I loved these when I first laid eyes on them and then I saw the price tag. $34 for something this awesome?!? It’s like someone started a Make-A-Wish foundation just for me.

Just in case the mere thought of the Badder Girls has fogged up your bifocals, that mug reads “I hate your shoes (please go away).” I’d like to say that once the coffee inside the mug is consumed I’ll be nicer, but let’s face it, I’ll just be more energetically bitchy.

Stacie013 made an entire typewriter out of cardboard and glue. Now, I’m not really sure why you’d need one of these, but then again God gave you genitals and you haven’t done much with those either.

So, what’d did you dress up as for Halloween last night? Ha, you must have mistaken me for someone who dressed up as someone who gives a shit. PS – In case it’s not clear, I didn’t. Anyways, I’ve got nothing for this post except a sweet title and a picture of a really badass cross stitch I found on Pinterest. But don’t worry, your day isn’t totally ruined. If you leave work now, you can get home in time to pick all the good candy out of your kids’ Halloween stash before the end of soccer practice.

To each shmers own, but the only motorboating the Milk Jug inspires for me is an intense desire to stick the eyeball part of my face into the turning propeller of an actual motor boat. Product note: the jug is refillable with “animal and vegetable milk.” Well, since you put it that way…Thanks for ruining cereal, lattes and, oh yeah, everything ever.

PS – In case you’re wondering, “shmers” is not a typo, but my attempt at creating a multigender pronoun. It’s called mental masturbation innovation.

These hand-stitched book cover diaries are so amazing, I literally cannot imagine the time it takes to create something so detailed. I can, however, imagine what it’s like to watch a co-worker fart into a bag, tie it closed and leave it on another co-worker’s desk. Well, not so much “imagine” as “live it.” God bless advertising.

via Kelly “Handstand A Day” Mills

I’m a sucker for tiny, cute things. That’s probably why I love these adorable doodles, pygmy goats and, oh yeah, and you’re dick.

I’ll build the toy if you build the baby. Make him a cross-eyed, breakdancing Canadian with an overbite. And make sure he’s cool with reenacting scenes from Gypsy for his dinner. And budget in a strictly-coveralls-and-Heelys wardrobe. And for the love of God, don’t ask me any questions.

I realized today what makes airline seats so annoying. It’s not the narrow butt clearance, the jimmy-rigged tray latch or dearth of legroom. It’s the headrest, which insistently presses your head forward like a 17-year-old getting a blow job. Yeah, someone invented a solution for this about 1000 years ago, but now that solution comes in Pierre, Dolphin Dan and Zombie Cat ($35 each). For my next post, I’ll be reinventing the wheel in needlefelt and discovering knitted fire.

Frat boys and their 16-shot Battleship drinking games. Battleship sucks. Just chug all sixteen shots and skip to the part where you order a dozen pizzas, question your heterosexuality, wake up spooning and wonder whether you popped your butt cherry or just pinched off a really huge dook.