I don’t know which is worse: the unblinkingly sinister overeagerness or the SmartShopper^TM 301 Grocery List Organizer. Even the name is overcomplicated. It’s voice activated and sorts over 2,500 preloaded groceries and household supplies alphabetically or by category. But, you know what else can make and sort lists? My brain. And I don’t need to read an instruction manuel to figure it out. It runs on booze and tacos.

Here’s a little Pleasant Holidays with the Family tea – each leaf hand-selected by Jim Jones – to make your Thanksgiving extra fugue-state-y. I’m sure it will be just the thing to keep the sibling stabbing shallow and non-life-threatening. As for the Be a Better Parent tea, I’d say play it safe and just go ahead with that abortion.

This a choose your own adventure post. If you are a total nerd, proceed to post A. If you are no longer a virgin, proceed to post B.

Post A: I always wondered what kind of mugs they had in the break room at House Harkonnen. I take my face pustule ooze gooey with two sugars, please.

Post B: Finally, a mug that helps you out with those post-coffee urges. You know what I’m talking about. Diarrhea. It’s got a butt plug for your diarrhea. Man, that nerd post is way better. Too bad you’re so dumb.

Bonus Post: * makes fart noises with hands*

Drinking wine straight from the bottle (or, in your case, the box) is totally déclassé. Drinking it from a wine glass fused to the top of the wine bottle? The height of elegance. I heard Kate Middleton has three.

Just in case the mere thought of the Badder Girls has fogged up your bifocals, that mug reads “I hate your shoes (please go away).” I’d like to say that once the coffee inside the mug is consumed I’ll be nicer, but let’s face it, I’ll just be more energetically bitchy.

You have to feel just a bit sorry for the One Gallon Flask. After all, it is the world’s most pointless fluid receptacle. Oh wait, I just remembered Courtney Stodden. Giant flask FTW.

To each shmers own, but the only motorboating the Milk Jug inspires for me is an intense desire to stick the eyeball part of my face into the turning propeller of an actual motor boat. Product note: the jug is refillable with “animal and vegetable milk.” Well, since you put it that way…Thanks for ruining cereal, lattes and, oh yeah, everything ever.

PS – In case you’re wondering, “shmers” is not a typo, but my attempt at creating a multigender pronoun. It’s called mental masturbation innovation.

Frat boys and their 16-shot Battleship drinking games. Battleship sucks. Just chug all sixteen shots and skip to the part where you order a dozen pizzas, question your heterosexuality, wake up spooning and wonder whether you popped your butt cherry or just pinched off a really huge dook.

Recycleart is turning old knives into bottle openers. I’m not going to say these aren’t lovely. I’m just going to say that asking a girl to choose between drinking and stabbing…that’s going too far.

Traditional anniversary gifts are so outdated. Paper? Wood? Who do I look like, David the Fucking Gnome? From now on, the anniversary list looks like this:

1st: Indelicate Doilies. Because you’ve been together long enough that you hate each other, but not long enough to lose your sense of possession territorialism.

5th: This is the iPhone anniversary. So you can text the people you’re having affairs with on the sly while you pretend you’re playing Angry Birds. (You’re stupid, so Angry Birds is more believable than Words With Friends.)

10th: Negative pregnancy test. Nothing says love like the mutual realization that you’d rather die than have another shithead kid running around. Also, you probably just missed your period because of fibroids or because Jesus likes to fuck with you.

25th: Weed. The kids don’t live at home, so now’s when you incorrectly remember that you used to be cool and pathetically try to recapture your free-spirited youth in the same vein as my lovable scamp of a boyfriend, Dan Conner.

50th: Divorce papers. Just like the opposite of your herpes, the flame is no longer burning. The only reasonable question is, what took you so fucking long?

via the caffeinated and pulpy Brandon Smith