Mom's Owl Collection, Volume 10!

Mojo's Favorite Mother's Owl Collection, Volume 10

The Rock and Pseudo-Rock Owls!

Mojo does not know or remember or particularly care if her Favorite Mother's Owl Collection was something her mother actually wanted to collect, or if it was intially or subsequently foisted upon her by a large family desperate for ideas for holiday gifts to give her. All she knows is, now her Favorite Mother no longer wants or needs or desires her Owl Collection. So Mojo's Favorite Mother cunningly foisted these things on her Forgotten Middle Daughter, in a pretense of supporting the Craptacular, but we all know the reality is, it saved her a trip to the dump. And now these things are cluttering Mojo's house instead of her own, heh heh heh. Now you see where Mojo gets her cunning, cleverly wrapped as it is in a verbose folly of ineptitude and greed. And you can also see, perhaps, that Mojo is no match for her senior when it comes to wheedling manipulation and distraction techniques while foisting crap upon a gullible subject.

Ya know, trying to muster excitement--or even vague interest--in my Favorite Mother's Owl Collection has quickly devolved into a draining, repetitive task. ("What excitement?" Craptacular readers are now asking themselves, and I will thank you to keep your snarky comments to yourself.) You would think that now, when I can see the end in sight maybe three or four auctions away, I would be filled with a new enthusiam and attack the task with Mojo's typical gusto. But no. I am just tired of owls. Sick and tired. This is no comment on you should you happen to love love love owls for whatever reason. Mojo is just getting tired of trying to say the same thing in new and interesting ways, and it is showing since, oh, I'd say about Volume 2. But Mojo perseveres, if only to stop her Favorite Mother's wilting glare when she asks if her owls are disposed of yet. (I'm GETTING to it, Mother! Honest!)

This group I'm calling the Rock and Pseudo-Rock owls, because (oooh the logic!) they appear to be carved from some sort of rock-like substance. The only one I'll bet the ranch on is the littlest one, however. He looks pretty rocky to me. I'm thinking some sort of tan marble or quartz, although the ten thousand rock hounds out there will be quick to point out that it's really "igneous extruded percolite" or some other string of Latinate words to make me feel stupid. The tall one might be some sort of rough sandstone (cue another string of Latin to make me feel even stupider), but then again might be some sort of molded clay material that looks like sand. The third one, the black owl perched on a branch, is even more dubious. Mojo suspects it is cast from some sort of resin, but she does not know for certain. It could be some sort of black rock for all I know. If you think I can be bothered to take these items to some sort of lab and spend hundreds of dollars for a definitive analysis of their composition...I'm afraid the answer there is "no". I'm not going to. I really have better ways of spending my time and money than trying to figure out what my mother's owls are made of or where they come from. All I care about is where they are going, which is anywhere out of my house. They range in size from about an inch or so tall to about three inches tall, so it's not like they're taking up that much space, but, well, you know....

It is all I can do to bother churning out all the Certificates of Craptacularity for these fellows nowadays. Yet I do it. Why? Because it is in the Craptacular Code of Honor. No matter how dull or vile or cool or weird an item is, it deserves a certificate. It is this small attention to detail that separates Mojo's crap from all the other crap out there. That, and Mojo's whining rants about her pathetic life. But I tell you--the upcoming Sheep Collection is much shorter and more of a fluffy stuffed animal nature. It will be a welcome change from the owls. Why? Um, because it's sheep. And not owls. Yeah. Thats the ticket. Oh, drat, what have I gotten myself into? MOM! ....