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Hooray for vintage Mary Kay anything! I serve Kool Aid out of this coffee urn, made by the appropriately named Poly Perk, at my all parties. Mary Kay and Brownie Wise, who invented the concept of Tupperware parties in 1950 and was the first woman to appear on the cover of Business Week, are two of my biggest entrepreneurial idols. I’m brewing coffee in the pink percolator as we speak and will toast finishing another Kitsch O’ The Day as soon as it’s ready.

An owner before me painted over the lettering that was probably dulled from years of Windex and Amway products. Usually I don’t approve of such restoration but the paint is very lumpy and sparkly and adds more of that Mary Kay flair.

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How I’ve sold 50,000,000 records and still don’t know how to read, notate or play music is in part because of these beer can shakers. I can always rattle them into some groove that I can hum a melody or write a lyric to. See, all it takes is some uncooked beans and rice knocking around inside some vintage tin. I’ll have some Rheingold with that beat please! Works everytime.

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Not that we don’t need a toast to Peace but the last inebriant a hippie or flower child was thinking about was liquor in 1968 when this Bourbon decanter was unleashed. The incongruity of which is what pushes this 86 proof Limited Edition Royal Enfield Porcelain booze vessel by Maloney into the higher echelons of Kitsch. As is inevitable when a trend as powerful as hippydom sweeps the world, all bastions of the old guarde attempt to hop on the wagon and cash in.

I’ve collected about five each of these bottles and I’m always amazed at the glaze job on the hippie’s face – as if a full can of mace exploded and left him with that Michael Jackson skin thing. I could understand if one of my bottles was messed up but the burn victim look is consistent on all five. Which means the quality control guy at Maloney was probably out back smoking a joint when the bottles came down the line.

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I also love that the best thing the establishment could give the hippie to sit on was a garbage can:

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To peace!

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I see lots of green thumb inspired objects but this articulated fat fleshy hand is one of the best. This kind of molded hard plastic stuff kills me. And the green paint hugs the thumb perfectly like one of those stretchy self-adhesive rubber bandages. Holds just enough water to take care of my matching plastic plants.

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Kitsch konnoisseurs live for artwork like this, especially when on a garbage can. Companies too cheap to pay for the real thing but desperate to cash in on trends with generic look-a-likes, in this case David Cassidy meets Andy Gibb with a splash of Davy Jones type guys with superwiiiide bellbottoms, Victorian shirts and Beatles meet John Kennedy hair helmets grown moppier for the 70’s, all pasted on top of psychedelic oil blobby color stripes that represented a totally different kind of music than these kind of guys sang. Add to that numbers printed on the can that make no sense – 68, 44, 99, what?! – as if the art director was trying to add some pop and didn’t know where else to go. All the more perfect to throw your garbage in!

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There’s nothing more I like to do on Sundays than take rides. I stock the car like it’s a motel, all amenities neatly arranged within arms reach, and tool through LA and vicinity photographing and making strategic pit stops at my favorite soul food restaurants. I’ve always dreamed of having a tricked out camper to make my rendezvous even more comfortable and have a selection of front mirror danglers, mud flaps and chasing lights license plate frames already purchased should the happy day ever arrive. In the meantime, I content myself with camper memorabilia, of which this quaint porcelain plate is requisite.

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