<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631611531795085188</id><updated>2011-04-21T17:42:51.193-07:00</updated><category term='Nanton'/><category term='extinct'/><category term='shameless'/><category term='cowgirls'/><category term='ceramic'/><category term='book'/><category term='flask'/><category term='bizarre beverages'/><category term='pennants'/><category term='ashtrays'/><title type='text'>Ridiculous Objects</title><subtitle type='html'>Dedicated to appreciating all the ridiculous objects made by humanity.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Juliet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14608306376738962815</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOKTgpt9sdI/AAAAAAAAABQ/C0E5V3hRGgM/S220/profile+pic.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>7</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631611531795085188.post-8521466646184705885</id><published>2008-11-04T09:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T09:52:15.992-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ashtrays'/><title type='text'>No Smoking (Except When You're Smoking)</title><content type='html'>My friend Michael found this ridiculous object several years ago in a hotel somewhere, and immediately was confused by the message it sent:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SRCJJX8NPeI/AAAAAAAAACo/PhYlj6gSW6M/s1600-h/nosmoking1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SRCJJX8NPeI/AAAAAAAAACo/PhYlj6gSW6M/s320/nosmoking1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264858758534479330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;"No smoking. Yes, this is an ashtray. No Smoking (but if you do, use this ashtray.) Remember, no smoking (just make sure to put your ashes and butts here.) But don't smoke! No smoking allowed (except when you're smoking.)"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SRCJA9cvLPI/AAAAAAAAACg/l0iwnqCb8YY/s1600-h/nosmoking2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SRCJA9cvLPI/AAAAAAAAACg/l0iwnqCb8YY/s320/nosmoking2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264858613984210162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;As an ashtray, it is perfunctory at best. Sure, it has those little notches along the edge to... do what exactly? Keep your cigarette away from someone else's? But here's the rub: unless you're smoking 100s, the super long cigarettes, your cigarette slides into the bottom of the ashtray instead of resting in one of the notched areas. So, you've been warned about not smoking. If you choose to ignore the warning, well, it's not going to be your most pleasant or comfortable cigarette.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8631611531795085188-8521466646184705885?l=ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/feeds/8521466646184705885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8631611531795085188&amp;postID=8521466646184705885' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/8521466646184705885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/8521466646184705885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/2008/11/no-smoking-except-when-youre-smoking.html' title='No Smoking (Except When You&apos;re Smoking)'/><author><name>Juliet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14608306376738962815</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOKTgpt9sdI/AAAAAAAAABQ/C0E5V3hRGgM/S220/profile+pic.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SRCJJX8NPeI/AAAAAAAAACo/PhYlj6gSW6M/s72-c/nosmoking1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631611531795085188.post-8141069056256720913</id><published>2008-10-29T11:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T09:55:06.469-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ceramic'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flask'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='book'/><title type='text'>The Gift For Him</title><content type='html'>It's 10:30 pm, and the wife went to bed an hour ago. You are a middle-aged man and you were finishing off some of the day's work in the library when suddenly you find that you're thirsty... but the wife frowns upon drinking alcohol. Your eyes scan the bookshelves loaded up with classic tomes and alight on one in particular. "Ah," you think and pull down the ceramic book flask off the shelf. With great difficulty you manage to get the stopper out (you wouldn't want any spirits in there to dry up, now would you?) You pour a glass, sit back and sip. The cares of the world melt away.... no one reads those old books anyway, so who is going to figure out you're hiding a flask amongst them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SQiwtC2usUI/AAAAAAAAACI/fFDzumaznqY/s1600-h/gift+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SQiwtC2usUI/AAAAAAAAACI/fFDzumaznqY/s320/gift+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262650452489449794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This ceramic book flask tries to give off a sense of affluence but fails miserably, especially from the front. Please excuse the crappiness of this photo. My camera was designed for taking pictures of people and buildings, not small ceramic objects. With a little imagination, a whole picture can be created. The image features a hobo who is falling-down-drunk, clinging to a lamppost for dear life, with a bottle of spirits jutting out of his jacket pocket. Yes, a hobo. His hat is floppy and his jacket doesn't fit. Is the lamppost also drunk, or did the hobo crash into it and break it? The image below is a ribbon, which states in a fancy red cursive font: The gift for him". Is there an implication that all men are drunken hobos at heart?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SQiwi4IrFXI/AAAAAAAAACA/53eR7QURh3Y/s1600-h/gift+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SQiwi4IrFXI/AAAAAAAAACA/53eR7QURh3Y/s320/gift+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262650277813228914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the view from the spine. It appears to be a compilation of five different books, which are:&lt;br /&gt;The Concise Dictionary&lt;br /&gt;Bright Spirit&lt;br /&gt;*** (It is literally just three stars)&lt;br /&gt;RYE&lt;br /&gt;Modern Book Depot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems that dictionary is indeed concise, and while the 'Bright Spirit' and 'RYE' and even the stars make sense, one can only guess what 'Modern Book Depot' is all about. Unless there is an implication that all modern books are 'depots' for the booze.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found this ridiculous object at a local junior high four years ago which was holding a garage sale in its gym. Can you believe the seller only wanted 50 cents for this gem?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS I promise to get better photos as soon as possible.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8631611531795085188-8141069056256720913?l=ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/feeds/8141069056256720913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8631611531795085188&amp;postID=8141069056256720913' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/8141069056256720913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/8141069056256720913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/2008/10/gift-for-him.html' title='The Gift For Him'/><author><name>Juliet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14608306376738962815</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOKTgpt9sdI/AAAAAAAAABQ/C0E5V3hRGgM/S220/profile+pic.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SQiwtC2usUI/AAAAAAAAACI/fFDzumaznqY/s72-c/gift+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631611531795085188.post-6522403083283989918</id><published>2008-10-05T10:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T09:18:44.668-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='extinct'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bizarre beverages'/><title type='text'>Floatz, Not Orbitz</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOj7nBfkZHI/AAAAAAAAAB4/GyTZ4qKIFwM/s1600-h/orbitz.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253725613161997426" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOj7nBfkZHI/AAAAAAAAAB4/GyTZ4qKIFwM/s320/orbitz.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In 1996, I saw a beverage at the grocery store that I couldn't believe. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Clearly Canadian&lt;/span&gt;, a beverage company, had released a new product. Here was a drink with actual floating chunks in it! I had to buy it; and picked the most ridiculous flavour available: pineapple, banana, cherry, and coconut. Those are all strong flavours, would they really mix successfully together?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But mainly, having chunks of anything in something I'm drinking is generally a bad sign, no matter how innocuous the chunks may seem. Yes, okay, there are exceptions, namely mini-marshmallows in hot chocolate. But even though they are tasty bits of sweet, the texture leaves a lot to be desired. It's gooey in a slimy way. You just suck those back immediately or you wait for them to melt. I imagine those white globules are quite like mini-marshmallows, except they rest in suspended animation and defy gravity. They don't actually orbit anything as the name of the drink implies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a brief period where I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;almost&lt;/span&gt; opened it and drank it, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. This beverage is plain creepy. I've been waiting 12 years and those globule-thingys are still floating!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img alt="" src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/COMPAQ%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" /&gt;http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orbitz_(soft_drink)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8631611531795085188-6522403083283989918?l=ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/feeds/6522403083283989918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8631611531795085188&amp;postID=6522403083283989918' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/6522403083283989918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/6522403083283989918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/2008/10/orbitz-backwash-or-balls-you-decide.html' title='Floatz, Not Orbitz'/><author><name>Juliet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14608306376738962815</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOKTgpt9sdI/AAAAAAAAABQ/C0E5V3hRGgM/S220/profile+pic.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOj7nBfkZHI/AAAAAAAAAB4/GyTZ4qKIFwM/s72-c/orbitz.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631611531795085188.post-3931593478271559896</id><published>2008-10-02T12:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T09:54:06.434-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nanton'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pennants'/><title type='text'>Ridiculous Objects: The Early Years</title><content type='html'>I received the following pennant when I moved away from Nanton, Alberta in 1983, from a friend at a going-away party. At the time, I thought the pennant was goofy and I would have preferred something for my Barbie or a book. But, ever gracious, I said thank you and brought it home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOUdBWOzJ7I/AAAAAAAAABw/JqJr9fGdYss/s1600-h/pennant.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252636449382279090" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOUdBWOzJ7I/AAAAAAAAABw/JqJr9fGdYss/s320/pennant.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My slightly older cousins saw this and laughed their asses off. For here, we have a day-glo orange moose (or elk? I think moose have thicker antlers and the hump on the back of the neck) crossing a cool mountain stream in the middle of a refreshing and shady forest. It's kind of what you would picture for Western Alberta, what with the Rocky Mountains and all, so it's funny when you realize that Nanton looks like this:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOUc4YGeGFI/AAAAAAAAABo/1I_zoSX_NWs/s1600-h/nantonaerial.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252636295265392722" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOUc4YGeGFI/AAAAAAAAABo/1I_zoSX_NWs/s320/nantonaerial.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Nanton, Alberta is a prairie town about 40 minutes south of Calgary. There are farms and cows and grain elevators. There are a profound lack of forests, cool rushing streams and day-glo orange moose. When my cousins pointed this out, I was not ever able to get rid of this pennant. I think this is the first ridiculous object I collected.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8631611531795085188-3931593478271559896?l=ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/feeds/3931593478271559896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8631611531795085188&amp;postID=3931593478271559896' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/3931593478271559896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/3931593478271559896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/2008/10/ridiculous-objects-early-years.html' title='Ridiculous Objects: The Early Years'/><author><name>Juliet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14608306376738962815</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOKTgpt9sdI/AAAAAAAAABQ/C0E5V3hRGgM/S220/profile+pic.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOUdBWOzJ7I/AAAAAAAAABw/JqJr9fGdYss/s72-c/pennant.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631611531795085188.post-7096755749023735640</id><published>2008-09-29T16:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T16:26:40.552-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shameless'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cowgirls'/><title type='text'>Shameless Cowgirls</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOFgF_nSbKI/AAAAAAAAABE/1Gx3pQ3nYmE/s1600-h/No.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOFgF_nSbKI/AAAAAAAAABE/1Gx3pQ3nYmE/s320/No.1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251584296582540450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This cowgirl is sort of an exhibitionist. Her shirt barely fits, but it manages to cover part of her chest. She's hoisted up her skirt high, even though the dog is her only audience. It seems for some exhibitionists it's about letting it all out, no matter who is around to see it. However high she's lifted her skirt, at least we can't tell if she's 'gone commando', not like the other cowgirl:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOFf9NMMhAI/AAAAAAAAAA8/0XpVnU3Da1E/s1600-h/No.2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOFf9NMMhAI/AAAAAAAAAA8/0XpVnU3Da1E/s320/No.2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251584145608180738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In Australia I believe that is what is known as 'chucking a gappie'. I think she's extremely drunk as well. It's anyone's guess as to which will be more painful: her hangover, or her memories of the evening (I did WHAT???)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to the women at the Cook Street Village Pharmasave  for letting me take these pictures.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8631611531795085188-7096755749023735640?l=ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/feeds/7096755749023735640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8631611531795085188&amp;postID=7096755749023735640' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/7096755749023735640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/7096755749023735640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/2008/09/shameless-cowgirls.html' title='Shameless Cowgirls'/><author><name>Juliet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14608306376738962815</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOKTgpt9sdI/AAAAAAAAABQ/C0E5V3hRGgM/S220/profile+pic.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOFgF_nSbKI/AAAAAAAAABE/1Gx3pQ3nYmE/s72-c/No.1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631611531795085188.post-4059982978987880352</id><published>2008-09-22T17:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T17:35:34.348-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No matter how you paint it, it's still a Crown Victoria</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SNg5sQMpl0I/AAAAAAAAAAk/jFRF-Ran6QE/s1600-h/crown+vic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SNg5sQMpl0I/AAAAAAAAAAk/jFRF-Ran6QE/s320/crown+vic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249008798125365058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This once-proud police car appears to have been rehabilitated by some aging greasers who value comfort in their vehicle but still want people to know they are tough and shouldn't be messed with.&lt;br /&gt;Even the flames that grace this car are mellow. Or maybe some wanna-be gangsta was only able to get this type of car and not a tricked-out Cadillac or 1980s Malibu. Let's hope this is a work-in-progress.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8631611531795085188-4059982978987880352?l=ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/feeds/4059982978987880352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8631611531795085188&amp;postID=4059982978987880352' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/4059982978987880352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/4059982978987880352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/2008/09/no-matter-how-you-paint-it-its-still.html' title='No matter how you paint it, it&apos;s still a Crown Victoria'/><author><name>Juliet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14608306376738962815</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOKTgpt9sdI/AAAAAAAAABQ/C0E5V3hRGgM/S220/profile+pic.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SNg5sQMpl0I/AAAAAAAAAAk/jFRF-Ran6QE/s72-c/crown+vic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631611531795085188.post-2743749787186316772</id><published>2008-09-20T15:17:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T12:26:39.446-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What Really Happened to the Dinasaurs</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SNV2lgmLsXI/AAAAAAAAAAc/C71kUUlmqaU/s1600-h/dinasaur.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SNV2lgmLsXI/AAAAAAAAAAc/C71kUUlmqaU/s320/dinasaur.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248231327547502962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This snow dome is special for many reasons. First, and foremost, the plaque denoting the animal within has spelled its name wrong. Second, were dinosaurs ever found in alpine regions? And third, if you are bored with just looking at it you can make a game out of hooking those coloured Olympics Rings around its neck. It's not as easy as it looks, folks. I also really enjoy the dark shading on its underside.&lt;br /&gt;Who made this??? And why??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8631611531795085188-2743749787186316772?l=ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/feeds/2743749787186316772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8631611531795085188&amp;postID=2743749787186316772' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/2743749787186316772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8631611531795085188/posts/default/2743749787186316772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ridiculousobjects.blogspot.com/2008/09/this-snow-dome-is-special-for-many.html' title='What Really Happened to the Dinasaurs'/><author><name>Juliet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14608306376738962815</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SOKTgpt9sdI/AAAAAAAAABQ/C0E5V3hRGgM/S220/profile+pic.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S1O8eWe_6Yw/SNV2lgmLsXI/AAAAAAAAAAc/C71kUUlmqaU/s72-c/dinasaur.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
