International Animal Swag. Hurrah.

Thanks to Cynthia at "Big Ass Fans" in Kentucky, I had a nice little package waiting for me at the post office today. Oooh, mail, how I love thee. Particularly if you're not bills, summonses or sticky little pizza flyers. For the ever-so intriguing backstory behind Big Ass Fans, visit here and check the comments for how it came to be that I had this little nugget in my mailbox today. You're back? Okay, so Big Ass Fans is nothing dirty(drat, you might be saying), but instead, a fan company. With a donkey as a mascot. And with Refrigerator Perry as a spokesperson (always thought Maytag or someone like that would be a more natural fit, but hey, what do I know?) The tidy little box contained a t-shirt (below) and three little stress balls (stress asses?) like the one to the right. Methinks this little gal will become my new road trip mascot (accompanying Barkley, of course), seeing as she is from the spoils of my last little highway foray. Ottawa, here we come on Friday.

Oh, the description on the web site describes it as a squeeze toy, rather than a stress ball. My bad (do the kids still say that these days? Hm, I wonder).

The Big Ass Squeeze Toy

Need some relief from the stress at work? Now you can release pent-up frustrations playing with your very own Big Ass.

When you're at your wit's end and about to go postal, simply grab your Big Ass and squeeze it, knead it, caress it, slap it, or make funny sounds with it. The tensions melt away.

Need some brevity to explain a simple concept to your boss or co-worker that they just can't seem to grasp - and yet you don't have any graphs, charts, or illustrations handy? Simply show them your Big Ass, suggest they give it a big kiss -- and the concept you have been trying to get across to them will become readily apparent.

Has your boss or co-worker had a hard time keeping their hands off your Big Ass? Tell them to quit playing with yours and buy their own right here.

Oh, the hilarity that is sure to ensue in the office tomorrow. And I think I'll call her Ane -- with one 'n', not because she's trying to assert her individuality or her 'alternativeness', but because, well, just look it up in a French-English dictionary already, will ya'. With the road trippin', I think she'll need some good shoes for walking. Perhaps not mules.

Alas, SCS has already suggested (some might say, strongly) that it might not be the wisest thing that I wear this shirt around her in public. Anywhere. Oh, how the list of my sketchy-slogan-ed t-shirts continues to grow, from "I cut the cheese in Wisconsin" to "That shirt says Porn Star!" and "Take me to the nookie" (replete with little, grinning aliens) . My favorite one I don't own simply had a picture of Ron Jeremy and said, "Daddy?" Smooth and/or classy. Definitely. Yeah.

The run on grey t-shirts from places starting with the letter of the day -- K -- continued with SCS's swell delivery of a Tusker shirt directly from Kenya. Tusker, my favorite beer (sweet, sweet beer...). And the back says "Baada ya Kazi...", or "After Work..." in Swahili for those of you who are a little less linguistically inclined. She also brought back a soapstone elephant from Tanzania, which I adore. It has a nice, reddish pink vein running through it. And it's strong like Bull. Elephants and beer, how can you possibly go wrong? Unless, of course, the beer tastes like elephant. Or like ass.

Above: The Back. Below: The Front. While you'll potentially have to forgive my spelling, the other Swahili I learned is that "taco taco" refers to each of your bum cheeks. As such, I'm hoping Taco Bell does not open a franchise in Tanzania, however closely tied taste would be to name. Collectively, your posterior would be referred to as a "wowowo". Not to be confused with punda kubwa, or Big Ass.