Michael Wood first came to Portland Oregon (aka Mt. Bikeorgymustachehumper) in search of the exceptionally rare Tri-horned beaver snake, in hopes of spurring a business marketing Tri-horned beaver snake finger socks, an idea so unique its originality was only surpassed by its uselessness. To this day, not only has nary a single Tri-horned beaver snake been found, but, not a single human has ever even thought about adorning their fat digits with socks (tri-horned beaver snake or other) prior to putting on a glove. A near dorkade after throwing in his crunchy towel on the finger socks idea, Michael, at the end of his creative rope, tossed the last remaining finger sock prototype into the Westmoreland park pond. That would have been the end of the story, hold for the serendipitous moment that followed. A one-eyed and rather inebriated duck came listing by, bottle in wing, yelling "Hey, hey Willie, I found my wallet! Fucking Julie said she fed it to the god damn turdles. I'm done with interspecies mating attempts, they just don't understand how we ducks roll! Curse the heavens, who were we supposed to pork with these crazy long corkscrew penises anyway?" "Well, Yummy D, other ducks I would guess, but that's just not enough for you is it?! Is it, is it, Yummy D?!" To Michael, most of this very dramatic duck exchange was superfluous, except for the the evolution of the finger sock to a wallet. The idea expanded in his mind instantly, or, well, almost instantly. It went exactly like this, "finger sock, duck wallet, hmm, duck fat, yum, hmm, duck dinner, crap I am hungry, where's my wallet, shit, where did I put that thing, oh meaty duck fat, yum, man, I'm hungry, a big boy like me has go to eat, ducks, hmm, ducking christ where's my wallet, wallet, wallets, I'll make walnuts, er, eh, wallets, wallets that's it!" Smart and ethical thinker he his, he grabbed that well drunk, one-eyed duck (now swimming circles whilst crying from his one eye) and took him home to solidify an equitable business plan to monetize their shared idea.
|Michael finishing up contract negotiations with his first partner, Yummy Duckofferson|
The cornerstone of Tinymeat's engorged booty quaking bubble butt rump shaking shop are the Billfold Art Wallets. These bad boys bring the Stiles to your cash stash, your meat seat, the junk in your trunk and the funk in your skunk, "Wait, what the crap does any of that mean?" It means these wallets are six times awesome and we've clearly been watching way too many Rudy Ray Moore movies. We at Mixed Species have a super soft spot for the Weekender design, it brings together much of what we hold dear: vans, fams and parental funishment of children by Dad's asinine attempts to embody an Ed Abby character's life for the brief weekend hours. The one real issue we see with sporting one of these fine billfolds, there is about zero chance of a chick not asking you for the number of the dude that made such masterpiece when you pull it out pay the tab.
Commanding a sea of fantastic designs like a modern Ahab.
Heading up the group, our fave ocular slayer, Martin Ontiveros, bringing the Three Eyed Dagger of Doom.
Justin Scrappers of Grass Hut fame busts the Let's Go (slay balls, yes that's how we refer to camping, our trips have been known to get real rural at moments).
Mikeatron brings in the classic barficorn.
Another fine example of Tinymeat kicking the MS guys in our stinky sweet spot is what we refer to as the Stabbin' Cabin Overnight Bag, granted Michael has opted for more palatable title, Vantastic No. 1 pouch. As a side note, one of our pork partners and fellow Etsy baller, Betty Turbo, finds the word "pouch" oddly hideous and cringes every time it is said, so, go mess with her on that front if you have the chance, you can do that at the following places: her blog, her Facebook (contact us directly for her phone number). Back to the Stabbin' Cabin Pouch, If it was just a bit bigger we'd shitcan our plans to load it with roofies n' space crack and rock this dirty mother (shut yo mouth!) as reusable sandwich bag. It'd be perfect for the days I attempt to sneak into Taco Tornado's school as a fellow student. Speaking of school, back to school, old school, new school, shit I didn't even go to school, go pick up at least eight of Tinymeat's pencil and zipper cases for your stinky demon spawn. If you don't, your child will absolutely join a gang, rob, start a cultish church and sell drugs to innocent chipmunks. Those little bastard chipmunks just can't say no, they are rumored to have a "nut in, nut out" policy, which is not only exceptionally painful, but, let's face it, simply not much help to their stated plan of growing legions of chipmunk armies to control the world's park system.
What does this have to with Michael of Tinymeat? Nothing, dumbass, he's a duck man!
The quality of Tinymeat's vinyl products are second to none. We attribute this not only to his clearly conceptualized and super well executed product but to his unique and downright amazing approach to their creation. Hold on to your shorts dear readers, this is gonna blow the piss right out of your ear balls.
A true Portlander, Tinymeat, starts the production part of his day around four in the afternoon by exposing himself to mass quantities of art and interesting imagery in Bud Clark fashion, hairy and naked.
After topping off his tank with mental stimuli, Michael, a firm believer in "reduce, refuse, reuse" spends the rest of the evening consuming copious amounts of empty, sterilized milk jugs. When the morning lights just crests Mt. Hood you will find Michael, naked, in his back yard vomiting what can only be described as half chewed dog rawhide into the large black tank, Michael refers to as "Genesis". Michael then tosses in spools of thread made from his own hair, dances around Genesis, and chants something indecipherable for a few hours. After this scene, which one can only describe as hotter than Joan of Ark's last moments on earth, he reaches in and pulls out not only fully finished products but a usb drive with perfect photos and solid quippy descriptions for his Etsy shop.
How the fargin hell did even this level of a craftyass muthersquirter come up with something so insane? No ICP nardlickers, it was not miracles, while we've got your short spanned ICP attention, magnets are not miracles and most people in this world, hold for you, know how they work. That said we have no idea how Michael pulls this magic off, but the below image leaked to us from world renowned crafting double agent, Deep Scrot, shows Michael being lovingly fed a corndog from an all too familiar crafty master.
Tinymeat sports a fan base more dedicated than Anthony Wiener's wife, who unwittingly also became a dedicated fan after confusing Michael's shop name with her less-than-better half's screen name.
Chelsea Clinton says of Tinymeat, "Call it a revolt to my parental authority, but I love Tinymeat"
Vera Katz eloquently said of Michael, "Floating like beacon of hope among a sea of mustache growers and mustache lickers doing neon towel dances to monolithic mini statues of Pabst Blue Ribbon cans sits a true original muthalicka named Michael Wood aka Tinymeat. God, what has happened to my dear city? Nevertheless, what I would give to mount that mammoth stallion!"
Herve Villechaize aka Tattoo, of Fantasy Island says of Tinymeat "It's a brand I feel exceptionally comfortable with. Had it been around during my life I would have happily stumped for Tinymeat as I do in the post life."
Last and least we the Mixed Species guys give Michael and Tinymeat all twelve of our magical stinky thumbs up. Seriously we love this guy, I may go so far as to say I'd eat the balls of a charging rhino just to see him smile. I mean look at that picture of him with duck, how can you not cry your stinking little face off looking at the cutegasm in that picture?
This dude is gold! Give him your money, kids, blood, flowers, whatever, give it now.
Hey kids, this is Face McSpecies stepping in here at the end of this review for a little "Outro". I have spent the last few years correcting Hairy McSpecies' grammar, aggro-hippy-punk douche slang and removing entire paragraphs at a time that would of had him immediately jailed for his own protection. It is now time to let our little hairy ballerina of words spread his wings and soar. I hope you thoroughly enjoyed his penchant for mass confusion and run on sentences. Do not worry, I will wade in arm and arm with him on the next few reviews. It's just fun every now and then to sit back and watch an artist be an artist! And as for Tinymeat. We watched this guy blow by us years ago. Now we will have to be content trying to catch air off his wake on the shitty little knee-board we call Mixed Species.
Go here right now or we'll never be friends again
Hairy D. McSpecies