If you want your wittle Princess to be a Barbie girl in a Barbie world, hang this chandelier over her crib for inspiration. And if you want your little Baby Bro to be a douchey dude in a date-rapey world, hang it over his crib. Hellooo, tiny upskirts.

If this silverware was any manlier, the fork would have a penis and the spoon would be Melissa Etheridge.

Poor John Wayne Gacy. He’s no longer considered the world’s deadliest fruit.

Hello, internet, Urban Outfitters customers and world at large, I’m pleased to introduce today’s guest blogger: the reanimated corpse of Joan Crawford. Take it away, Joan!

No… more… mustaches. What are mustaches doing on my internet when I told you: no more mustaches EVER? I blog and blog ’till I’m half-dead, and I hear people saying, “She’s getting bitter.” And what do I get? Our fucking readers… who care as much about the filthy posts we give them as they care about me. ANSWER ME! I give you disturbing drygoods, and you treat them like they’re not worthy of hipsters. Mustaches, why? Why? READERS, GET OFF OF THIS BLOG. You read the most offensive blog in cyberspace and you don’t care if your posts are tainted by more mustaches! And YOUR blog looks like some two-dollar-an-ad templated layout on some two-bit hosting service like GoDaddy.com. NO MORE MUSTACHES EVER!!!

Man, what a C U Next Tuesday! Well, let’s all listen to her, shall we? The old broad just might be on to something.

Boys, if you keep porn on a USB, you can use this poodle to doodle your noodle.

Nice bicycle seat cover, dork. Listen, if you really want a bear up your ass, you should ditch the bike and look into rollerblades, if you know what I mean.

Frido Kahlo demonstrates the next big trend in ironic mustaches: growing them four inches north.

Dudes, a tent with a mouse on it is super dangerous. Mice attract hungry snakes. Snakes attract hungry hawks. Hawks attract hungry bears. Bears attract hungry leather daddies. Leather daddies attract major chafing, and no one EVER remembers to pack baby powder when they’re camping.

I had two goals today: Brownie Sundae; Ogle Dong. The Men-ups calendar fulfills neither. But I still ordered two. If you aren’t dreaming of a world where guys can fix stuff and wear shiny orange undies (but for some reason are not donning their giant, glistening boners), you’re probably a fascist.

Via The Daily What.

If Savannah were a dog, I’d say, “Savannah puts the ‘arf’ in scarf!” But she’s a cat, so I’ll have to go with the lesser, “Savannah puts the ‘purrr’ in purrr-tend that was funny and I’ll either leg-wrestle you in a tankini or you can motorboat me for twelve seconds. Your choice.”

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