Rock-a-bye baby in the tree top, when the wind blows…dirty underpants to your tiny baby face. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. That’ll teach you to be a baby, motherfucker.

Just like yours, these cocks deal with a lot of condensation. Oh, you said “condescension”? Carry on…

Who exactly needs coffee soap to wake up their hands while washing them? I’ll tell you who: the friend I had in High School who would sit on his hand before masturbating so that it would fall asleep and feel like a stranger was touching his wiener. Otherwise known as The Smartest and Eighth Most Perverted Friend I’ve Ever Had.

Except for your life, which is a sequence of moments all called suck. We’re trying to help you out by providing this educational weblog to bust the curve of your otherwise pathetic life, but even e-proximity to our general ass-kickery isn’t doing much to help you. And, let’s be frank, neither is the fact that you’re wearing a merkin outside your pants.

I understand the point of this, but I don’t understand the clothespins. Can’t you just stick up those socks with your son’s pubescent jizz?

 This print is going right above my toilet because I always find Dolly’s lyrics such an inspiration. Islands in the stream, that is what poo are – unless you feel the need to flush between courses. And sometimes you need to Jolene, Jolene, Jo-lean into it to pinch off those difficult turds. If there’s a Country hell I’ll be there working 9 to 5 on the brimstone factory line with Kenny Rogers. He knows what he did.

You may recognize this as the wrapping paper I used to wrap all those fantastic gifts I left on your doorstep last night. Wait? You didn’t get them? Damn you Hamburglar!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Actually, this wrapping paper is $2,000 away from being real. Go help them out on Kickstarter, because God knows I’m too cheap to.

Can’t decided what to make for dinner? Don’t commit suicide. There’s another solution: Dinner Dice. Just roll to compose a unique meal. Wait a minute. I don’t see leftover pizza or box of Cheez-Its in here. Just kidding. I’m an amazing cook. I’m practically Martha Stewart. And after I consume her heart, I actually will be. Serial killer stuff. You wouldn’t understand.

“Voted toaster most likely to result in a felony.” – The Where’s My Fucking Coffee Times

“Toaster to the face is a surprisingly effective treatment for adult onset acne.” – Zit-Girl Magazine

“It’s not torture. It’s breakfast.” – The C.I.A.

Look, someone upcycled an AT-AT  into a deepfryer / grill / griddle combo with a cutting board sidecar (as if anyone fucking eats vegetables anymore). It doesn’t come with a replacement colon. But it does come with free apathy. Fat pants and Segway sold separately.