If you have the chance to touch millions tens of lives through your art, is the message you go with really “brush your teeth?” I would have gone with, “Go to the bathroom to pick your wedge.” Or, “Don’t pet the cat’s stomach.  It’s a trap!” You know, something poignant.

This is called the Original BBQ Man Candle and I guess they’re saying that man’s favorite scent is BBQ? Which is total bullshit because I think we all know they prefer “desperation.”

Assassinate your thirst with the Beer Blaster – the only way to literally shotgun a beer into your face, which is probably only slightly more fun that dipping your vagina into an ant mound. Continuing on the theme of classy fucking summer parties, I thought I’d throw this out there. Not sure if it’s real, but if it is there are going to be some seriously tipsy zombies come the zombie apocalypse.

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

Rest assured that if I see you walking down the street with this lid that converts any canning jar into a travel mug, I’m going to knock it out of your hand and then kick you in the dick for good measure because, let’s face it, you’ve earned it.

Finally a hostess gift worthy of Cousin Ray’s truck-bed pool party. As family traditions involving copious amounts of bathtub gin, shooting contests and truck-bed-sized plastic liners go, it involves surprisingly few corpses. I mean, Uncle Bernie will be there, but that’s it.

True story: my left arm is an inch shorter than my right arm because I broke the growth plate in my shoulder when I was in Junior High. Also true story: I’m still fucking perfect and don’t you forget it.

Ten bucks says he still sleeps on your face.

When you need to have a serious conversation with your girlfriend, a horseshoe chair is the perfect place to sit that ho down.

My inner child says I definitely need a T-Rex Radiator. My inner asteroid says I should probably stop eating things that fall out of space. I mean, who knows if they are gluten-free?