This Vespa Menorah makes it official: much like the Grinch and his smirk-laden anti-Christian agenda, the goddamn hipsters have ruined Judaism. Be on the lookout for American Apparel yarmulkes, beards with payos, ironic t-shirts saying “Challah at yo boy,” The Vice Guide to the Torah and a skinny jeans-clad douchebag spinning at your non-denominational work holiday party who goes by the name DJ Oy Vey.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the whorehouse

Every creature was humping, from human to mouse;

The dudes were all hung, chicks in hot underwear,

In hopes that St. Dickolas soon would be there;

The children were all left at home in their beds,

This wasn’t for pedos (get that out of your head.)

While my man in his handcuffs, and I in my pumps,

Had just saddled up for a long winter’s hump,

When out on the lawn there arose such a boner,

We eagerly greeted the huge penis owner.

Away to the window I flew while I flashed,

Cuz let’s all be honest – I’m pretty much trash.

When, what to my red bloodshot eyes should appear,

A nude man on a sleigh acting quite cavalier,

With a gigantic wiener, so crooked and thick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Dick.

He stood on his sleigh, gave his junk quite a tug,

Flicked a cigarette ash, gave his beer stein a chug.

Then we heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

Whorey Christmas to all, have a fucktastic night!

.

Click here for Pornaments, ya sicko.

This Dierdre candle reminds me of religious iconography. I think the story goes that Mary was filled with the light of God and fell to her knees…right before Jesus had a religious experience all over her face. You can find that gem in the book of Do-her-onomy.

Via the man who’s weaving my hand-basket from the cured skin of the faithful, Not With That Face

Dear Lord,

Please send me a Sculpi doodoo snake. And a wall sconce. And the ability to spell “crème brûlée” without googling. In return, I promise not to crucify the next Jesus and not to spend Christmas at the mall trying to make mall Santa get inappropriate erections. Amen.

If you live in New York and you’re capable of walking into a church without spontaneously combusting, then mark your Lisa Frank calendar for September 28th to October 2nd. Okay, seeing James Case-Leal’s Radical Spirit probably won’t take you a full five days, but you’re such a loser that the first few times you try you’ll totally jizz your pants in excitement before slinking back to your mother’s basement in sticky, sticky embarrassment to change into a pair of Pampers Cruisers.

Once you get past that, though, I think you’ll be pretty impressed. Just don’t tell anyone I sent you. I really don’t want you to taint my awesome.

The last thing I want is Christ the Redeemer watching me shower. It’s embarrassing enough that my pastor watches me masturbate.

I thought pissing with the door open was the ultimate in disgusting, pathetic relationship apathy. But, lo, God created the Loveseat Toilet. Well, God or some sick dumbfuck with a community college design degree. Probably the latter because I think God would be more likely to get a Masters in Stem Cell Research. It’s the wave of the future!

This arrow Bible cubby was designed by a Bonar. Pretty impressive, since the only thing your boner ever designed was a map of Hawaii.

via Bookshelf

What do you get when you combine the Wizard of Oz, a pieta, and a couple of American Apparel employees? A chance for me to casually throw around my knowledge of the word “pieta.” Which you’re about to Google because you’re stupid.

God, I love being me.

Mary, Jesus and Joseph

via It’s Nice That

You can’t say your militantly right-wing Republican grandmother didn’t have a sense of humor. You also can’t say she didn’t have a felony record. But all that prison time gave her plenty of time to quilt and a lot of abortion clinic doctors’ corpses are the warmer for it.