Look, I’m a vampire! What? Wait let me lower the glass a little bit. Okay now look! What? Okay how about now? No? Try putting your head on the table and looking up at me. See? It’s like I’m drinking blood. Because I have fangs. No, on the glass. No, those are etched in the glass so it looks like I . . . oh fuck it.

You know, nothing says, “I’ll bang anything” quite like a couple of giant silk screened condom wrappers on your bed. Oh, It might not be as elegant as a Sparkletts dispenser full of Astroglide, but compared to the Hefty bags full of scat porn in your living room, it’s practically poetry.

I would have thought a great gift to keep Michael alive might have been a defibrillator. But I’m not a doctor.

Other than that, this makes perfect sense. Because whenever I hear “Michael Jackson”, I immediately think “baseball”. Well technically, I think “Little League”, but you know what I’m saying.

We all know that Michael Jackson’s tragic death had the most profound effect on inanimate objects. So it’s comforting to know that someone is sewing tiny Michael Jackson memorial T-shirts for your Bratz dolls. It’ll ease her pain for a little while, but keep your eye on Blythe. She’s a cutter.