If you look at a regular recipe in a cookbook and think “sure, this tastes good, but it would be epic as fark if I added bacon for no reason and drew a bunch of fucking Rage Faces on it,” then this is the book for you. Pair any of the recipes with Lester’s Bacon Soda for a memey treat that only the worst could stomach. Such Doge. Many 2012-era t-shirts. Such wow.

When you’re using Duck Tape to fix something, does it really matter how it smells? To some people, apparently, yes. The least objectionable one is probably the Orange Cream flavor, above, but there’s also a Grape (yuck), Bubble Gum (barf) and a Cupcake (?!?!) version in case your stomach’s not turning yet.

Bizarrely, you can also buy the bottled scent of an actual duck, although duck-scented Duck Tape doesn’t seem to be in the works yet.

The only thing less comfortable than wearing a t-shirt with a circuit sewn into the front of it is being around someone who’s playing a drum beat on their fucking drum-machine shirt. If you’re going to insist on playing “drums” at your desk at work, at least get a Mr. Knocky.

As much as I dislike the institutionalized, worldwide culture of military-based violence, it’s striking to me how the addition of yoga to a classic set of children’s toys makes them instantly not fun at all.

The only good thing I can say about this is: at least it’s not dogs and cats doing yoga.

The manufacturer used a very realistic model so I can’t show it here on the page (see the original listing if you must.) It claims to be a penis-enlarger as well as “male vibrator.” It’s very likely not the former, and only possibly the latter. Then again, there’s no telling, since it’s described as “It features with… perfect soundless.”

If you’ve ever wondered what the subtext is for the hobby/fantasy/obsession of “doomsday prepping”, it is, of course, far-right-wing politics. It ties gun-culture together with vigilantism, the destruction of federal government, and a bit of ethnic cleansing. Usually they’re a bit coy about the business of murdering non-whites or implying that they’ve died due to not accumulating guns and bullets before the apocalypse, but not here.

The author has written 18 volumes of Race Wars.

“The hell you wanna cut my beard for?” pleads this male cosmetology mannequin, with his beautiful blue eyes. At least it’s not this extraterrestrial mannequin, who looks like the damn cover of Communion.