Dumb shit is everywhere (my last installment). As we are all aware, there are plenty of places now that chronicle the idiotic things humanity does. Sites filled with bad translation, dumb signs, badly timely photos, and more. This column isn't that exactly. More of a place to riff on stuff both dumb and also little images worth a joke or two at their expense.

Most of these are homegrown, but every once in a while I'll run something a person sends in that has been seen elsewhere. May not be fresh, but it's fresh to us. Enjoy!

Tastes just like bears, kids, and worms: 

You've got to love the moxie of people in the candy business. They don't care. They just don't. They're willing to turn everyday items into food without batting an eyelash. Hate fish? Taste this Swedish red one. Hate kids? Try this blue and sugar-coated one. Hate corn? Try this triangular pestilence made from wax and radiation. Did the last cola bottle you ate ravage your throat, stomach, colon, and asshole's asshole? Try this gummy one that tastes how Coke must taste like to Stephen Hawking.

Sour bobcats. Because why not bobcats? Could have been sour parishioners or sour crucifuge for all anyone cares. They use the same exact mold for Sour Patch Kids, Sour Bobcats, and Sour The Enigma Device. 

It doesn't matter as long as it goes in us. There's something just so "we don't even care about your heartbeat" in how aloof the whole enterprise is.

Every sign of the apocalypse: 

I don't know what DJ Khaled is as an artist aside from the fact he looks like every man I've ever seen drinking coffee on thin metal chairs and wearing sweatpants outside a shop in Los Feliz. He looks like someone who buys Call of Duty the midnight it comes out but is too cool to post a picture on Instagram, rather putting out a vague tweet with code for the cool people to know what's up. One who'd buy a Bugatti bong if they made one. Especially if it cost over a grand. The same goes double for Imagine Dragons, a musical act I'm sure many of you find thrilling but who I imaginedragon probably sounds like whatever happened to that girl from Making a Murderer right before she was made a murder.

The fact my phone interrupted me petting a cat to share this huge news was all I needed to never give any of these assholes the benefit of any doubt. But really, when was the last time anything topped the Billboard charts that wasn't sonic matricide?

Gershwin, perhaps?

Why wait until Christmas: 

Who's THAT dry? Or better yet, who can't get the job done with a nice personal-sized lube tube? What happened to the people in this part of town that either makes them so parched in the pants or so needing to break through unwilling holes that a bulk purchase is in order? Is there brand loyalty with cock grease? I speak from either complete ignorance or am totally hiding the fact that I can't leave the house until I'm tibia deep with the toy du jour.

Imagine if you knew nothing about this film: 

Forget the words and just look at the image for this film I did not know existed and now can never chisel from my insides. It's as if Jodorowsky, Roald Dahl, and the red Teletubbie had a shunting and burned it to film. Uncomfortable bear befriending. The child molester in the moon. Space gettin' way too close for comfort. This movie being real. I can't handle Brigsby Bear.

Truth in sadvertising: 

Asia don't give a fuck.

Obviously. Let's not dwell on it. Instead let's look at that cocksucker dog's face. Fuck that dog and all the ones like it people pretend are actual family members. These are the Millenials of the Squat to Shit segment of mammaldom. Little entitled bundles of wet hate. These animals should have their bones hurt. All weekend. They think they own the place.

If overnight all these little jackoffs were released into the wild the food chain would shit its pants. Owls would become gods, squirrels would receive extra hit points, wolves would gain translucent skin, and chickens would walk normal because what the fuck do they have to worry about with these little pampered insects in the wild?

PLEASE taste good to predators.

But their hours tomorrow are open: 

It's almost as if Seth Brundle put Pinterest in the telepod with Ken Jeong.*

*this reference wasn't fresh even in CHUD's heyday. 

From craft services on Jeepers Creepers 3: 

I've always preferred my child protection with tater tots. Being abroad has its joys and its trials. The joys include legal murder, prostitution, and in many cases hydrofoils. But sometimes being a very not educated American means you have to deal with translations that make even the worst of us feel superior. And we aren't superior. Not at all.

But it's hard not to feel a little superior when they toss this weakness at you.

So you want your kids to die: 

This is why we can't have nice things. This is why we instead have Robert Kirkman.

What exactly does this say about the parents who bought this abortion and then placed it on the public-facing ass of their car? That their two children are better realized as dead and soulless eaters of the living? That the family is one of those "if one dies we all die" families you hear about on shows I wish existed? They didn't think this through and it makes me sad because they didn't think birth control through either. 

Proofreader, Stevie Wonder: 

I could possibly forgive cinnamon. Or raisin. But not both. Never both. Neverboth. Nieverbith. 

Wont even fly off the shelves if there's a tornado: 

This is a magazine that was exported from a program, put on a portable drive, sent into a machine that printed MULTIPLE copies of it that were collated and folded and stapled and put in boxes and then planes and boats and trucks and delivered to stores. A guy cut breakfast short to unlock a book store earlier than normal somewhere to let the person carrying this 2-D bird flu in. This is a magazine devoted to Robert Redford's illustrious career. No denying his legacy. Problem is that young people will do a double-take and then say "who the fuck?". They will not be intrigued. If they somehow were, they'd leaf through and see the man's current face/bas relief map of Mars from their Lions for Lambs chapter(s) and leave the store in a puff of sulfur and steam.

The people who WOULD love this publication have one fatal flaw: they died in 1988.

Imagine the person who would subscribe to this: 

Weddings are weird. Six people love them and everyone else just wishes they could email a gift certificate. Plus, it's supposed to be the day in a lifetime two young people look their best and it's literally the one day you have no chance of fucking them.

Anyhoo... 

This is a lavish publication about weddings. Its audience I suppose is brides-to-be, wedding planners, and Stanley Tucci in The Lovely Bones. 

They have a subscription as an option. Can you fathom the maniac who would want to see this shit more than NEVER? 

Bottom Right: "INSPO". That should warrant ritual slaughter, no?

Something's wrong, something's Amish: 

Is Amish-built anything really a selling point? Their butter and furniture and Lucas Hasses seem to be all the rage but I'm not buying it. Plus, don't they have their own mafia?  It seems like "Amish" has just become another term to lure idiots into their wallet. Like "artisan" or "housemade" or "bespoke" or "totally nude". 

Fuck their goddamn potato salads and fuck a mafioso named Jebediah. 

The Ripley action figure in 4 parts: 

Witness the latest action figure of Ripley, the alien evader, killer, mother, and becomer made popular by legendary actress Sigourney Weaver. An actress who has successfully survived having a perm and a career. This isn't the worst figure made but I have to take umbrage with the hair "style".

It seems familiar...

Everyone remembers beleaguered and untrustworthy Micah from Albert Pyun's Oscar-snubbed The Sword and the Sorceror, right?  A day doesn't go by where he's not talked about. Did they re-use the mold they totally never made for his action figure they totally never made to create this Ripley toy? The resemblance is uncanny. 

Note: Micah does not survive The Sword and the Sorceror. 

Let us not pretend we don't recognize the totally bitchin' unironic toughs known as Survivor. Perfect name for a band so timeless. While each represents a food group from the 80's ranging from "Nerd Pretending Hung" to "First Time Using Product" to "Daydreaming About Arcade", take a look deeper:

Second from the right wearing Phoebe Cates' blouse from Gremlins. Familiar? Totally ripped by 'Rip. 

Ronnie James Dio is no longer with us. He's ruling Hell. He was known for his insane pipes and his ability to rock your fucking dick off while having your Aunt Judith's hair. 

Dude's a legend. So is Ripley. This figure could be either one of them. Which reminds me that we need Dio toys. Lots and lots of Dio toys.

What I'm saying is that they probably could have done another pass or two before approving the design. I bet there were a few folks at the factory who innocently asked "Are we doing a Nigel Tufnel vs. Xenomorph figure or, wait, is that fucking RIPLEY?"