The “PUT ME DOWN” vinyl sticker fits on the underside of a toilet seat, so you can passive-aggressively scold someone about their toilet activity even when you’re not there.

And if you’re the target of this sticker, “PUT ME DOWN” is a reminder of what you would say to the veterinarian when you’re tired of living in a house where people treat you like that.

If you need to smuggle alcohol somewhere, the best way to do it is in your stomach. And if you need a place to hide and drink the alcohol to get it in there, well, that’s why they invented bushes.

But if that doesn’t do it for you, put 25 ounces of wine into The Wine Rack, a bra with a plastic hose that lets you suck the wine back out of the hose. I’m not sure how that’s more covert than drinking it out of a glass. And you also have to consider that adults drink wine whenever there are more than 3 of them in a room, as a defense mechanism. It’s not something people do in secret.

If your only problem with The Wine Rack is “I’d love to sip hot swill out of a plastic hose, but I don’t wear a bra and 25 ounces isn’t enough!” then the BeerBelly, an eighty-ounce prosthetic gut that hangs off your existing gut, may be the product for you.

Do you have any medical problem at all? Are you a fucked-up moron? Then you’re in luck. Thanks to the worldwide network of cranks that have brought us scams such as essential oils, Morgellon’s and homeopathy, you can now drink your own sunshine as a way to avoid real medical treatment. Fill dozens of 2-liters up with this miracle cure and set them all over your house, you gross, crazy idiot, and then tell everyone about how you rub yourself down with pee and drink it. “Those doctors don’t know what they’re talking about,” you say, sipping a martini glass full of kidney juice. “They’re just trying to make money.”

This soap has “BUTT” on one side and “FACE” on the other. So you don’t get your butt germs on your face. Except that, according to studies, your face actually has more germs on it than your butt. Whoops!

The “Face Butt Towel” operates on the same principle, keeping your face germs from going on your butt. Even though you use a bath towel AFTER you wash. So I guess it keeps your face clean from getting on your butt clean.

My favorite of these items, though, is the “Face/Ass Sponge”, which not only doesn’t keep germs from your face and butt separate, but stores them inside the sponge, incubating them in your hot, moist shower for day after day, handy for redistribution onto the face or butt of your choice.

Are you a parent? Tired of your kids coloring things that have nothing to do with your boring taste in music? Then hand them the Indie Rock Coloring Book. Finally, you can pass your taste for soft, unobjectionable mush onto your progeny without all those wasted hours of making them shush while you listen to the ceiling speakers at Whole Foods.

“Only within the lines!” you’ll shout, grabbing their hand to stifle their creativity. “And muted colors. None of this bright stuff. This is indie rock. We’re not sellouts.” The only good thing about this whole idea is that your kids will grow up allergic to this adult-contemporary gruel and probably end up listening to rap.

Millions of people will purchase Call Of Duty: Whatever II next week, and who knows how many have already pre-ordered. If you haven’t played this, the objective is to shoot people. You shoot them over and over, and that’s it.

I’m simplifying this, of course. There’s a narrator who yells things like THEY GOT YOUR SAM TURRET! and SCAVENGER! And you can also kill people with unmanned drones and missiles. There are several game options, too, which let you run and shoot people, or try to stay in one place and shoot people.

It’s kind of fun, and it moves really fast, but the main mechanic of the game is that a new edition comes out every year, and you have to chuck your old Call Of Duty because everyone is playing the new one now. But what’s a yearly cost of $59 compared to the $700,000,000,000 we’ve spent invading Iraq and Afghanistan?

“A math problem? More like… NO problem! I’ve got an app for that on my iPad,” you say, pulling out your gigantic plastic calculator in the size and shape of an iPad.

No one will be able to tell that you’ve just got a calculator, except you, late at night, awash in the tears of shame your fraudulent lifestyle has sown.