Normally fake food is a total let down. If I’m in an antique mall sifting through 15 booths of Faberge eggs and moth-eaten mink stoles with the heads and feet still attached and I turn the corner to find a table spread with more deserts and goodies that you could shake a dick at, I don’t hesitate. I dive in, arms flailing and teeth masticating. And if that food is made of poly-resin? Let’s just say I have a mouth full of crowns and a deviated anus that say the results ain’t pretty. Side bar: who the fuck buys fake deserts? Is it for masochistic diabetics? I don’t get it. But I do get this awesome birthday cake postcard. It makes it look like a drunk left cake in your mailbox and boy are drunks festive.

If I wanted an internet meme stitched on a pillow, I’d skip the double rainbow and demand Antoine Dodson. The rainbows are nice and all, but are they gonna protect you while they’re rapin’ errbody out here? I don’t think so. With Antoine under your noggin and your kids, wife and husband securely hidden in the panic room or corpse hatch, you’re free to sleep peacefully. Didn’t you ever wonder why “dream” rhymes with “meme?” Yeah…maybe you should have.

Today is one of those rare days I woke up with absolutely nothing to be angry about. And since my metabolism can be sustained only by rage and Kashi cereal products, I was glad to find a little something on Etsy that does all my work for me. But don’t worry, I should be fine tomorrow. It’s nothing a good commute and a few hours at Walmart can’t solve.

This doll reminds me of the time in high school when my friend Kelly taped pubes to my friend Merrick’s Cabbage Patch doll. Of course, it also reminds me of a joke Strawberry Extreme, Dallas’s #1 Prop Comic, wrote — What do you call a self-indulgent conductor? A maestorbater. Hey, I never said my thoughts were congruent. Turtles.

You’re probably thinking to yourself, there’s no possible way this could get any more adorable, but that’s where you’re wrong. If I owned it, I’d add a conversation bubble that says, “Whooo gives a fuck?” See? Cussing = The Cutest.

My old pal Ted is an industrious little bastard. When he forgot to bring a fork to his studio for lunch, he didn’t hurl his Tupperware container of  noodles in the garbage and slit his wrists with an exacto knife. No, yanked himself up by the bootstraps and fashioned this out of nails, plywood, a drillbit and tape. Now when you forget your utensils, The Spirit of Ted will inspire you not to resort to the hundred-year-old office sporks. You’ll do it your damn self out of thumbtacks, scotch tape, a pink eraser and an ink pen. Or The Spirit of Krista will inspire you and you’ll just flash your vagina for quarters in the conference room and eat a king’s meal out of the vending machine.

When I think tennis, I think pedigreed old people shuffling about in their spotless white outfits, talking through their noses and being rich to the rhythmic rustle of their Depends undergarments. And now when those old people are too tired to play on, they can rest comfortably atop this tennis ball stool for a change. The sweating backs of the working class are so passé.

World’s greatest wedding gift or eventual Exhibit A? I guess that’s up to you, your bone saw and your alibi.

Custom Double Fingerprint Paper Cutting, $350

These little cupcake toppers seem to be saying, “Eat our cupcakes while we eat your soul.” Too late, toppers, I sold mine some time ago to a cub scout for a Buffalo Nickel and a box of Tart ‘n’ Tinys.

Philosophers have speculated the human heart is the seat of the soul. But now that I know it has a fortune inside, I’m going to be twice as murdery. So excuse me, won’t you, while I find out if the human colon is filled with Pu Pu Platter.

Via Slipcast.