Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon this week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.
Okay, guys—what’s with all the turtles this week?
Two from Facebook, three in my inbox, one from a non-typo, and one that just . . . happened.
I even bashed my foot walking past Shelley (the Turtle Formerly Known as Ouch-Damn-It-My-Toe), which I haven’t done since we hauled his sixty-five pound concrete carcass out of my usual migratory path.
If the random generator of the universe is stuck, can we nudge it towards World Peace and more Jeremy Renner movies?
Just asking . . .
Turtles with ‘Tude—and Costumes
Pretty sure there’s a drinking game in here, somewhere . . .
(Thanks, Anastasia, Lisa, and I think . . . Jodie? Except Jodi usually shares hedgehogs . . . )
(Why, yes, Kev, I was alive when these guys were born—thanks so much for the reminder)
It always pays to stop and eat the dandelions.
I believe my husband would be happy to pay a couple of turtles to eat our dandelions, upon which this summer’s drought hasn’t made a dent.
It turns out that if you try to track down the origins of a turtle image on i can haz cheezburger?
by googling “turtle cheezburger”
and you accidentally don’t misspell “cheeseburger,”
Google gives you some . . . interesting stuff.
Don’t worry, they aren’t real Bacon Cheeseburger Turtles.
They’re Bacon Cheeseburger Mockturtles.
The recipe, such as it is, can be found here
If you try it, please let me know how it goes,
because I don’t think the Wesson family will be trying them anytime soon.
My husband prefers not to ingest cholesterol bombs if he can help it—must be a yoga thing—
and Watson has indicated by gagging sounds that she’s not really into the idea, either.
Janie is probably game, but cheese frightens Sunny
and I know better than to ask my MIL.
A Renaissance Turtle
In chainmail, no less.
I know, I know . . . but I want one, anyway.
. . . And a Python
Because genius like this much be shared, regardless of one’s own particular . . . idiom.