Instead of a menopause, why not celebrate the ebbing of your crimson tide with a meno-party. You’re too legit to quit just because your uterus did. I’ll bake you some meno-pies and we’ll get you a meno-plaque to commemorate the whole thing. But even though it’s in keeping with the theme, I’m not inviting the meno-taur. That is one mean mother shut you mouth.

Via Craftastrophe.

Just in case you were raised in a barn (or Canada) here’s a place mat that tells you exactly where to stick your salad fork. I had a slightly different place I wanted to stick it, but turns out that’s legally considered rape in most states. Luckily this isn’t most states. It’s Texas.

Here’s a great way to up-cycle your way into heaven, a cork tray that turns a used wine bottle into a centerpiece or serving stand. Can’t find the cork, you say? Here’s a hint, Pervy McPervdorf: you keep it up your ass.

Here’s a dish towel that says “Do the Dishes” with the letters made out of dishes. I think this is fantastic and would like to order the following versions:

A whore towel (for wiping off your whores, duh) that says “Big Pimpin” with the letters made out of pimps.

A poo towel that says “Just Poo It” with letters made out of poos.

A lace towel laced with acid.

A face towel that’s made out of real face.

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.

If I ever see a “no camera” sign on your front door, I promise you I’ll hex your vagina. And if that’s not available, I’ll cast a spell on your ass fat and make it multiply every time you mention kegels — anal or otherwise…

Diamond ice? That’s fancy and punny. I usually make my ice in ziplock bags because that’s what I learned from Martha Stewart during our brief stint as roomies in a South Texas prison. Of course, she’s classed up since then so you won’t catch her rising dirty. That’s a little maximum security bakery humor. Laugh or get shanked.

Sweet Jesus, the mere production of this thing set back women’s rights like 18,000 years. And it’s only been 24 hours, but I’ve already had my butt patted, my boob grabbed and that’s just when I dropped my dad off at the airport…oh don’t worry, that just made me throw up, too.

Surprisingly, these coasters are one of the least offensive things in the Natural Disaster, God-hates-your-hedonism collection. Waaay tamer than the Exxon Valdez Oil Cruet or the Earthquake of 1908-because-it’s-too-soon-to-talk-Haiti Salt and Pepper Shakers. And that’s a fact, um, Jack.

P.S. Please send all your hate mail to Krista. Okaythanks.

When I tire of Red Vines for breakfast, I like to make stuff that only requires adding water and spraying Pam on a griddle. That’s why I love this shit*. And maybe it’s the spinster in me, but I like that I can save the extra batter in the fridge for three whole days…just enough time to knit a new cozy for my cat.

*I know this is such a random effing post, but seriously, Shake ‘n Pour is so good and easy!! (Kind of like your mom.)