Little known fact: In Children of the Corn, the corn refers to what the children were fed before being sent to slaughter and turned into Ham and Egg McMuffins. I wrote about it on an imdb message board, and I’m pretty sure that makes it true.

I forgot how tired I am of writing jokes about murdering your face off. But talk about foresight, I turned your blanched skull into a chalkboard so that I could write myself a note of reminder. Wait till you see the boner I drew on your occipital bone.

Hummels: the Emo Years.

I have a sneaking suspicion that we’ve posted this print of a squirrel carcass before, but I also have a sneaking suspicion that the day we posted it wasn’t the only day you’ve ever consumed food. So, basically, if there’s a chance to make you barf up your Toaster Strudel, I’m jumping on it.

That would be strawberry Toaster Strudel, of course. Warm and gooey with strawberry chunks and a shiny, slightly creamy glaze on top. Can’t you just taste it?

This is your brain. This is your brain on a design blog run by cunty sociopaths. Any questions?

Like we’d give a fuck if the answer was “yes.”

Flameel, Flamazle, Flamingo Pink Incorporated!

If you, too, have been wandering the earth for millennia in search of the holiday-themed yard flamingo that will free your eternal soul from it’s Earthly shackles, today is your lucky day. Flamingo Pink has enough stick-legged seasonal schtick to force open the gates of heaven. Just throw a few of these  into the clouds outside the pearly gates, wait for Jesus to run out with his shotgun yelling to get off the lawn, then run into the open arms of paradise.

Choose from Skelemingo (above), Santamingo, Turkeymingo, Eastermingo and the rest.

Killhouettes are murderous silhouettes. But they’re more than that. They’re also an idea bank for how to finally off that dolt you’ve been sexing…or just that random bitch from the street.

via Wendy “Go Fuck Yourself” Bouis

I hate little dogs. But Fluffy here appears to be the offspring of my soul-eating rage towards little dogs and a little dog. I love him so. Sure, he’s probably not taking home any awards – not unless the AKC adds “Cthulhuing” as the eighth group in the All-Breed show. But he might be taking your soul as we speak. And doesn’t that make him the real winner? Don’t answer. I think if you open your mouth your soul may just pop right out.

I’m breaking the “homes and gardens” rule for a very special post. Holy Smoke is a company that packs your cremated ashes into functioning bullets. Bullets that you can actually shoot at things, nay, at people. Deadly, deadly bullets. Think about that for a second.

That’s right, motherfuckers. I’ll be able to murder some unlucky bastard EVEN THOUGH I’M DEAD. This is the kind of thing I’ve been dreaming of since I was a little girl. Basically my thought process went like this: Jem and The Holograms, My Little Pony, candy, candy, candy, sandbox, candy, posthumous murder, Strawberry Shortcake, jungle gym, cats.

Just like you, the Slow Glow Lamp is filled with fat. Unlike you, it gets brighter and brighter with time.

Craptastic picture taken at Droog in Amsterdam and used solely to make you jealous of my vacation.