Who doesn‘t need a solid marble ice cream bar-shaped paperweight? There is a correct answer, and it’s Tom Cruise. He’s already dragging this vanilla paperweight around.

I have my own form of Kitchen Bull. And it goes a little something like, “Of course I didn’t soak your meatloaf in ipecac.”

It’s pretty expensive to commission Stool No. 1.  Luckily you can make Stool No. 2 for the price of a Burrito Supreme.

This is a placemat that tells you how to set a table and then how to retrieve each utensil. Oddly enough, step one isn’t removing your head from your ass.

via ReCraft

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.”

Here’s a double dose of jokery for you:

These light fixtures are perfect for rich Star Wars nerds to put in their mansions. Or they would be, if Star Wars nerds ever moved out of their moms’ basements.

Or…

Ye Old Dan Flavin just jizzed his pants.

Alan wrote the second joke. I think the five people who get it without Googling Dan Flavin can agree that it’s better than mine. But for the rest of you guys… STAR WARS NERDS! THEY LIVE IN BASEMENTS! HA HA HA HA HA HA!

Praise Jeebus. Someone finally designed a bathtub that helps you perfectly line up your butt crack.

Hey kids, inspired by the BabyC Cradle, let’s learn the Pretentious Baby Alphabet!

A is for Anglophile, which baby must become immediately postpartum, lest he be regarded as a one-dimensional American plebe.

B is for Bougainvillea, baby’s middle name, after the flowers pinned to the mane of his distant royal Uncle’s noble steed as he rode through village, regarding his subjects with disdain.

C is for Cashmere, the only fabric to touch baby, from swaddling clothes to funerary attire on the day of his imminent demise, surely from the daily strain of being smarter, more interesting, and better looking than everyone else.

and D is for Darling, the ABCs are so last year. Those in the know moved on to Morse code weeks ago, you insipid  -.-.  ..-  -.  -

For the sake of this exercise, please pretend that this astronaut-lookin’ motherfucker is a very tall Pomeranian.

Pound Control to Major Pom
Take your heartworm pills
and put your collar on

Pound Control to Major Pom
Commencing countdown,
Leashes on
Check submission
and may Dog’s love be with you

This is Pound Control
to Major Pom
You’re ready to be spayed
And your papers have you cleared for dental care
Now it’s time to leave the shelter
if you dare

This is Major Pom to Pound Control
I’m scratching at the door
And I’m barking
in a most obnoxious way
Because I cannot wait to get away

For here
Am I pissing in a cold crate
Far from a dog park
The shelter’s loud
And I really have to poo

Though I’ve chomped
one thousand rugrats’ hands
I’m feeling very bored
But my new owner knows which way to go
Tell my bitch that she’s in heat

She knows

Pound Control to Major Pom
Your owner’s bleeding,
And you’re gone.
Can you hear me, Major Pom?
Can you hear me, Major Pom?
Can you hear me, Major Pom?
Can you….

Here am I running
round my neighborhood
Far from all you dicks
before I ran from you
I pissed on your favorite shoes…

.

Dog Peek via the foxiest She Wolf in town, Dani Stover

Have you been doing your finger Bikram? I certainly hope so, because it’s going to take a very flexible pinky to lift high enough for this hoity-toity thingamajig of the day: the portable personal pepper mill – for those times when any old pepper just won’t do. That’s right, Richy Rich, it’s time to make room in your murse for something other than Grey Poupon and tiara polish. So load up the Tellicherry and let’s crack a little fresh ground. Mamma’s got new cupholders on her high horse and she’s in the mood for a little celebratin’.