Monday, February 2, 2026

From the Cellar: 23.3.25

On the Shelf:

Behind the Counter:

₵$35 Ghost Tobacco (20)

₵$3 Rare Minerals (g)

₵$20 Bloody Mary

₵$16 Fine MRE Spice (g)

₵$50 El Dorado Green (1/4)

₵$10 Magic Coat Hanger

₵$8 Black Meat (g)

₵$46 Cleansing Ale

₵$1 Slut Root (kg)

₵$293 The New Shampoo

₵$30 Marital Aid Potion

₵$480 Four Pack of Beer

₵$25 Quetzalcoatl Feathers (doz.)

₵$20 Democracy Honey

₵$5 Blue Roses (doz.)

₵$20 Level Up Fig

₵$27 Mythril (oz.)

₵$87 D.C. Datura

₵$4 BZTCN

₵$58 Sex Doll Goon Sack

This Week's Special:

It was Michael's birthday and he asked that nobody get him anything. Liam gifted him an expired fire extinguisher with $20 taped to it.

Michael said: 'You, uh, you shouldn't have.

Liam smiled: 'That's all right.'

'No, you really shouldn't have.' Kristy glowered. 'The fuck'll we do with an expired fire extinguisher?'

'It's a conversation piece. Simply place it somewhere visible -' Liam's demonstration is coffee table. '- and your guests with natter high brow.'

Liam's use of 'natter' raises Kristy's hackles but he is right. On three occasions, Fire Sale by Liam has prompted small talk of investment portfolio variety.

'... Trump got preppers cooking MREs...'

            '...another batch of Beer coming up...'

                        '...he just kept pumping Sascha...'

These conversations steer widely around the expired fire extinguisher on table.

Kristy wants Fire Sale by Liam out of the house but it is Michael's so he gets to choose its swappings. Michael agrees: whoever buys this conversation piece is, likely, wanker. This is not artwork for venture-capital bros, this is chintzy for hobbyist entrepreneur. The buyer will pose as innovator and not very well.

That market is Frankie.

Frankie had an unwanted four day weekend. It started typically hungover but Saturday and Sunday were perfectly balanced between productive and recuperative. Monday morning surprised with nausea and Frankie called sick before vomiting water and spending twenty-four hours in sweating toss-and-turn. Tuesday's further tummy issues were most likely hunger.

Excess (but necessary) sleep kept Frankie awake for five hours of Tuesday's bedtime. When she hit REM she hit hard: a tropical resort where claymation Jordan Petersons played poker, badly. They did not point most of their cards towards themselves.

Frankie played and her winnings became the first-things-first water bottle on bedside table. Now those who sip on Water Bottle (Name Pending) will glimpse purview of their hypothetical next child's life. It is snapshot akin to hovering mouse over adult film offered in list, if they still do that. Frankie does not want kids.

That market is Michael, who has been binging Spy X Family.*

 

* Despite it not being very good.