I’ve always preferred Old Testament God over New Testament God. Smite makes right, I always say.  But that was before I discovered New New Testament God. He’s not a vengeful God or a forgiving God. He’s a fucking bat-shit crazy God. No, no. This chef isn’t the Antichrist. Ronald McDonald still has that gig covered. Look at the lower right corner. That’s breast-milk cheese, the latest greatest thing in New New Testament God’s creation (i.e. Brooklyn). And don’t worry, according to this NYP article, it tastes pretty much like cow cheese. So, you know, the benefits are obvious. Don’t question New New God’s wisdom! Or the way he applied those almond slivers to that cheese ball. His cheese balling is beyond reproach. Amen.

Via Buzzfeed, The All-Knowing.

There are three bears in this bowl and one cougar at my desk. Seriously, lock up your ‘tweens. This kitty cat is on the prowl…statutory rape style.

I suppose I could have as easily titled this post “Boos and Don’ts,” but that wouldn’t allow me to point out that on the Frenchy-French site where I found these fantômes, they are in a product category labeled “Doudous.” I can only assume that doudous are exotic, sophisticated  albino poos and not something un-bathroom related that I’m too lazy to look up on google.

These cards rock my letterpress off. Why am I wearing a letterpress? It’s the new chastity belt, didn’t you know? Well, that and my pink puffer vest from Gap. Heeeeey.

P.S. I hate the Olympics. Completely unrelated, but I thought you should know.

We Southerners love our bold, straight-talk sayings as much cowgirls love pantyliners with extended wings. That’s why I’m thrilled to hear that at Subversive Cross Stitch you can mail-order a new cross stitch pattern book featuring Southern sayings like “Mean as a snake” that you can make your damn self. Of course, a few of my personal favorites didn’t make the cut. Like, “I’m not retarded, I’m just lazy,” and the oh-so-popular, “I can’t think while I’m hating you: please die.” Oh, I don’t want give short-shrift to “I’m mostly dead inside.” And my mom would kill me if I left out “Where’s the beef?”

In true Etsy fashion, the title for this soap is very succinct: Tits and Ass Soap – Boob and Butt – Birthday Gag Gift for Men – Mature. I’d like to point out two things.

1. No man will appreciate any version of tits and ass that gets smaller the more you rub it.

2. There’s only one type of gag gift men really want, and it has a lot to do with gagging, but nothing to do with soap.

I’ve definitely always thought that hand-blowing gives you AIDs. Not for the first time, I’ve been proven right. Artist (and probably in most states, felon) Luke Jerram creates surprisingly beautiful and pointy hand-blown glass versions of HIV. If you think a condom is stopping this emeffer, you’ve got another thing coming… and, surprise, it’s AIDs.

You know what I never get tired of looking at? Aside from plus-size beatdowns? Myself. But profiles are b-o-r-i-n-g. How about an action pose like the one I created this morning when I tried to soothe my shaven lady parts with aloe? Only to discover that aloe burns like a bitch? So to recap, I want me fanning my barren wasteland while hopping around like an idiot. On a mug. Question: Is that too much to ask? Answer: Never.

These are chairs made out of real New York street signs. How can tell? Easy. They smell like urine, talk to imaginary people and they’ve seen Jumpin’ Jack Flash, like, 18 times. Plus they totally love crack.

This side table melts on your couch, not in your hand. *Rim shot* But seriously folks, as a kid, I used to keep the boogers I didn’t eat on the wall behind my bed. But as an adult, this seems like a more sophisticated spot. And since this amazing table was painstakingly hand carved from oak, I feel the need to promise all the boogies wiped on it will be hand-picked at the peak of perfection by a white-gloved hand with its pinky out – all while watching BBC America in the formal living room, of course. That is where all the sophisticates do their nose picking.