If there’s one thing awesome about being crammed in a metal tube, hurtling through time and space with a bunch of mouth-breathing strangers, it’s this: SkyMall. Here’s what I’ll be buying myself for Christmas, or Abraham Lincoln’s birthday, or whatever holiday comes next.
Who WOULDN’T want an attic lady popping randomly into your attic? CRAZY PEOPLE, THAT’S WHO. Rather than wait for the bitchy old lady who owned my house to come over and demand money again, I’m going to buy myself a lady! Who can pop in and out of my house! She’s an instant party – or instant sea hag – for sure.
So what if the pool I have is 8 feet by 8 feet with a depth of three inches? No, seriously, SO WHAT?
I want a musical light show while I soak in my wee pool. Hell, EVERYONE will want to come over for a pool party then! Won’t they be surprised when my “pool” is really a “puddle.” A puddle with motherfucking music and LIGHTS.
I can hear the clamoring of my neighbors already.
I genuinely do not know how I do not own this yet. No, I mean it, I need this AND a pack of Old Milwaukee. Because while he SAYS he’s from Texas, I’m in Chicago, and there’s nothing trashier than things from Milwaukee. Like their shit-ass beer.
I require this above all else. He will go in my china cabinet, with my six-pack of Spam with Bacon. And he will reek of style and sophistication.
Originally, I thought this was a singing toilet, which is like a dream come true. I’ve always wanted a toilet that sang for me while I pooed, cheered for me after I flushed, and then did a nice jaunty you-just-peed number (perhaps a nice Gershwin piece or the theme from Sanford and Son) as I exited the bathroom.
I was a little disappointed to learn that no, in fact, this toilet didn’t sing to me. It will, however, prevent me from dunking in the toilet at three AM like an overly-large kicky-haired tea-bag. Which is minorly awesome.
I still want the singing toilet, dammit.
So last time I shopped at SkyMall, I decided the statue of the little boy peeing would be what went above my grave. Along with the gigantic angel statues and weeping out-of-work actors. But I’d never given any thought as to what I wanted BELOW my grave. Besides the towers of flowers.
This, Pranksters, is what I want coming out of my grave.
I can think of no better way to “honor” me than a frightening zombie with a little boy peeing on it.
And oh holy fuck, do you need to see this video. There are no words. Only awesome (it’s totally safe for work):