just read this description of an item on ebay

[Suriel Zayas]

i'm still bent on the floor cracking up.......


Why can't you find many Collings guitars on Ebay? Because nobody wants to sell them there to special.

"Collings 000-H 12 fret Indian Rose wood guitar with mahogany neck and slotted headstock. Adirondack Spruce top, it has a 1 3/4in nut. Upper bought measures 10 3/4 inches lower bout is 15 inches. Individual Waverly tuning machines, 6 pearl fingerboard inlays, with hard shell case. This guitar was over $4000 new. Its been a working guitar so it has a few nicks here and there. It has some baby teeth marks on it where my pet pig chewed on it. She loved it when I played and puts her head on my feet when I do. Once while I was playing it I went to get a phone call and she jumped up on the sofa and decided to finish the song. I had no idea a little pig could jump so high."

[tom]

very nice. a good pig will do that.

[irish blues]

A pig roast would be in order!!!!:rolleyes:

[dannopelli]

Now that's some funny stuff!

[Road King]

I've only sold about 30 or so items on ebay, but I have never come close to that creativity in an item description. Bet that dude writes interesting song lyrics.

[ConnemaraGuitar]

Reminds me of a joke/story with local roots. Regards a Philadelphia news reporter looking for a story in Lancaster. PA (or it could have been Intercourse) and an Amish farmer. The punchline is...

No, I cannot reveal the punchline without the whole story. If anybody wants to hear it, I'll pass it on.

Last summer, I was selling a treadmill on Craigslist. In perusing similar items, I came across the following:

Haunted Treadmill $250.00 or best offer

Three months ago on a Sunday, I was spending the Sunday the same way I spent all my Sundays, reading the obituaries, doing the jumbles and checking out real estate that I cant afford in neighborhoods I wouldn’t want to live in. I came across the death blurb of a former jet setting starlet who enjoyed all the fame and notoriety a pretty young actress could in her early twenties in the early forties only to be condemned to mental institutions and rehabs till her death. The article chronicled her biggest hits including Reckless Lady, (the very film that shot her into stardom), The Secret Secretary and Rich Girl-Bad Girl.

The dirge stated only that she had died of natural causes and that there was to be an estate sale at the family mansion she had deserted fifty years earlier.

I decided it was in my best interest to spend the better part of a work day, its nice to be salary, researching my newly deceased starlet hero and getting plans together to trek out to the burbs for some celebrity trash picking. My sister drove in from New Jersey to join me since she too loves other people’s trash and is slightly indifferent to death.

I learned that after three or five years of relative normalcy, if you consider philthy rich and tragically fabulous normal, she moved into the spacious and empty family mansion we were on our way too that Tuesday. The mansion, then still in its prime, was immaculately cleaned and decorated by a full time staff for the first year she occupied it. Throwing her looks around at parties and her money around in all the hot department stores she seemed to be following the A-lister guide book to a T.

Within the second year at the mansion she went from tragically fabulous to plain tragic. She fired the entire staff, traded her designer duds for the guise of a pauper and had even been arrested for prostitution when she had sacks of money in every bank in town. The former mansion staff had gone on record stating their suspicions of human possession and even poltergeists in the house.

My sister and I took our time through the mansion eyeing up the eyes of enormous oil paintings and checking every bookcase and fireplace for secret passages. To no avail.

My sister left with a vintage tea set and cart and I toted out a not so vintage, quite new looking actually, treadmill. Thinking nothing of how dingy, old and covered in dust every other item in the house was I felt quite pleased with my quite new looking old purchase.

Having tucked my purchase safely away in my finished basement, miles and miles away from memories of human possessions and blatant madness, I was horribly shocked by the sick and scary twist fate had laid at my feet in my very own home. Three desperately scary, traumatic and horrific months later, I'm still fat.

There is something totally f*&%ing wrong with this thing.