It’s under 100 degrees in Dallas today, which means I’m thinking fall. And it’s a day that ends in “y,” which menas I’m thinking about beating things with mallets. Throw in a few cookie cutters and you have a seriously easy way to decorate pumpkins, gourds or hobo skulls.
Um, I meant fake hobo skulls. Just in case my parole officer is asking.
This book has only one page: Pussy Willows.
Flameel, Flamazle, Flamingo Pink Incorporated!
If you, too, have been wandering the earth for millennia in search of the holiday-themed yard flamingo that will free your eternal soul from it’s Earthly shackles, today is your lucky day. Flamingo Pink has enough stick-legged seasonal schtick to force open the gates of heaven. Just throw a few of these into the clouds outside the pearly gates, wait for Jesus to run out with his shotgun yelling to get off the lawn, then run into the open arms of paradise.
Choose from Skelemingo (above), Santamingo, Turkeymingo, Eastermingo and the rest.
Watch out people. Hipster-dom is the new toilet seat AIDs…it’s just randomly lurking on the insides of pink hats and mustaches and bike chains and in the fatty parts of bacon.
This is called “A tree and a white bike in a tiny bottle” but your boyfriend calls it “A tree and a white bike in a normal-sized dick jar.”
I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’m not afraid of wasps. I’ve been stung multiple times in my life including one time when I actually fell onto a bee. I’ve also been pricked by cactus and had birds poop on me more times than I can count. And people still try to convince me the bird poop thing is good luck. Oh yeah? Let me take a dump on your head and we’ll see how lucky you feel.
Wasp Trap, $29.95
These cloth napkins come on a tear-off roll just like paper towels. Except they’re machine washable, eco-friendly and apparently the company was founded by Tyne Daly.
via Real Simple
This whole set is totes adorbs. The site I found them on is in French, so I can only hope they were inspired by, like, the couch Lizzie Borden hacked her Dad’s head to a bloody pulp on or something so I feel like less of a pussy for liking them.
I have no idea where this image came from, aside from one of my pally’s Facebook pages, but I’m posting it because I’ll be goddamned if that’s not a badder home found in something you grow in your garden. And that, my frenemies, is called Winning This Motherfucking Blog. My success feels just like I thought it would: heart-burny with a hint of yeast infection.
Edit: Reader Erin Z be smarter than I is. Broccoli House via Colossol. Thanks, fox face!
