Category: Pics
At Least He Can Still Lift Milk
Face Plant

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Every morning, I look in the mirror, and I see that little frown line that won’t go away, no matter how many hundreds of moisturizer bottles and creams and serums that I’ve used for twenty years. They all promise reduction in wrinkles and improved skin appearance, and definite results within 8 weeks, but I’m here to tell you that not a one of them has ever worked. Ever. This is not an invitation for you to comment about how great your skin care regimen is, because I won’t believe you.
With my long blonde hair now, I look like a surfer Gordon Ramsay, or perhaps Gordon if he was ever a hippie/stoner/metalhead. He actually had a professional come in and tweak his face, but seriously, he still looks old and wrinkly. But he’s got a great head of hair and an expression like a chunky nine-month old Aryan baby, so that works for him.

Honestly, I look better than his “after” picture, but that doesn’t prevent me from wanting to get a sander and just smooth out those creases in the manner that I wield an iron against pleated chinos. I mean, if Sharron Stone can do it, why can’t I? Oh, yeah, she’s a millionaire. And she still has smile lines that look like they could snap like a dried rubber band at any second.

Still, she looks better than most of post-surgery Hollywood. Every time I consider Botox, I remind myself of Meg Ryan and Melanie Griffith and the “chin ladies,” Suzanne Somers and Priscilla Presley, who seem to have injected gravel into their chins, quite the opposite of smoothing:


We want our celebrities to be the beautiful people, eye candy, the standard-setters of beauty. We need something to aspire to, right? I have to admit that last month when I watched The Way Way Back (to see Steve Carell because all the world loves a Steve Carell), I was a bit offput by Toni Collette’s ability to move her facial muscles all across her face. My first thought was, “Why is she letting herself be in a movie for all the free world to see–with a forehead as crinkly as all get-out?” But then I decided that it matched the character of the everywoman, so it made sense, and why shouldn’t she be allowed to just look like an average human being, warts and all? Perhaps she has already had something done, but at least she doesn’t look like a Halloween mask. I’d rather watch her moving parts on the big screen than hear the chin ladies deny rumors of plastic surgery.

As for myself, I think it’s time to trade in my Oil of Olay for something more results-oriented:
Tiny Bubbles
Look closely (double-click) and you can see the fizzy carbonation shooting up into the air!
I really don’t understand how people can cut out soda in their diet. Soda makes me so happy. Despite the empty calories, the caffeine, and the high fructose corn syrup, I still delight in those tiny bubbles. And, no, mineral water/club soda is not the same. At all.
When The Sun Goes Down On My Side Of Town
Marriage
a lot of this:

and sometimes this:

Here Comes The Sun
Dilly Bars & Hungr-Busters
The Higher The Hair, The Closer To Jesus, Part I
However, Blinda’s Leaning Tower of Pisa is probably closer in proximity to The Pope. She’s certainly giving Deb a run for her money.

Teasing was involved on both of these Mary(s), and it appears as though a hairpiece or extension was haphazardly lobbed at their heads, with no regard for rhyme nor reason.

Donnita’s lithe neck can barely support the combined weight of coif and hardened Aqua Net. Any minute now, it could snap like a twig.

I don’t know what to say about Kathy. All I know is she’s in this yearbook twice. Same name, same pic, so it’s no misprint, people. Kathy with a K. Moving on…

Bless her heart.
From the saucy smirks of the Nix Twins to Dennis’s kind eyes (which seem more 48 than 18 years old), to the barrel of whiskey hidden beneath the teased bleached locks of Regina, this pic does not disappoint.

I hate it when people say they gave 110% effort, because there is no such thing as more than the absolute total that exists. Having said that, Linda gave 110%. Have you ever seen a waterfall after a hard freeze?
But Travis. Sigh. Travis Isom, Travis Eyesore, old boy–what were you thinking with that unibrow? Read the page; Seniors Try Harder! You should try harder with some tweezers. Or a razor. This is unacceptable, Travis. Shame on you. Why couldn’t you have copied the simple brows of J.C. and Mike (who BTW, look pretty retro 50s greaser for a 1967 yearbook, if you ask me)?

And the winner of the most interesting hairdo is…Beverly’s ratty flattened mess, complimented by insanely dark arched caterpillar brows! You can bet David wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole! She smells like cigarettes and Binaca breath spray, and that scares the pee out of him. Does someone have a ladder so we can climb up there and crown her?
Fill ‘Er Up

A new Fort Worth Premier gas station opening in 1962 depicts great customer service for all your Chevy Impala’s needs. A sister photo reflects the steep price of gas at just over a quarter per gallon.

And check it out: Buy 8 gallons of gas and for only a dollar extra, you get five place settings of fine imported silverware–enough to invite all three attendants in straw hats, as well as the two girls in modest swimwear, heels, and mod flips.
Everybody Cut Footloose
Except you, awkward white people. You need to stop.

The fine print says “Get free dance booklet at your Career Club dealer.” To those of you in your sixties (who were alive in the 60s), is that where you learned your dance moves? Your Career Club dealer? I bet your drug dealer could teach better moves. Stiff and forced, Milton practically begs for a bottle of Schlitz to loosen him up–his hand is already in position. Why, in ten minutes, he could be a poor man’s Davy Jones! I don’t recall ever seeing “the skate” performed on American Bandstand, and I can pretty well rest assured it was never on Soul Train. It looks less like skating and more like “festive ways to fart.”









