Proof Is the Bottom Line For Everyone

As a thrifty person in a room full of thrifty persons, I flip through the weekly common coupon collection at my desk every Monday, then I pass the collection to the next person. Since our situations are different and tastes couldn’t be more so, our savings needs seldom conflict. Yesterday, something in the flier caught my eye. I finished clipping what I needed, then went back. I put the flier on Lupe’s desk. I went back and retrieved it. After I left work, I tried for hours to find this picture on the website in copy – but no dice. So here it is, the image that made me sit in my cubicle and cluck like a chicken for TWO HOURS.
Click to to enlarge, I beg of you.

Because I love you and could not deny you the full-on, bloated horror that is the tasteless collection of figurines, I perused that site for hours last night. At no time did I feel the slightest urge to grab my wallet and spend like I found a shoe sale at Nordstrom. Hell, no. In fact, next time I decide, ‘You know, bulimia was a great diet plan,’ I’m headed straight for the Ashton-Drake Galleries online so I can bask in all the nauseating ways Native American princess figurines can alleviate our Trail of Tears guilt with the heady thought that we helped whole peoples depart from this miserable, impovershed and violence-ridden earthly existence to the glamorous afterlife and pretty, pretty conversion van fantasies. I’ll puke to that, friend!

As an added bonus, the site is filled with charming reminders that Jesus was a Jew, and Jews don’t make graven images, and in the second century I think it was someone else decided that wasn’t true anymore. So please. Get Jesus an Excedrin.

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