avocado.
  7. No wars have ever been fought with avocado.
Forget Hillary, Barack, and the Mormon guy--vote avocado in 2008.



Check it out! I'm synergizing!

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

About TB and Th.'s Joint Blog

Really, guys, what would you call it? Well, what's the most important thing you two have in common? Me, of course. You would want the title to proclaim to the world that you are Friends of Ben, and this is your blog. What better title, then, than The Foblog?

Honestly, if anyone should be bothered that no one besides you two posts here, it should be me. Posting on the Foblog, after all, is your way of declaring your friendship and love for me; am I to conclude that I have only two friends? If so, then at least they are two of the finest friends a guy could ask for. Post on, brothers.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Things Theric and Tolkien Boy Said To Me In October of 2002 and March of 2005, Respectively (Because They Whine)




Persons A, B, C and D. Person A is married to person B; person C is married to person D. Person B does not figure in to this. Person A knows both persons C and D (so does person B, incidentally), and is in regular contact with Person C. However, although he knows both person D and person D's name, the spelling is something of a mystery. Knowing that apostacy [sic] has occurred over similar confusion in the past, he avoids mentioning this lack of knowledge. However, in the course of regular exchange of information in conversational settings, person A acquires the needed knowledge without asking through the virtue of patience and clever misdirection. Genius!

Message Proper:

Saturday at six it is, then. And you're right--I hadn't thought of it as a factor, but of course your having been here previously will ease your finding it this time. Of course! As for bringing stuff, I don't want to tell you how to live your life, but we, at least, will be wearing clothes. Besides that, you're absolutely off the hook. If you ahve [sic] some brilliant diversion you've been dying to share with someone, however, please--bring it along.

Tolkien Boy

Provo, UT. A local Provo man has found himself embroiled in what is certain to be a ground-breaking legal proceeding. The case, Pillow vs. Boy, the first in which an inanimate object is the plaintiff, will be heard before the Utah Supreme later this month.
Pillow is suing Boy under charges of abuse and maltreatment. The incident involved in the case arose from a domestic dispute that Tolkien Boy of Ogden, Utah, had with his pillow while living in BYU-approved housing. According to Boy's roommate, Mr. Roommate, on the night in question Boy repeatedly beat his pillow while screaming .
"There were feathers everywhere," quipped Roommate. "I didn't think anyone still had pillows with feathers in them. Dude."
Pillow was admitted to the local hospital and is expected to recover. A spokesman for the family said that they were "shocked, but forgiving."
"Tolkers and his pillow have a long relationship," said the spokesman. "No one wants them to break up over a little thing like this."

Boy himself was unavailable for comment. A press statement issued by his lawyers indicate that an insanity plea will play an important role in their defense to the judge. Meanwhile, pillows across the state have risen up in support of their beleagured sister.
"It's a terrible sadness," said a pillow owned by Master Fob of Orem. "It could have been any one of us. I'm so glad I'm in a stable relationship."

Friday, May 25, 2007

Things Tolkien Boy said to me in May 2006

(the pervert.....)


. . . let me wriggle my way over there . . . mine requires a bend and a reach . . . I'll be in my own room for a little while at least . . . or naked . . . at least we don't have to make professions of love . . . she's lovely, eh? . . . did you ever hear [name removed for privacy] talk about the twinkie of her carnal treasure ? . . . I just seem nice . . . enjoy your night . . . .

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

In The Vain Hope That People Still Read The Foblog

Thing said to me in the month of May, 2006:


Feck it up!

.........twinkie smasher...........

Couldn’t be fecker, if you know what I mean.

That book, however, deserved to be rejected. The rejection of yours is stunning. They obviously do not want us to take them into the new world of publishing success....


My biographers will no doubt want pin down the precise historic/al moment when for the first and last time, a boy's parent liked me.

Okay, where is your bedroom?

Yo. See you then. (I'll be the one with the big nose.)

From now on, when you think of pesticides, think of Melyngoch.

If you're down with that, I'll let you know when I see you at Poetasters what I'm down with or what is down with me or what downed my mom last night in the back of Peter's car.

Happily Married Straight Friend of Gay Boyfriend Chick

I can sympathize, nay, empathize, with that sense of not-knowing.

Mr. Fob

The finger-crossing has commenced.

And Tolkien Boy, who loves me, will sadly not be joining us because he's in Ogden taking advantage of his parents' poor, defenseless insurance provider.

So, how do we guilt Edgy into writing the next chapter? I have all sorts of fun ideas...


Shall I bring you some yarn as a present? Would you act like a kitten if I brought yarn?

Tolkien Boy, honey, you can tell when someone's masturbating

You're still going to die of skin cancer at age 40.


And now that I have my nightly dose of blasphemy, I'm off to bed. (Okay, really off to grade, but same thing.)

I have to work for a few minutes, but in the meantime, can you zip me a pic of you? Or else I'll have to use the Easter blue-lip pic.

The Marchioness

When we meet again are we going to meet at Master Fob's feet? It just seemed a little uncomfortable to me.

Thank you for teaching me the past tense of swearwords. This knowledge I know will prove invaluable in the future.

I'm just trouncy, not sexy!


I'm partial to letting him cry. Besides, it upsets his mom when I do that, and we all know I derive pleasure out of making others upset.

Kinda short. Kinda round. Kinda bald.


Sounds good to me, chaps.

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

The Law and the Prophets

Now, a cat, she may look at a kingdom,
a bird in the bush is worth two,
the prophet is jangling his keychain
and making up morals for you.

For all that is gold is not bitter,
and violets so rarely are blue,
the queens and the muses will prattle
to stitch up his stories for you.

For a purse is an ear in a sow's eye,
under skies where her late children flew,
in this world the elves only wear orange,
and he metes out his morals to you.

To yourself do, as you do to others,
free your soul from the tyrant of "true,"
aristocracy bounded by rhombus
is the gift of his verses to you.

The penny that's spared is still burning,
the frying pan damns up the flue.
The cipher, the psalmist, the husband,
are the cast of his fable to you.

For the rabbits are chaste—in their households,
walls of glass need a rock to pass through,
and Jove and the weeds on the hillock
is the scope of his story to you.

Oh, a cat still may look on a kingdom,
and the song of the caged bird is grim.
And someday, if ever he falters,
you'll sing back your stories to him.

Thursday, May 3, 2007

Who is the monkey?


According to James Meffleton over at Cambridge, in any group of five or more, the individuals can be split into animal types:
I've had little difficulty assigning parts to most of us, but no matter how hard I try, I can't fit anyone into the role of monkey. Is it possible we lack a monkey?


Thursday, April 26, 2007

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Here, at the End of All Things

Things said to me by the FOB during last April; they were good times, eh?

Edgy Killer Bunny:

All hail the Brady Bunch!


This isn't about a boy. . . although that is a book and movie that you should all know and love and if you don't, I'll lend you my next counseling session for you to figure out why not.

Happily Married Straight Friend of Gay Boyfriend Chick:

Please do say mean things about me. I know I deserve it.


I'm curious what the wrath of Master Fob would be like. Chainsaws? Thumbscrews? It sounds bouncy, trouncy, fun, fun, fun to see what would happen.

Master Fob

I had no problem with "she wants to be in love with him." Maybe through some complicated accident she suspects he has something of hers? Maybe she thinks he's a serial killer? Maybe he plays in a band and she digs his music?

As usual, significant and/or meaningless others are welcome.


Just use the phrase "always already" and the word "topos" a lot and you'll be fine.

I loved your mom last night AT THE WASH HUT IN THE BACK SEAT OF PETER'S CAR!


"I can't believe they're letting such a disorganized person graduate!"

"I should always specify my aversion to touch. I really dislike non-sexual touch."


"High Inquisitor is out in full force."

"It's late for pregnant people."

Queen Zippergut:

Hormones, chemical reaction, strange voodoo, fantasies about making out with them, because other girls like the boy and they want to be the chosen one--these are but a paltry smattering of some "reasons" girls do the things they do.


I think the word "prick" must've flown through his mind like milk and honey.

I have to tell you, those ads for the new sandwich at Quizno's are keeping me up at night.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

No more Nipples


It is everlastingly too late.

Thanks to Master Fob, Tolkien Boy, Sir Jupiter, Edgy Killer Bunny and Nancy Pelosi.

Monday, April 9, 2007

Scenes from FOBoston

"If there's no orgasms in your paper, well..."

"I think Boston may be the only place on the planet where you can arrive at blue through orange."

"Does anyone know where the Green Dragon is? It's a bah."

"That's Diet Coke--not Coors Light, nor water. Actually, it's somewhere delightfully in-between."

"Jellyfish are destroying the Earth??"

"Everything is trapped in the now. Waa waa waa."

"It's supposed to be lions. Maybe they're inside."

Thursday, April 5, 2007

Pahk the Cah in Havahd Yahd

A formal congratulations is in order for those FOBs attending the We’re Incredibly Talented and Smart as Hell Academic Forum in Boston, MA. May the majority of attendees opt to visit your presentations instead of others and may none of you get stage fright like Alex P. Keaton did on Family Ties (you know, the one where he was on the TV quiz show and blanked).

*It has come to my attention that I inadvertently posted this five minutes after another post. That was purely a coincidence and not meant to invalidate the earlier post nor its author.

More on nipples


1. Nipples are the new broccoli.

2. Last call. Please post whether you downloaded PENny, yea or nay. I think I'll take it off sometime next week.

3. I have two. How many do you have?

4. The nipple came by midnight and left its cushions upon the floor.


Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Did Somebody Say Nipple?!

Stories That Would Sell Better Were Their Titles to Contain the Word Nipple:
  • Absalom, Absalom! I Mean, Nipple!
    All the King’s Nipples
    A Handful of Nipples
    An American Nipple
    Are You There Nipple? It’s Me, Margaret
    The Nipples Karamazov
    Canterbury Nipples
    A Clockwork Nipple
    The Cunning Nipple
    Don Quixote de La Pezón
    The French Lieutenant’s Nipple
    Gone With the Nipple
    The Nipples of Wrath
    The Great Nipple
    The Nipple is A Lonely Hunter
    I, Nipple
    The Lion, The Nipple and the Wardrobe
    Lord of the Nipple
    (William Golding)
    The Lord of the Nipples (J.R.R. Tolkien)
    Naked Nipple
    The Old Wives’ Nipple
    One Flew Over the Nipple’s Nest
    Nipple’s Complaint
    The Nipple of Miss Jean Brodie
    Tender is the Nipple
    The Nipple Who Came in From the Cold
    Their Eyes Were Watching Nipples
    To Kill a Nipple
    Wide Sargasso Nipple

Monday, March 26, 2007

A Nipply Census


So. That experiment? I'm just curious if anyone actually downloaded it. Please comment yes or no. This was just an exercise in curiosity, so don't think I'll get mad. I just want to know how likely people are to participate in something like this.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Theric Lives

I just thought it might be a good idea to mention this little detail.

The Fobs Return to Utah Valley

editorgirl: So I came home tonight to find Edgy cleaning off my table, making room for shrimp dip and enough carbs to ruin everyone's diets. I'm not sure what he was doing here, but I'd been meaning to clean off that table, so I let him do his thing. And then Saule showed up with rolls and then Dec and Absent-Minded. Thus began the deluge.

Edgy: I was cleaning off the table because I arrived to an empty house (meaning that even editorgirl wasn't here) at 6:20 when I was under the impression that we were to be arriving at 6:00. I must confess that it's an odd feeling to be the first to show up at a party when one is not hosting said party. Regardless, the party got off to a lovely start with said shrimp dip and said rolls and bags and bags of chips and bottles and bottles of soda provided for by editorgirl. Finally, Master Fob and FoxyJ and S-Boogie and Lil Dude showed up. With the Costco pizzas. Yum.

Master Fob: Yum indeed. I feel that we should have killed someone, as we usually do in these group posts, but I'm not sure who we killed. Perhaps Tolkien Boy will fill us in there. He did just say something about killing the dog...

Tolkien Boy: When I was invited to this little soiree, I automatically assumed it was because I have more estrogen than editorgirl and Absent-Minded combined. Well, maybe not combined. This, however, was not borne out by facts, as I came bearing--well, nothing, except for my own sense of obligation. It's a strong sense of obligation, which is what kept me up late at night, and early morning, and--okay, so I didn't sleep last night, but not for any good reasons, as the gosspists of FOB and others will suggest to you. Ambrosia, who is lovely as a redhead, now will speak.

Ambrosia: When Bawb and I slunk in late, the house was packed. We slipped into the kitchen, ashamed of our tardiness and hoping that the fruit pizzas would buy us some forgiveness. Shrimp dip, looking inviting, was on the table. Pizza, equally tempting, on the counter. And tucked neatly beside the fridge was the body. Looked like someone had had a little too much Diet Coke. The pinstriped shirt had a red splotch. Probably just ketchup. I moved back to the table and started loading my plate.

Dec: These people are so weird.

eleka: Having friends in high places finally served me well, as I was given invite to tonight's exclusive FOB party. After spending the requisite 2.5 hours making myself pretty (that being the only way I could imagine holding my own - or, at least, distracting them from my lack of English major rhetoric - with the highly erudite sort sure to be in attendance therein) I sashayed my way into editorgirl's house and found it full of fine individuals whom I hadn't seen in far too long. The scent of Saule's homebaking rolls was a fragrancial delight and the table of waiting delectable-looking goodies that we were ever-more failing to abstain from eating kept reminding us that Tolkien Boy was still MIA. After a quick discussion as to whether or not Tolkien Boy is yet adept enough at using his rather new cell phone to understand how to receive text messages, Edgy took a change and sent TB a rather vehement "Where the hell are you?" inquiry. It worked - soon thereafter, TB sashayed himself in to the party - bedecked in Banana Republic, fantastic jeans, and a most amazing accessory: the man bag. He looked devastatingly hot. In a more idealistic alternative universe, I would have been his. Or, rather, he would have been mine.

Bawb: The food was delicious. I do not believe in fiction.

[cue reality TV result show music of your choice]

editorgirl: Fobs, America has voted. Who will be survive the Return to Happy Valley? Master Fob, you provided Costco pizza and performed a tap routine from "Fob: The Musical." Bawb liked the pizza, but thought the tap routine lacked technique. Edgy Killer Bunny couldn't stop laughing long enough to say anything. America has voted--Master Fob, for today, you are safe.

Tolkien Boy, you beat everyone in two rounds of anagrams. I thought you were patronizing. And you were. Eleka commented that you were very well dressed. America voted--and we'll find out what they have to say after the break.


Monday, March 19, 2007



Theric: Huh? Did I hear something? From over here in the great beyond where I was so recently and unfairly sent?

Master Fob: If I'm channeling the dead you then shouldn't we be logged in under my name?

Th: Hey.... That's right.... I can't believe you killed me for my Blogger account. Haven't you heard these things are free?

MF: Yes, but wouldn't you kill to be able to post on Thmazing's Thmusings?

Th: I see your point. SO what--did you just dredge me up from Eternal Rest to gloat?

MF: Yes. And I'm done now.

Th: Oh. Well. Um. Enjoy your drive?

MF: Thank you. Hey, did it occur to you that I can make you say whatever I want just by typing my own words after Th:?

Th: Wow, you're a genius! No wonder I've always secretly wished I were you.

MF: Yes, well, most people do.

Th: Help! Help! I'm possessed by a corporeal being!!!!!

MF: I have nothing to say to that.

Th: You wouldn't. I know your kind. Peter was telling me all about your ilk. Nefertiti too. She's nice. She gave me this nice little welcome basket. They have great fruit here.

MF: Well, that's a relief. I was worried there wouldn't be any fruits in heaven.

Th: I don't get it.


Th: Hello?


Th: Can I go back now?


Th: Master Fob?


Th: This is ridiculous. I liked things so much better when you were dead!

MF: Well, if that's how you feel then I'll just go now. See you later.

Th: Wait! No! You don't know what it's like here! I have no internet access! I was only kidding, Ben--only kidding! Don't go! Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Friday, March 16, 2007

Theric is Dead

Let this be a lesson to all you who threaten to start your own branch of Fob with real writers.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Fobbing Nipples


This post is an experiment. Might work, might not. Don't know. And this story is both a good one and a bad one to test on. Bad because it's kind of long. Good because its name is "Perky Erect Nipples."

I am not proud to have written a story called "Perky Erect Nipples." I'm still not quite sure how it happened. The title and first paragraph just came to me one morning and I thought they were funny so I wrote them down. I figured the story would max out at about 1000 words (maybe 4000) and would be a chuckly little thing to stick in the corner of some collection in about twenty years. But then it just kept growing and growing and growing and growing. Then I mentioned to Tolkers that I was working on it and he wanted to read it so I had to finish it and rewrite it so he could. Then he gave me good advice and so I've been rewriting and rewriting again and now I've spent uncountable hours on something I would not even have said aloud twelve years ago.

"Perky Erect Nipples," indeed!

Anyway, I wrote it and I would like feedback and that's where the experiment comes in. I'm going to link to a temporary copy of the .doc of "PENny" and any reader of the Foblog--Fob or not, Ottarian or not--may download it and then come here to the comments section (or email me using the email address listed on Thmusings) and give me the brutal truth.

(Example: "Writing a story with such a title is evil and I hate you!")

(The more brutal the more better.)

Before we go on, here's the first page, so you can decide whether you even dare take the first steps in participation:
    I should clear up right from the get-go—so no one gets the wrong idea coming into this—that Perky Erect Nipples is the name of my cat. My brother was staying with me for a couple weeks when I bought myself a fluffy, gray kitten and he was the one who suggested the name (Penny) that I eventually went with. Then, when he was passing through town six months later, he told me that the Pen in Penny stood for Perky Erect Nipples. He laughed and laughed and laughed and I punched him in the mouth.

    My brother and I have kind of an antagonistic relationship and I don’t know why. It didn’t start till we were both adults. In fact, in high school it was him—the younger Lynch—who was considered “the mature one.” But now he’s got this juvenile sense of humor and moves around the country staying with old friends and new girls and generally making a fool of himself. But he is my brother.

    Sometimes I catch myself calling Penny Perky so I guess the meaning of the P-E-N has sunk in. It doesn’t matter so much here, in Indiana, but I could never have a cat named Perky or Penny back home in Oregon.

    It’s coming up on my fifteenth high school reunion. I probably won’t go, even though I’d like to this time. Because if I did, I might meet this girl I once knew. Penny.

    My brother didn’t know Penny, I don’t think, so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t thinking of her when he suggested the name—but I was definitely thinking of her when I punched him in the mouth.
Now. Before you start calling for the redemption of Theric, more disclosure:

Isaac is not being entirely correct in claiming that the title could only possibly refer to his cat.

He is, in fact, quite wrong.

So to further guide anyone considering the morality of helping Theric out, behold!

Theric's Concordance/Checksheet of Dirty Words
to Be Found in "Perky Erect Nipples"
for the Warning of Potential Readers
and the Attraction of Casual Googlers

Consider yourself warned.


Wednesday, March 14, 2007

In (Advance) Praise of Sir Jupiter

If ever Fobly troopiter
the analyists should snoopiter,
they'll claim as super-dupiter
our clever friend Sir Jupiter.

To beaurocratic hoopiter
we know he'll never stoopiter:
no, he is no cyborg bloopiter
no, not our friend Sir Jupiter.

He's kind as Betty Boopiter!
If you should catch the croupiter,
he'd make you chicken soupiter--
that's how he is, Sir Jupiter.

Whenever Fob souls droopiter,
his cheer he does not coopiter,
(nor yet his jokes on poopiter)
our cheery friend Sir Jupiter.

He keeps us in the loopiter,
his caring is no dupiter,
yes, say it with a whoopiter--
we praise our friend Sir Jupiter!

Thursday, March 8, 2007

In Praise of Weed

While in these strange existences, when troubled lives we lead,
despairing of our happiness, a cheerful soul we need—
a friendly, warm, and loving look, an optimistic creed,
we need an anti-pessimist! We need, in short, the Weed!

When all our little fantasies, like Catherine’s, start to bleed,
he offers to us soothing balms, if we his words will heed.
‘Tis wisdom to his kindly wit our attitudes to cede;
‘tis wisdom, too, to hail his name! All praise the clever Weed!

He is our fellow-traveller! And, like a mighty steed,
he bears us from low-lying lands where cares and troubles breed.
And like the ancient sower, in us he plants his seed
of mustard (genus: Dijon). So, thank our friend the Weed!

Without his careful minist’ring, we’d be left in our greed,
like fishes in a barrel or cats by grim dogs treed.
And so we raise a toast to you, of non-fermented mead,
for all you do and all you are. All hail the mighty Weed!

Monday, March 5, 2007


Let's imagine that the Lost and Forgotten might possibly be coming back to the Homeland for a brief visit.

Should we fob during that brief period? For old times' sake?

Thursday, March 1, 2007

Fob Mar 1

I'd like to say, first of all, that though this is published under the name "Weed" this is a communal effort.

And I've been told that I need to provide a brief introduction of myself because there is many a Fob who doesn't know me. I teach English and history to seventh graders, and I'm here in Seattle studying to be a therapist. I go into shock at anything having to do with collision with bodies. I have a scar on my chin that I got when I fell in the bathtub as a one-year-old. My left eye is uncorrectably legally blind. And, done.

Hi! My name is Tolkien Boy. I live in a constant state of paranoia about my many obligations. For example, I often am given the obligation to record the minutes of FOB. FOB minutes, while being fun to record, are often so difficult in their scope and emotional content that it gives me ulcer pains when I think of the great responsibility laid upon me.

Speaking of "laid," Master Fob indicates that his next work will be a tour de force which exposes the worlds of superheroEs and religious zealots alike in a stunning work reminiscent of Dan Brown in his least egregious moments. He rose to brilliant heights of narrative excellence, including the unprecedented dialogue snippet: "..." Tolkien Boy was greatly impressed, as well, by his appropriation of a certain soon-to-be-divorced celebrity (Thom Cruz) into his cult, which apparently includes both gerontophilism (the love of old people) and cluckbuckcluckism (the unusual treatment of chickens, viz a viz sacrifice). Weed (aforementioned) proposed a reenactment of said rites: the motion was voted down two to three (Tolkien Boy pulled in his imaginary friends Juan and Cindy to help close the deal).

Hi, I'm Master Fob. You may remember me from such Foblog posts as "Fob June 18th" and "The Twelve Fobs of Christmas." Neither of those told you about Tolkien Boy's latest masterpiece, though, which is a gripping tale of babies left on doorsteps and Mormons with unending supplies of diapers and in which it is okay, after all, to speak of liking Karen Carpenter, but only if it is an innocent child that does so.

Nor do those posts, fabulous as they are, detail the latest installment of Weed's epic fantasy about paper-eaters, Harper Collins, and his cousin Harper Lee. But surely they are, at least the one that is Fob minutes, as obscure to anyone who wasn't actually there as this one is.

And, just so you know, I have a scar on my forehead and a birthmark on my butt that is not as aesthetically pleasing as the one on my thigh. And now I will let Weed tell you all about Sir Jupiter's contribution to Fob tonight.

In closing, Sir Jupiter is dead to us. Until he comes back. And then he'll, perhaps, favor us with a selection. But until that time, we mourn. Deeply. Because of the death. And because Tolkien Boy just talked about getting naked and smearing himself in paste.

P.S. (from Tolkien Boy) What does P.S. mean?
P.S. Bye.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

→[use me]


I just found a cool new useful thingamabobber a nd thought I would share. A long with it is a nother I found a while a go. (New rule: no word may start with A except A itself. Deal with it.)

1. Duotrope's Digest
    This is pretty much the coolest thing ever. Say you have a story a bout, I don't know, a gay couple a bout to a dopt a baby that a ppeared on their doorstep--I'm just making this up--well, you could tell Duotrope that you've got a tale a bout 3,000 words long, it's a ll kinds of erotic and that you won't a ccept a nything less than $2,000 for it. Duotrope will immediately tell you that you a re out of your mind.

    A nd only a true friend would do that.
2. Tangent Online
    I love this thing. Unlike Duotrope, it only deals with fiction (sorry friend poets), but I love it a ll the same.

    Tangent reviews magazines of short fiction. How handy is that? Now you don't have to a ctually find a copy to determine whether or not your work will a ppeal to a certain rag's editorial staff. You just have to look it up on Tangent. A las that they haven't reviewed everyone!
Free Bonus!
→[use me]

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

In Praise of Sir Jupiter

Boys go to Sir Jupiter
To get more stupider
And all the girls too
Or so I've heard.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

In Praise of Thmighty Theric

Thmighty is Theric; yes, thmighty is he,
thever and thever we'll praise him, you see.
From thheadland to valley, from thmountain to sea,
thenuthiasts gather to sound this decree:
thmighty is Theric. Yes, thmighty is he.

Tharticles he writes have a passion and grace
and thintricate working, like letter-sprung lace.
Though thmisandrists may gather his works to efface,
not one spot of his works can they find to therase.
(And, on top of all this, he has a nice thface.)

The thtories he writes are both clever and pure,
the thort of good writing we know will endure.
His thtylings of thentences have their allure,
and thalso his diction! His thtalents can blur
the fine thline between genius and the thobscure.

So, hail thawesome Theric! His writing so crisp
on many a thubject, on sparities disp,
remind us there’s thnothing, not even a wisp,
in writing that isn’t improved with a thlisp.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Leave Them in Their Packaging!

Thanks to a recent FOB gathering in which I came across Master Fob's librarian action figure as well as recent episodes of hearkening back to adventures I had during my teenage years with my Mozart, Jesus Christ and Captain Picard action figures (Lord only knows how I turned out to be halfway functional)...I decided that one way I can contribute to the ongoing needs of FOB is to release action figures of its own key players.

Sadly, of course, is that while everyone else attends FOB for the express purpose of honing their written skills to gain prominence in the academic community, I am busy wondering how I can better my rudimentary writing skills AND exploit my current situation for money.

So here it is, a new line of action figures set to be released in spring 2007:

Introducing Master Fob! Watch as he transforms from a mild-mannered father and librarian by day to a superhero who "flashes and slashes" by night! Powers include confusing his opponent with innuendo or demoralizing him/her (but most likely a him, because… c’mon… fighting a chick?) with a barrage of “your mom” jokes. Accessories—including family figures like Foxxy J, S-Boogie and Little Dood as well as Master Fob's Justice Fobcave and Dream House playset—are all sold separately.

The Fobcave playset feels strangely empty without the presence of...Captain Weed! Fighting the forces of darkness regularly, he’s even brave enough to willingly enter a room of pubescent 8th graders on a daily basis! Captain Weed’s main power is dispensing homespun, folksy wisdom while demolishing any evildoer in his path! Each figure is quite limber and even possesses agile plastic fingers to do that weird fold/crease thing that will keep sheets of paper together! Accessories include the not-always-popular and seldom-seen Stapler ($250), sold separately.

Finally, we have Action Tolkien Boy! He comes dressed as Edward Devere, the 17th Earl of Oxford who was well placed in the court of Elizabeth and revered by the crown heads of Europe! Why, it's well-argued that Action Tolkien Boy was the real author of Shakespeare's plays and sonnets! He writes, and he's got a great fencing arm...oh, and he embodies that enigmatic sadness that was prevalent among late renaissance intellectuals and courtesans! He costs only $18 complete!

Order today!

Sunday, February 18, 2007

FOB February 15

Master Fob’s shortened story, a young man in a car,
who wondered if gayness his mission would mar.
Sir Jupiter told of creatures from not-distant star
discussing how humans make food beyond par.
Tolkien Boy wrote of men in a strange wedded bliss
who wondered if fatherhood compared to this.
While Weed, who worried he might be remiss
nevertheless had good cause FOB to miss.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Thursday, February 8, 2007

Extremely Short Poems, in Which FOB Names Are Coupled With Rhyming Epithets, the Significance of Which Is Both Deep and Obscure

Master Fob:
a purple daub.

Thmazing Theric:
a pagan cleric.

a treble clef.

Tolkien Boy:
dark green bok choy.

Queen Zippergut:
a quonset hut.

The Marchioness:
Elizabethan dress.

a mustard seed.

a raven flock.

an ancient pearl.

Sir Jupiter:
a coat of fur.

Straight Happily Married Friend of Gay Boyfriend Chick:
an ice pick.

Edgy Killer Bunny:
a stack of money.

the Metra.

Sunday, February 4, 2007

FOB February 1

Today's FOB Post is brought to you by the letters E, N, P, and S, and by the letter 1.

EPISODE ONE: Weed Monster and the letter S.

Weed Monster: Hello, everyone! Today I'd like to introduce my good friend the letter S. (To offstage) C'mon out, don't be shy...(large letter S enters, hissing sibilantly) The letter S has helped me write a story--hey! Story starts with S! (The S bows, still hissing) Some other things that start with S--hey! Some and start also start with S! So does--wait, so does so! Whew! And here I thought it would be difficult to find something that started--hey, I did it again!


Weed Monster: So, as you can see--hee hee--S is a very important letter! Let's hear it for the scrumptious, sarcastic, amazing S!

(wild applause)

Weed Monster: (Noticing the S is still hissing) Hey, we're done here. You don't have to keep hissing.

S (over the hissing): Yes, I do--you knocked me off the bookcase and I'm leaking.

Weed Monster (rushing the S offstage): And that's the S! Thank you, thank you!

EPISODE TWO: Sir Jupiter Monster, Master Fob Monster, and the letter N. Master Fob and Sir Jupiter are sitting next to each other, comparing feet.

Master Fob Monster: I'm much bigger than you are.

Sir Jupiter Monster: Size doesn't matter.

Master Fob Monster: Your mom's size doesn't matter.

Sir Jupiter Monster: I sized your mom's matter.

Master Fob Monster: I matted your mom's size.

Sir Jupiter Monster: I seized your mom's mat.

Master Fob Monster: I made accurate measurements of your mother's subatomic constructive structure.

Sir Jupiter Monster: Oh, man--I got nothing. With a big fat capital N.

EPISODE THREE: Master Fob Monster, Weed Monster, and the letter E and the number 1. Master Fob Monster and Weed Monster are doodling on a large piece of butcher paper.

Master Fob Monster (making a scribbled approximation of a chubby forty-year-old man). Old men are sexy.

Weed Monster (drawing a 1): This is the letter 1. It's an important part of the chant, "We're #1!"

Master Fob Monster (drawing an E): I find gerontophilism Exciting.

Weed Monster: No one ever thinks, though, that you can't really say "We're #1" because only one person can be number one at a time.

Master Fob Monster: Also Excruciating.

Weed Monster: Perhaps people who think they're #1 will spend most of their time talking about themselves, you think?

Master Fob Monster: And Enlightening. But only when I think about it. Which I don't, honest.

Weed Monster: My #1 beats your E.

Master Fob Monster: My old man's stronger than your stupid #1.

Weed Monster: Your mom's stronger than my stupid--wait.

Master Fob Monster: Ha.

EPISODE FOUR: Tolkien Boy Monster and the letter P.

Tolkien Boy Monster: Hello, everybody! Today I'd like to tell you about one of my favorite letters, the letter P. The P really helps us out when we want to say the word plagiarism, which means "the unauthorized use or close imitation of the language and thoughts of another author and the representation of them as one's own original work." In other words, plagiarism is what happens when someone too stupid to come up with their own ideas steals someone else's, and no matter how brilliant it may have seemed to the author at the time, they're really just copying because they're stupid and can't tell a copyright from a copy machine, and if you know anyone who does it--even if they're a good friend--you should trot them out to be shot because heaven knows we don't need more derivative works squirming around in the world like so much maggots, and--


--I'm sorry, where was I? Oh, yes. The letter P. A wonderful letter, really. Trust me.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Synchronized punctuation (dress rehearsal)



Friday, January 26, 2007



I have learned nothing.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Foblimericks (now with added FOB)

Sir Jupiter told of a man vying
a beautiful chick to be lying.
But--not even the sages
in US Weekly pages
could know that the man would be dying!

Tolkien Boy slyly derailed us
with superheroes. How they regaled us!
But unless he corrects
this absence of sex,
oh! How the fellow has failed us!

Master Fob--well, what can we say?
He's always been sort of "that way."
It's not so much the bangles,
but, yes, the hard angles
that help us to know that he's gay.

Weed knows that pure elocution
can often be cause for confusion.
Abstinence, that's the thing,
so he neglected to bring
any writing, to gain absolution.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

I would just like to point out

that Edgy's most recent post is currently at the top of the "Recent Fobbings" sidebar thingee. Apparently this is important to him.

Fob Minutes 1/18/07

(Just the highlights.)

  • Weed forgot his fobbery in a Taco Bell in Tukwila. He spent the evening in shame.
  • Sir Jupiter apologized.
  • Baby Weed and Baby Fob flirted.
  • Sir Jupiter apologized.
  • Mrs. Weed was the only one to laugh at Master Fob's oh-so-clever jokes. Master Fob is considering inviting her to replace her husband in the Fob pantheon.
  • Sir Jupiter apologized.
  • Sir Jupiter suggested that Master Fob sprinkle Foxy J throughout. Master Fob ensured everyone that he had already intended to do so.
  • Sir Jupiter apologized.
  • Tolkien Boy's story stopped suddenly before the superhero and the superhenchman got to know each other. All were disappointed and look forward to reading the climax next time.
  • Sir Jupiter ended the night with an apology.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Where have all the Fobs gone?

I was blog jumping tonight (this morning) and found myself on the old Foblog, reading "minutes" from the great summer of Fobbing. And then I returned to this so-called "new and improved" Foblog, and while I was happy to read the 12 Fobs of Christmas once again, I wondered what had happened to all my fellow Fobs. Allow me to hypothesize.

Master Fob got lost in the stacks.
Theric decided to take his "Thou Shalt Publish" speech on the road. He's playing Mississippi this week.
Jeph is dead. (That one was easy.)
Tolkien Boy quit grad school and is auditioning to be a munchkin in the stage version of Master Fob's Oz novel.
Queen Zippergut is having sex. Again.
The Marchioness found a time machine and sped off to the 1800s in search of her Mr. Darcy.
Weed got beat up on the playground.
Melyngoch hitched a ride with the Marchioness and is now being courted by Beowulf.
editorgirl. . . oh wait. I'm here.
Sir Jupiter is in orbit.
Straight Happily Married Friend of Gay Ex-Boyfriend Chick is petitioning for a better pseudonym.
Edgy Killer Bunny is buried under the stack of books that got tired of waiting on his nightstand.
And faithful Petra, our mascot? She's become the world's most famous mascot and now considers herself too busy for the likes of us.

That was fun. But I miss you. Come back.

Saturday, January 6, 2007

The Illustrated Fobs of Christmas

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me

Twelve Santas kissing,

Eleven teachers teaching,

Ten stalkers stalking,

Nine alpha entries,

Eight Mormons cussing,

Seven shoulders winging,

Six maids unmarried,


Four times a-fobbed,

Three Moral Peeps,

Two Costco cakes,

And a starling in Tehachapi.

FOB January 4

FOB Meeting, January 4th 2006


In Attendance:
Master Fob, President
Tolkien Boy, Vice-President
Weed, Secretary
Sir Jupiter, Master-At-Arms

8:30 pm Arrival of President, Vice-President, and Master-at-Arms to Secretary's home. Embrassos all around. Master-at-Arms effusively praises Secretary's decor--in response, the Secretary runs to the bathroom for some urgent "business."
8:45 pm Reading of Master-at-Arms's work entitled "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," followed by rigorous debate over the meaning of the phrase "consenting adults." The proper insertion but improper use of various female hygiene products was reviewed. Vice-President takes exception to the phrase "he brusquely declared" in relation to an apparent game of patty-cake in the text. Master-at Arms promises to revise his story, claiming he will "flesh out the mother to make the climax more satisfying."
9:30 pm Reading of President's first essay chapter, in which the President describes himself in terms of various superheros. Rumination of what the President would look like in spandex followed, with the Secretary excusing himself to the bathroom for some more urgent "business." President takes takes time to tell Master-at-Arms and Vice-President about real-life story involving his manhood--or, rather, his lack thereof. Master-at-Arms didn't hear much of the story, however, as he was still giggling over one of President's supervillians with the cute epithet "The Exhibitionist" who exposed himself to his victims before he killed them--or, as President put it, "He flashes and then slashes!"
10:15 pm Reading of the Secretary's short chapter, which bore the Vice-President-appointed title "Somewhere South of Us, I Think," which speaks of a mother's desire for her young son to see her native land. Vice-President gaffed concerning the sub-equatorial South American nation mentioned in the text and was subjected to geographically-motivated scorn. The issue of children extending from their parents' paternal trunks was raised, but Master-at-Arms ended the debate with the confession that he has done a lot of pulsating in his day.
11:00 pm Vice-President reads story concerning a middle-aged woman and a half-man, half-goat monstrosity. Much speaking of bestiality follows. The Master-at-Arms makes snide comparison of Vice-President's writing to that of Dan Brown. Frank exchange of ideas between
Vice-President and Master-at-Arms. Master-at-Arms is speedily thrust down to Hell, but not before making snide comments about how Anna Karenina's literary success preempts any other story from utilizing a railroad station as a setting.
12:00 pm Break-up of the Fobs, with many promises for future literary exploits. Vice-President excuses himself to the bathroom for some urgent "business." Business completed, embrassos all round.


Define "acrid." Use it in a sentence.
If Robin and Batman have something going on--and no one has ever said they don't--then can you use them as an archetype of the perfect mentor/boy relationship? Wouldn't someone like Plato and Socrates be a better choice? Discuss.
What's the first thing you would notice if you walked in on a rape scene? Would it change if one of the parties was Santa Claus? Show your work.
Get naked and jump into a blackberry bramble. Make notes of where you bleed (if at all) and how much you bleed. Write your answers in cubic liters.

The All-New Foblog!

(Until the old one gets fixed.)

Friday, January 5, 2007

Twelfth Fob

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me
Twelve Santas kissing*,
Eleven teachers teaching,
Ten stalkers stalking,
Nine alpha entries,
Eight Mormons cussing,
Seven shoulders winging,
Six maids unmarried,
Four times a-fobbed,
Three Moral Peeps,
Two Costco cakes,
And a starling in Tehachapi.

*No, silly, not each other. They were kissing your mom, inducing a heart attack in your father. Don't you read the news?

Thursday, January 4, 2007

Eleventh Fob

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me
Eleven teachers teaching*,
Ten stalkers stalking,
Nine alpha entries,
Eight Mormons cussing,
Seven shoulders winging,
Six maids unmarried,
Four times a-fobbed,
Three Moral Peeps,
Two Costco cakes,
And a starling in Tehachapi.

*In a non-pedophiliac sort of way.

Wednesday, January 3, 2007

Tenth Fob

On the tenth day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me
Ten stalkers stalking,
Nine alpha entries,
Eight Mormons cussing,
Seven shoulders winging,
Six maids unmarried,
Four times a-fobbed,
Three Moral Peeps,
Two Costco cakes,
And a starling in Tehachapi.

Tuesday, January 2, 2007

Ninth Fob

On the ninth day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me
Nine alpha entries*,
Eight Mormons cussing,
Seven shoulders winging,
Six maids unmarried,
Four times a-fobbed,
Three Moral Peeps,
Two Costco cakes,
And a starling in Tehachapi.

*This is giving the Ninth Fob the benefit of the doubt, assuming a ninth one is coming shortly.

Monday, January 1, 2007

Eighth Fob

On the eighth day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me
Eight Mormons cussing,
Seven shoulders winging,
Six maids unmarried,
Four times a-fobbed,
Three Moral Peeps,
Two Costco cakes,
And a starling in Tehachapi.