Fistful, things could be worse. A few years ago, my 90 year-old parents bought me a Harley Davidson clock for Christmas. It was about 12" wide, had photos of different Harley's at every hour mark, had a huge honkin' Harley Davidson logo on the face, was illuminated and, worst of all, it made a roaring sound at the top of every hour.
It went into my wife's rummage sale the following spring.
Got you beat by a long mile. A poor, dear woman at church gave us a little clock, mounted on a silver-framed picture of the crucifixion. You know how some crucifixes are gorier and more dramatic than others? This one was. Then you plug it in, and the blinking lights come on, circling the Passion of Our Lord. That thing was so tacky, I wanted to keep it forever, just to treasure its abominable camp. But the wife sold it or threw it out, or something, without my knowledge. I'll get her, one day.