Yes, now you can show off your patriotic fervor just in time for Independence Day with these! These are George and Martha Washington plaque-type wall hangings. The person who gave me these has no idea how old they are, except that "they're old". They were hanging on the wall in her mother's house while she was growing up. So they are at least fiftyish, since that's how old the giver is. Here's what the backs looks like—no clues there that I can see....

This smug fellow needs a good home. And, more importantly, he needs someone to change his karmic destiny and show him that money isn't everything. Not that Mojo sees anything wrong with making money and enjoying the fruits of one's labors, or even necessarily winning the lottery and basking in a bathtub full of currency. (Well, she does have a problem if people think they will actually become clean doing that, but hygiene aside it sounds like one of those fun foolish things one should do at least once in one's lifetime.)

Mister Qwackers the Magical eBay Duck!

Sometimes for instruction and illustration and just to tread water for a while (for Mojo is nothing if not lazy) I like to haul stuff that did not sell back out into the light and try to resell it. Modern advertising and copywriting prides itself on its ability to sell anything to anyone, no matter how crappy it may be. So I am occasionally determined to rid my house of certain objects, and to play the game properly I must do so on eBay.

....Yes, you read correctly....

Ya know, despite the Craptacular name, sometimes I sell things that are actually quite nice.

This is not one of them.

This is about as "What were they THINKING?" as they come. And this time, dear Craptacular reader, I must place the fault not with the giver—who no doubt had the exact same open-mouthed reaction that I had when I first saw this—but instead on the shoulders of whatever heartless corporation and/or creative committee or starving artiste that first came up with this object d'arte.

Mojo's unhealthy tendency to tweak authority (a tendency shared with her siblings, despite their protests of innocence--don't believe them for a second!) probably stems from her father. Woe to the child who had to sit next to Dad in church! Dad was full of helpful pointers to get us through the service. "Look reverent," he would whisper if he caught us fidgeting. "Like this—" whereupon he would assume the pose of a thousand oil paintings of Jesus praying in Gethsemane—upraised eyes, serene loving expression, the whole nine yards.

(Item note: I put down the item's condition as "New"--frankly I don't think there's too many people out there who might want to buy used food....)

This is the sort of awful, awful gift that certain members of my family live for. Yes, I know, some families get together and volunteer at a soup kitchen. Some families get together and dictate the mores of fashion and good taste so the rest of us know what to wear and how pathetic and inadequate we are. And then there are those families, such as mine, who scour the globe looking for gifts to bestow upon their relatives. Gifts like this.