Art Appreciation 101

Here we have Boy George doing cocaine that is coming out of the radiator of a Rolls Royce, while a Diploma/Death Certificate in what appears to be Jim Morrison studies is mounted by a demonic cat. This represents the passing of the 70s into the 80s, and the ever-present threat of demonic cats that accompanied it.

Batman, inexplicably reimagined as the ultimate fan of Kentucky basketball, stands triumphantly atop the graves of Adolf Rupp and Tubby Smith, whom he has presumably murdered. This represents the festering darkness and lust for revenge that lurks in the hearts of all Kentuckians.

This police sketch of Marilyn Monroe's bloated corpse can be yours. Just pick up your phone and whisper your most secret, shameful sins into the mouthpiece. That midnight you will awaken with a start, as if from a terrible dream you cannot remember. When you turn on the light you will see this picture hanging on the wall above your bed, its flat dead eyes accusing you not of the sins you confessed to the phone, but of the sins you have yet to commit. This work represents the tears of regret, carving anguished grooves in the landscape of a face wracked with the guilt of having been human... and nothing more.

Thanks, Obama

When wordplay runs headlong into a critical lack of wit, wordtorture is the result.

When the best you can cook up is "Obama = Poop," you should just confine your offerings to the Free Republic comments section.

Although, if Obama had never been elected, these idiotic shirts would not exist. So I guess this technically Obama's fault. 

That's the cup of a carpenter

You have chosen... wisely.

Oops! I bought too many adult diapers!

You have to be a world-class skinflint to try and sell your surplus diapers and maxi pads at the thrift mall. I mean the kind of person who saves dryer lint to knit sweaters. I mean the kind of person who saves up all those little slivers of soap and mashes them together into one Frankenstein’s monster soap. I mean the kind of person who saves their toenail clippings because they heard that human nails contain trace amounts of gold. I mean the kind of person who returns the unused portion of the product for a full refund. I mean… You get the point. A real cheapskate.

I'd Like To Buy the World an Ancient, Fetid Coke

The only question more frightening than "Who would buy such a thing?" is "Who would sell such a thing?" This half-evaporated bottle of antique ooze had a price tag of $8. Someone found this rancid old thing in a garage and, instead of pitching it into the garbage in horror, stuck a price tag on it.

"Eight dollars," they thought. "That's what someone would pay for this vile ichor."

That encrustation on the bottom of the bottle is what scientists call "fucking gross ass shit," and is a tell-tale sign that this item should have been incinerated by the CDC.

A useful tip for all of you would-be antiquarians out there: Sometimes age increases an object's value. More often, age renders an object into noxious slime that serves no useful purpose to anyone anywhere.

Nazis. I hate these guys.

There is no better way to commemorate your love for the brutal, murderous regime that ruled Germany between 1933 to 1945, during which time it launched a global war that claimed 100 million lives.

I can kind of understand the fascination with German fascism. Great aesthetic. If you look past all the, you know, murder and shit.

Dale Earnhardt: President For Life

This is one of those artifacts that future civilizations will find rather puzzling. Who was this mustachioed man? A great leader? An esteemed philosopher? Did he discover the cure to a dreadful disease or perhaps set his feet upon distant worlds?

No, he was a race car driver who crashed into a wall and died. A simple safety device could have saved his life, but he didn't want it because it was uncomfortable.