I’m too lazy and busy to actually write a post, so here’s a wall lamp thing that looks like a snake. Wall snake, pants snake. Exposition. A joke about how it’s curved. Ha ha ha ha… then the part where I tell you to go fuck yourself. Well? What are you waiting for?
One… Two… Three… Four… Four sparkles I punched off the face of Edward Cullen. Ha ha ha ha ha. One… Two… Three… Three turds I pooped into the mouth of Edward Cullen. Eat my poop you glitter-wearing poser. Ha ha ha ha ha. By the way, even Big Bird lost his virginity before you did. Ha ha ha ha ha.
Did any of you knuckleheads read Wait Till Helen Comes when you were little? Remember how fucking terrifying that book was for kids? Ghosts? Drowning? Spooky churches? Anyway, I bring it up because this print is almost exactly how I pictured horrifying, murdery ghost Helen in that book, and it pretty much ruined me for life. So, see, you can’t blame my evil on my upbringing. You can only blame it on my advanced reading skills and desire for knowledge.
I suppose I could have as easily titled this post “Boos and Don’ts,” but that wouldn’t allow me to point out that on the Frenchy-French site where I found these fantômes, they are in a product category labeled “Doudous.” I can only assume that doudous are exotic, sophisticated albino poos and not something un-bathroom related that I’m too lazy to look up on google.
Every once in awhile, something comes along that changes your life. The Mister Clean Magic Eraser, for example. Stretch denim. RuPaul’s Drag Race. Motherfucking Funyuns. Well, now you can add Companion Parrot to that illustrious list. Seriously, I’m used to telling people I hate their guts, but I never realized I could love someone’s guts so much.
Okay, fuck it. I can’t finish this post when I have the RuPaul’s Drag Race theme song stuck in my head. May the best woman, BEST WOMAN wiiiiiiin.
via Street Anatomy
If Hell has a basketball team, tell Hitler to make room on the bench for the maker of the Twilight Manllow. She (or possibly he) is probably not a starter, but she’s definitely third string Junior Varsity. Though, in truth, I’ve got to cut her a lot of slack since she describes her own product as “105% creepy, 5% lovable.” This whole Twilight thing isn’t her fault. Plus, these things are totally going to make her rich. So hat’s-off, I suppose. Either way, I officially need a lobotomy.
Are we 100% sure the Antichrist isn’t a pillow?
I had a lovely, lovely, magical friend in Jr. High and High School named Justan who would pet your head and then tell you what your hair would sound like if it made noise. I have a feeling he would have appreciated these creeptastic reverse portraits in a way that mere mortals can’t comprehend. Because to get the full effect, I’m pretty sure you have to be 25% leprechaun, 25% unicorn and 50% Peter Pan. Either that or subsisting off a diet of hallucinogenics and reruns of Jem and the Holograms.
Why is it always a Wolf Man? As this photo by Jessica Tremp proves, it would have been better if it were a Wolf Woman. For that mater, why are monster’s mostly men? I mean, men got Dracula, Frankenstein’s monster, Swamp Thing, Booberry… all women got is Hillary Clinton.
This lady brings new meaning to the term “Trophy Wife.” I told her getting engaged after two months was a red-flag. And you just never marry a guy name Bluebeard. Stereotypes exist for a reason.
I get thrown in jail for three weeks every time I pull the head off a live bat, so I’ve been looking for an alternate hobby that doesn’t result in me performing community service. With these drawer pulls, I can just pull on cast metal bat heads instead. Satisifies the itch without all that pesky “appearing before a judge” and “trading my vagina for blankets in the pokey.”
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via the fabulous and adorable Kitlane
