Dudes, this bear rug is only $1800, which is quite a steal considering how rare Pink Tapestry Bears are in the wild. Fun fact: 96% of all Pink Tapestry Bears are gay. The other 4% just pretended to be bisexual in college.

This is carpet for people that have nothing better to do than sit around and piece shit together. I, on the other hand, have farts to sniff.

I’m not impressed by the Oriental rug soaking up oil in your driveway, you showboating motherfucker. Just this morning I Bulimia-d into a Ming vase after I ate too many Faberge eggs for breakfast.

I got this catalog the other day and I thought, “eh, I’ll thumb through when I have time.” Fortunately, I had to work today and thank goodness because this thing is a fucking goldmine. It looks better in print though. So order it, kill a tree, feel guilty and off yourself. Fair’s fair, right?

Ever have a friend on facebook and you’re not entirely sure how you virtually know them, but you’re glad you do? This is made by that guy. His name is Timothy Liles and fun fact: he’s sleeping in a teepee tonight. Even more fun fact: I’m sleeping in my peepee.

Here’s hoping Pizza the Rug doesn’t eat himself to death while stuck in an elevator. If you don’t get that joke you haven’t seen Space Balls 37 times. And if you haven’t seen Space Balls 37 times, you’re dead to me.

All you poor, pathetic New Yorkers who pay $2500 a month to live in a studio apartment the size of Gary Coleman’s philtrum: it’s time to get cozy. A bearskin rug won’t fit in that shoebox you call a hovel, but a rat skin rug sure will. If you’re cool with getting murdery and then crafty, then you can make your own by collecting these little fuckers anytime you’re waiting on the train at 4:00 in the morning, leaking pee into your American Apparel tights, trying to figure out why your cigarettes are soaking wet and covered in glitter, and wondering why Planned Parenthood won’t reply to a text that says, “Dudez im need Morning aFter Pill 2morow text me back,yo. Gunna bone this dude 4 rillzzzzz.”

Fake deer head used to be the new inflatable sheep with a vagina hole, which was the new plastic lawn flamingo. But now fake bearskin rug is the new fake deer head. I wouldn’t know how to keep up. Luckily, I like to kick it old school, so I pretty much kill whatever I happen to see on my way home and just put a doily on it.

Oh, Christ. I got Scabies just looking at this Comb Over Rug. Why would you want to envelop yourself in feet and dirt and errant pubes and nail clippings (Gaaghgh accchhh glaaaagh) and scab flakes and crumbs of every variety?

What I’m saying is, you lay down on that rug looking like this:

And you get up looking like this:

Not only are you a greasy, flaccid loser, but I can smell your dick cheese from here.

Oh look, it’s a trick! You think it’s wood planks, but it’s really a rug! Just like you think you’re buying it from Urban Outfitters, but you’re really buying it from a Pretentious Douche Factory! What’s that you say? They’re one in the same? Carry on then, dickbag. Carry on.

P.S. I told my non-lesbian work partner Clint that this was a rug and he said, “As in carpet?” No, Clint, it’s a wood-paneled toupee. Jesus.