Due to various circumstances beyond Mojo's control--because, really, this world would be PERFECT should Mojo be given the power to control EVERYTHING about it--she is still driving the Deathtrap, Consequently if she wanted to continue her running streak of law-abiding, she would have to get this potential block of compressed aluminum inspected by the end of the month.

To make things even more interesting, the state has decided recently to crack down on inspection garages who are just handing out stickers like so much largesse, meaning the law-abiding stations must be more diligent for a while in not letting things "slide". Which means that vaguely questionable vehicles such as my own probably won't pass if given this fine-toothed comb treatment.  MORE Mojo! »

If you wish to support the Craptacular, one way would be by buying a yearly subscription to the site. It's only five bucks. Subscribers get the Google Ads taken off, which of course leaves more room for Mojo's incessant whining.

If I can't persuade you with my incredible copywriting, here's my mom to put in her two cents:  MORE Mojo! »

So Thursday afternoon there was a brief break in the rain, and I ran outside to run some errands, and Mrs. Yellowthroat was off the nest.

As usual, Mojo's worrying (thus far) is all for naught. And what a difference a day makes!

 MORE Mojo! »

Two things, neither of them of any huge consequence. But Mojo enjoys her fretting.

First, ever since they've hatched, it has done nothing but RAIN TORRENTIALLY upon my helpless squirmy little spudlings. Mojo thinks this can't be good for them. Even if Mom sits on the nest and protects them--which she is--the little guys have to eat eventually. If they are like chickens they have a couple of days while they finish off the yolk so they don't have to eat (that's why chicken farms can ship them off and they can survive in the box). In fact when you get baby chicks through the mail the first thing you have to do is teach them how to drink. But these warbler nubbins aren't fully formed fluffballs, but instead nekkid little pink things that can't even raise their ginormous heads.  MORE Mojo! »

Okay, how's THAT for a teaser?

What follows (surprise, surprise) is a long, boring digression until you get to the good stuff.

Christmas was nice. The whole family was there. Among other things, Mojo got a plain white envelope with fifty bucks cash inside. Her Favorite Mother said it was so she could buy herself some DVDs.

Meanwhile, what do the Favorite Parents receive? Well, one adopted brother who works as a flight attendant (Mojo's Favorite Mother is always adopting our friends when she decides she likes THEM better than US, and then starts inviting them to all the holiday get-togethers, and said adoptive children further outclass us biological ones in this fashion) gave them buddy passes to spend a weekend in Amsterdam. Mojo is plumping for the Parental Units to stay at one of those Urban Legend hotels that leave joints for you on your pillow in lieu of chocolates.

And then the Favorite Younger Sister--okay, I'm not sure if this is part of their Christmas present or just bribery/largesse on her part, but the talk of the day was their impending cruise with the Barenaked Ladies, for my Favorite Younger Sister, who actively stalks the band, has insinuated my Favorite Mother among the fan base (where she is known as Barenaked Grandma) and I THINK paid for both Mom and Dad to go on the cruise with her. Well, Mom because she is Barenaked Grandma, and Dad because, well, if you think for a moment he's going to let his wife go on a cruise surrounded by nubile young men in various stages of undress alone and unchaperoned you've got another think coming.  MORE Mojo! »

While yes, the untimely death of Steve Irwin was sad, I have to admit whenever I watched him on TV (which was rare, since Mojo lives out in the sticks and is too cheap to spring for satellite) what always went through my head was NOT "Gosh, isn't he brave" or "Gosh, isn't he stupid" but rather a familiar chorus from childhood of my mother harping at us, "Leave the poor thing ALONE!"

While granted some of my mother's concern was due to the desire for her children not to get bitten by wild animals, much of it was also a concern for the humane treatment of the animal itself, and her desire that her angelic children not needlessly torture said animal. While she tolerated us catching things and showing them to her--and ONLY reptiles and amphibians; heaven help us if we brought a mammal home--her response was always something along the lines of "That's nice, now go put the poor thing back before you give it a heart attack." We were instructed from infancy that wild animals want to be left alone, that they are afraid of humans and attempting to pet them or handle them was extremely traumatic to the "poor things".  MORE Mojo! »

Mom's Stuffed Cats!

Okay, so Mojo is going to try to make this brief since it'll be the last Craptacular auction until she gets back from vacation. So if this is somewhat slap-dash, it's because Mojo doesn't really care. Mentally she is already swinging in a hammock somewhere. Of course there are those who argue that mentally she is always somewhere else anyway, somewhere that doesn't require intellect beyond tying one's shoes (and even then it's the cheater's way that Mojo learned, by making two loops and tying them together instead of making the one loop and wrapping things around somehow. Mojo never learned how to do it THAT way).  MORE Mojo! »

More of Mom's Plaques Foisted Upon Us!

No, Mojo's Favorite Mother did not paint these. Either they were purchased or just given to her as gifts. And after keeping them for however many years she has kept them, she now feels the need to part with them. Why now? Sigh. I don't know. Mothers can be inscrutable that way. I discovered a long time ago you are far better off just nodding and smiling at them and occasionally grunting "uh-huh" if there is too much blank space. But you DO have to pay attention somewhat, or before you know it you have volunteered yourself for some charity service near and dear to Mom's heart. And you just KNOW when your mother says "Really, it's just this tiny little bit--you'll be in and out of there within an hour" you have just destroyed an entire day, and possibly the day before, helping to set up and heaven only knows what else. And while you're doing that of course there will be some sort of crisis and everyone will be throwing their hands in the air and while Mojo is going along with the crowd saying, "Man, that's too bad" you will hear that chirpy motherly voice you know so well saying "Wait a minute! MOJO has a pickup truck! We can have MOJO drive over and pick the stuff up and deliver it here! You'll do that, won't you, honey?" and everyone starts smiling and thanking you while you just stand there wondering what happened. Because one moment you have a feather duster in your hands and the next thing you know you are lugging cinderblocks with some fellow you don't even know, who has so obviously gone to the Tow Truck Driver's School of Weirdness and who seems utterly determined to scratch your poor little truck's paint job. But I digress.  MORE Mojo! »

Mojo's Favorite Mother's Various Stabs at Artistry

Mojo's mom is a quilter, we all know, and quilters, if you don't have the good fortune of knowing one, are a Breed Apart, an eccentric and fun group of (mostly) ladies who can kill their own snakes, as the vernacular puts it, although to be perfectly honest Mojo likes snakes and does not appreciate those who blindly kill them just because they happen to be snakes. Spiders, too. Both spiders and snakes play important respective roles in the ecosystem and for the most part just want to be left alone and try to run away from humans as soon as they can. Mojo's Favorite Mother of course is responsible for passing on this Boundless Love for All of God's Creatures--so long as Mojo's blood is not spilled, of course--and I always thought that the following anecdote was indicative of the sort of open-minded and fair person Mom was and is. For according to HER, Mojo's Favorite Mother was actually afraid of spiders and snakes, but she did not wish to pass this illogical bias on to her children. So when we were kids, Mom used to encourage us to handle daddy longlegs--who, granted, Mojo now knows are not actual spiders but a type of arachnid called a Harvestman--and would sometimes let them crawl on her to actively show us they were harmless. Snakes were another matter, for as try as she might she never got over her fear of them, but when she encountered one in the garden she would just calmly walk to the house and ask one of us to temporarily remove the fellow from her presence. And once when I was young and stupid I accidentally stepped on a very large rat snake that was sunning itself and got very badly bitten. My mother was afraid, since I was in hysterics, that I would grow to be afraid of snakes, so all the way to the doctor's office (for a tetanus shot) I was lectured on how it was my thoughtless actions that caused the poor snake to have to defend itself. So by the time I got to the doctor's my snivelling was substantially reduced and indeed later that summer my dad specifically took me out snake-hunting (just catching them, not hurting them) just to make sure there were no ill effects from my traumatic encounter. I did not realize that was what he was doing until in retrospect, but we all know some of us are rather slow on the uptake.  MORE Mojo! »

What is evidently turning out to be Toy Week continues with another blast from the past! Mojo is again shocked this did not sell. You'd think she'd be used to it by now, but instead she takes it totally personally and after she has finished sobbing out her eyes she plots her revenge while poring over the old description, wondering what might have gone wrong.

Like this marvelous brain-building musical mat for your wee bairns. Perhaps calling it "annoying" may not have been the best choice of works to describe this item. So instead of blabbing on about how smart and precocious Mojo was when she was a tot, instead I will instead waste your valuable time and divert your attention from the item in question by describing the very first paying job I ever had. Which was being a toy tester for a certain nationally-known toy manufacturer who resided just one town and one state over from where Mojo grew up.  MORE Mojo! »