You nerds better get some of these hand-stitched Vulcan oven mitts. I would hate for you to be reaching for a roast and accidentally burn the only woman you’ve ever loved.

What do you get for the person who everything? Everything except emotionally-scarring night terrors, that is. Duh, a handmade, three-faced flying purple people eater conjoined fetal skeleton. Love it, cuddle it, shower with it… he’s your newest forever pal. Frankly and thematically…

Jessie Wallin is slingin’ the giggles with skeleton babies and sidesplitting cross stichery .

I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but if your parents make you this dollhouse, they don’t really love you. Or you’re just totally poor and this is all the scrap cardboard they could scrounge up that hadn’t been soaked in garbage water in the alley behind the 7-11. In which case they TOTALLY love you… but I think all of your are super gross.

You can buy this beer tracking opener to tell you what an alcoholic you are. Or, you can just call your mom and she’ll tell you for free. Hold on. “Hello? Mom, I’m trying to blog. I need to call you back. No, I need to call you …I haven’t met anyone special…not since we talked yesterday and I was still single. Yes, I’m sure the internet is full of nice single men. Yes, I will grow my hair out. And stop saying the f word. Ok, gotta go.” Sorry about that.

Breastfeeding in public is so offensive to me. Making dick jokes in a public forum with all of the cuss words? Perfectly non-offensive. They’re called standards people, look ‘em up.

These chairs absolutely make me want to revisit my breakfast, which is very polite code for “barf my everloving guts out.” Why? Oh, there’s a reason why.*

*Just so you know, I didn’t look at that picture because I’m sure it’s SO FUCKING GROSS. But I used my Mad Internet Skillz to obtain it for you. You’re welcome!

Roses are red. Violence is, too. I got you these zombie chocolates because I love…zombie chocolates. I mean, I assume that since you’re vomiting that means you’re not going to be eating these, right?

You know why they had to write “Carl’s Beer” on this shirt? To distract Carl from the obvious alternative use of these multi-pockets. You know, for pocket fondling his schlong and gongs. His willie and wonkas. His frank and beans. His sausage and biscuits. His kirk and tribbles. His poke and emons. His dingle and danglers. His tamale and empanadas. His ping and pongs. His meat and potatoes.  His tardis and companions. His R and two D2s. His chicken and dumplings. His snake and gerbils. His sock and rocks. His tree and ornaments. His merry and go-rounds. His dave and lettermen. His cone and o’briens. His castle and grayskulls. His top hat and monocles. His raccoon and trashcans. I can do this all day. And – bonus – at that angle, the jizz will definitely shoot directly into your eye.

Why would I buy a rad-ass chicken fort for my chickens? Somebody should enjoy the magical childhood of which I’m planning to deprive my kids.

Via Pinterest

I hope they make a matching rubber mattress liner. The only way this bed set gets more disturbing is if the fitted sheet has an easy-access hole for your mattress’ built in flesh-light.