Someone call Prince, this guy needs some Pussy Contro-o-o-l. Meet Craig of Caboodle Ranch. He runs a stray cat sanctuary in Florida. There’s a cat named Fuzzy Nuts, this clipart and an entire town of cathouses. If I were you, I’d head on over and donate. It might be the only tail you get all year.

I did a report on Clara Barton in Mr. Avery’s 6th grade English class, therefore I’m an authority on this Red Cross-esque Folding Picnic Set. It also makes me an authority on sawing the legs off of wounded Civil War soldiers. Honestly, it’s just like cutting wood. Well, it is when you’re doing it very seductively and your saw slips a few inches to the north.

One of the only cool things about the stupid town where I grew up was the bats that flew around at dusk. Maybe with this bat house I can entice some of the little bastards to live in my yard and be generally awesome and adorable. Plus I can probably train them to steal packs of cigarettes from the 7-11 by freaking out the clerk and snagging Pall Malls with their feet. And then I can sell those cigarettes to underage neighborhood skanks for a mad profit. Have a problem with me ripping you off, you flat-chested little bitch? Then take it up with my fucking army of TRAINED BATS! But first let me borrow your Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers, please. Mine ran out on Tuesday.

How I miss the days when green was a color and not a superiority complex. Listen, losers. It’s lame enough that no one these days will buy a house without it being zoned for a fucking chicken coop in the backyard, but a modernist Chicken Crib? I hope you die. Really. I hope you move into your fucking bungalow with your hipster spouse and your kids named Flannery and Pope, try to sustain your pathetically self-conscious lifestyle on a diet of twigs and rocks and chicken eggs from your own backyard in DALLAS or BROOKLYN or NOT GODDAMN APPALACHIA, THERE IS A GROCERY STORE TWO BLOCKS AWAY and die a slow, painful death from malnutrition. And then I hope your chickens fly the coop and eat your corpse. Because processed mac and cheese is fucking delicious. EVEN THE POWDER KIND.

Fortunately, Bea Arthur’s old diaphragms aren’t going to waste. You should totally buy this and own a piece of history. I heard they were once grazed by Abe Vigoda wiener.

Apparently, there’s a hotel in Sweden that’s nothing but tree houses. And this one is completely made of two-way mirrors so you can see out, but no one can see in. Which is a good thing because the forest floor can only handle so much wildlife puke.

Stylish and disposable?! It’s like Megan Fox in a paper plate. Only difference is, this plate’s not getting drilled by David Silver.

via Share Some Candy

As though corporations weren’t doing enough to ruin nature for us, here are some branded roses from Blue & Bloom. I predict these will be as boring and pointless as customizable M&Ms. On the upside you guys can finally ensure your lady gets the message when you send her a bouquet. Do you think “by smelling this you agree to blow me” will fit on a rose petal?

Not unlike me, this plant survives on oxygen. But quite a bit unlike me, it doesn’t eat entire bags of beef jerky for lunch. Though I imagine it would if it could. Now, who’s up for a YooHoo?

This Wheelbarrow Chair has a birch plywood base, steel bracing and stainless steel nuts — officially making it more manly than any of you bitches.