It’s Friday, grab your dragon mug and let’s toast your virginity. Oh, shit. I spilled my mead on your Magic the Gathering Cards. Just kidding. Made you cry!

I hope they make a matching rubber mattress liner. The only way this bed set gets more disturbing is if the fitted sheet has an easy-access hole for your mattress’ built in flesh-light.

I’m a little teapot,

Short and stout.

Here is my handle,

Here is my spout.

When I get all steamed up

I will shout

That you’ll probably get gastroenteritis from non-pathogenic microbial bone-decay residue contaminating your tea, or possibly even contract cadaverine or putrescine from ingesting toxic doses of the substances.

Remember when it was January, but I force fed you Christmas ornaments? Yeah, I remember that, too. It’s called now.

One night in the summer of 2006, I spent many hours drinking on a beach in Cannes, France with the guy who did the laughs for both Beavis and Butthead. The experience was incredibly odd, as he was totally normal in every way, but then I’d say something unbelievably witty – naturally – and a hybrid Beavis/Butthead laugh would come out. Also that night, I was asked on a date by a very sweaty dancing man with Alopecia, shortly before making out with a German guy with blonde dreadlocks.

And these, my friends, are some of the many reasons you should get into advertising: free 10-day trips to French Riviera, the meeting of D-minus-list celebrities, dance parties that resemble an episode of True Life, horrible champagne-goggle decision making of the Aryan-nation-cum-Reggaeton variety, and the audacity to start a blog solely for the sake of talking about these things. Also, these dudes are terrifying, no?

via that Bunghole, Alan McCoy

I’m not here to judge your proclivities. But we all know the weird mouth-hole on this Ram Footstool (double entendre – get it?) isn’t meant to be filled with Christmas cheer. Now, in the spirit of the holidays, I’d like to apologize for implying that all men are compelled to stick their peen into every hole they see à la Porky’s. I’m sure some of you have grown out of it.

Should I be worried that the very first thing that popped into my head when I saw this was, “Here I am! Rock me like a Whorey Jane!” Or more worried that the second thing was a really long inner monologue about how her hairstyle is clearly not a Jane hairstyle and more of a Betsy or a Elle? I’m worried. The first thing to pop into my head should have been a deep concern about labial splinters. In the wise words of Dr. Dre, never let me slip cuz if I slip then I’m slippin’. Ya heard?

Your family can put funeral carnations in this terrifying seal vase after you die from it stealing your soul. Just FYI, from the look on his face, I’m pretty sure he’s also gonna steal your underwear.

This is a portrait of me in Junior High. I went through a really attractive “frighteningly underweight while wearing a patchwork vest” phase. And, yes, I know what you’re thinking. Everyone did wanna hit it.

Move over, undercover Vampire who gets you pregnant during a Frat House date rape. Step aside, skeleton named Butterfingers hiding in your closet while wearing a fedora. Nothin’ to see here, High School shop teacher with a hook for a hand who you’d always catch licking his lips while looking down your shirt… something new is populating your nightmares tonight. And from the looks of this probably-murderous rock’s pervy grin, he’s really looking forward to the part where you find yourself locked out of your house without any pants.

via Alan “and then I woke up” McCoy