Wednesday, 6 August 2014

Lawn sale - come buy my awesome shit

and help save my great-grandma.

((This is another one of my stupid attempts at selling rubbish to my work mates. Studies show that there is a strong correlation between spewing nonsense and a fat wallet.))

When - this Saturday from 8am until 1pm. Early birds will be subject to my wife’s death-stare. And you may be forced to listen to one of my 4 yr old son’s stories about how he found a toy car under the lounge that he hasn't seen for ages (we love him dearly but dental surgery is less painful and time consuming).   

Where – my house.

Why – raising money for my great-grandmother’s hip operation. Or to fund my saucepan addiction. Whichever strikes me as more important on the day.

What – lots of great shit that you really can't do without, including:

Big rotary hammer drill – good condition - I’ve only ever carried it around with no shirt on to scare the god-botherers when they visit. 
Trampoline with a few springs missing. Way too dangerous for my kids but I’m sure yours will love it.
Bench press with leg and pull-down attachments - I’m getting too muscular and need to stop. 
Sony camcorder. Sorry, no home movies included.
Juicer, hardly used (I’m sure you’ll love it and use it every day)
A brand new 20 litre saucepot. Hey, it was on sale and looked so pretty. Stop judging me.
Four of those annoying scrub turkeys – going free if you can catch them. I’ll even help you pluck them and promise not to tell the authorities.
Zoo pillow – for breasfeeding on. No, I didn’t make that up.
And…I should really write things down...there’s lots more, I’m sure of it. Why does no-one warn you about memory loss when you’re 17 and a bucket-bong is your best friend?

It seems Google is unable to read my mind when searching for images of "man drill abs". Pathetic, Google.  
Questions – I have tonnes of them. Like, what do vampires have against garlic? Is there really no cure for being an arrogant prick? And what exactly is Kim Kardashian famous for? If you want to answer these, or even ask me a question, come along on Saturday and chew the fat.

Why haven’t you listed any prices? Because being vague and obtuse is my thing. And the whole point of having a lawn sale is so people come to your house and haggle rather than you do all the work for them. Honestly, does Harvey Norman/Costco/Walmart provide useful information or customer service? No, and I think that’s something we can all learn from. And besides, I haven’t decided on prices for everything yet because my wife is a world champion haggler. Once in Thailand she managed to make an 85 year old crippled man cry by convincing him to sell her a hand-crafted ivory elephant statue that had taken him 6 months to complete for 300 baht. And she hates elephant statues.

If I come to your house will there be a jumping castle/sausage sizzle/free booze? There’s a chance there may be all of those things and more. Personally, I wouldn't leave it to chance – bring your own and enough for me too.

Disclaimers – All references to a “grandma” in this posting are of a fictitious and facetious nature. I do not have a grandma with a broken hip, and even if I did, I would not use her for financial gain or sell her to complete strangers. Unless, of course, there was a particularly shiny saucepan on sale that I just had to have.

I also don’t condone violence toward protected animals, even if they do dig up our garden every day and could possibly be quite tasty in a curry. Curried scrub fowl…mmmmmmm.

The 85 year old Thai man is also a figment of my imagination. I was just building up my wife’s talents to intimidate any potential bargain-hunters/cheapskates. Seriously, the only thing we’re giving away is our Saturday morning. And the scrub fowl.

Update - I see by the number of views that we’ll either get over a thousand people stomping through our garden tomorrow or you people are toying with me and building up my hopes of some crazed bidding war over whatever we haven’t nailed down. That’s great if it happens, but under no circumstances are our children for sale.

Email requests for me to walk around carrying the drill with no shirt on are flattering, but seriously, incandescent flesh isn’t helpful when you’re trying to get people to hand over cash and not flee in horror. Unless your customers are like that moody bird from Twilight – and no real person is that messed up.  


9 comments:

  1. I had to hire an estate sale company to deal with my parents' stuff. A normal sale takes them a week to set up...this sale will take two, and they'll need to use the yard and house. "Borderline hoarding," the guy called it. Borderline?

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    1. I laughed, then had to take a look at your blog to make sure it wasn't a deceased estate. Safe to laugh again.

      Liver pate sounds good. Cheers.

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    2. Yes--technically speaking, they're going to have a moving sale. But here, when everything must go, as they say, it's typically called an estate sale regardless of circumstances.

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  2. Often when I judge a man and trying to work him out, I think could I share a prison cell with that guy and stay sane. Chips you are that man, you would fit right in with the lunatics I hang out with. Never take life seriously unless you have to. Admit it mate, your'e as batshit as me. It's the only way to stay sane in this asylum known as the world. That's my excuse anyway.

    Eddie

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    1. Unfortunately, I know what you mean. If only the definitions of bat-shit and lunatic weren't so subjective.

      I feel very sane and can't see any evidence of lunacy among the lowcarb team either.

      But I would say that.

      Cheers.

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  3. I like the way you write Mr.Chips. My good friend Lord Beantipper sends his regards.

    Monty first began to dabble in the black art of low-carb during his brave and splendid navy days, which were chiefly spent stalking the Norfolk coastline aboard HMS Bumrush. Having witnessed widespread deviant depravities amid the seamen, and deeply concerned about his own growing love of amatuer dramatics, Monty became suspicious about the effects that the high-carb navy rations were having on the crew.

    The final straw came when a late night session of "poop deck conga" turned particularly nasty, compelling Monty to seek refuge in carbohydrate restriction. With his inclination towards voting Liberal Democrat swiftly cured by ketosis, Monty promptly left the navy and was eventually washed up on the beach at Lowestoft. From that day forward, Monty's voting habits were staunchly Conservative. The kinky devil.

    Roger 'Keto warrior' Jenkins

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    1. Morning, Roger. I've never witnessed a session of poop deck conga but I can't imagine it ever not turning nasty.

      Monty sounds hardcore. You sound as sane as Eddie. Drop in any time.

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  4. Good morning Mr. Chips

    I have always adopted a somewhat low-key, stealth-like approach in my promotion of low-carb; Monty, on the other hand, was always incredibly dogmatic when it came to publicly voicing his forthright views about caloric ratios. While I was content making 'pro-active' speeches during my celebrity appearances to open yet more supermarkets in Haslemere, Monty craved the kind of low-carb limelight that only television could provide.

    During the spring of 1996, Monty began a full-frontal media blitzkrieg by hijacking a BBC News bulletin and delivering an impromptu rant about the hidden dangers of fructose, immediately followed by a lighthearted sexual assault on Moira Stewart. Then came Monty's brazen snatching of Patrick Moore's monocle during a recording of 'The Sky at Night', which not only provided some much needed publicity for the 'pro-active' low-carb cause, but also served as a direct protest against Patrick's overt fondness for Mr Cadbury's 'Wispa'.

    However, Monty's love affair with the small screen finally came to an abrupt end in November 1998, when he was punched unconscious, live on air, by an enraged Noel Edmonds, who was riled at having witnessed Monty gate-crash his 'House Party' and assault Tony Blackburn with an aubergine.

    Forever yours.

    Roger 'Keto warrior' Jenkins

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    1. The number of people and places I had to look up to make sense of this was considerable, Roger. You're lucky I like you.

      Low-key and stealth like is also my style. Assaulting someone with an eggplant is something I can't see myself doing unless absolutely necessary. I wouldn't totally rule it out, of course, but it'd probably be a little more discrete than Lord Monty.

      Every team needs a Monty, I believe.

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