Oh yes, my children. Even in the sanctuary of the cozy mom-n-pop coffee shoppe I found myself in this past weekend, there are creeping signs of The End to Come. Gaze now at our peril:
Imagine, if you will, the tiny little immigrant woman, stitching day into night and night into day, on tiny little down coats for bears. How does she not kill herself, how does she look into her own eyes!?!?!?!? Well ... I guess if my family got free soy no-whip lattes every hour on the hour, even I could be a whore for the Bad Guy.
Onward. Astute Armageddon-spotter Lee Ann sent me these two items.
Wait, let me catch my breath.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! What the blue hell is that thing?!? A doll, baby bear thing. You know I love dolls, right? I mean ... I just ... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I'm having involuntary spasms and urine leakage. I gotta go cry somewhere.