Posts Tagged ‘shopping’

For absolutely no reason I’ve been looking at ridiculous rich girl shop website Tiffany & Co.

I thought I would share some of the wonderfully expensive shit that you didn’t know you didn’t need.

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Previously on Fudgecrumpet
“Let’s go shopping”
“Let’s get the chuffachoo to Leeds”
“Dairy Free Chocolate Mousse”
“Pouffe”

And now, the conclusion…

When last we saw our curmudgeonly hero, he had been firmly planted on an uncomfortable seat outside the Next changing room, buried underneath infinite clothing, waiting for the missus to try on whatever nonsense she wants to buy that blatantly isn’t Christmas presents.

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“How does this look on me?” She shouts from one of the cubicles.
“It looks lovely, dear.” You reply, instinctively, having made the mistake of actually thinking about the answer in the past.
“No, really. How does it look? Come and see.”

You pause for a moment, aware that this is probably some kind of trap to destroy you, but seeing no tripwires, landmines or spring-loaded boxing gloves, you venture into the changing room corridor.
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Merry bloody Christmas, folks. Ho ho ho, you hoes.

So, you’ve bought yourself the Radio Times double issue, you’ve got yourself a multipack of capri-sun* pouches that you’re steadfastly refusing to open until the big day, and your Christmas tree is upright for the fourth time since the cat/kids/poor structural engineering of your house knocked it down.

*booze for you non-teetotallers.

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So, I guess it’s Christmas. A few days off work, should be nice and relaxing, watching your playing Candy Crush Soda Saga on the toilet, while hiding from the kids.
Then the missus comes in the room, in her low cut top which means she wants to get her own way.
“We need to go Christmas shopping.” She says.
“You did all the Christmas shopping in November, because you were saying how efficient and awesome you were.” You reply.
“I bought shoes.” She says. “And a cheesecake.”
You mumble all the swear words and kick the cat, who squeals angrily and pulls down the Christmas tree.

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Twitter shares go on sale shortly, priced at $26 a share. Now of course we all know twitter is completely pointless (awesome, but pointless) but this got me thinking…

What can I get for $26 (or £16 if what google tells me is true) that is more pointless than twitter?
Turns out quite a bit…

1. This Whoopee Cushion Costume.
LINK!

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…because there are probably easier ways to get girls to sit on you, rather than pretending to be a farting novelty from back in the days when The Beano was funny.

2. Gary’s Adventures In Wonderland.
LINK!
…yes, for the same price as a share in twitter, these guys will go and CTRL-V your name into countless works of classic literature. Because nothing says “I’m cool” more than actually being Dorothy as she goes on her witch killing rampage or being Peter Pan without ending up involved in Operation Yewtree.

3. Four copies of Jersey Shore Shark Attack.
LINK!

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…one copy for yourself, one for your mum, one to hand to a random stranger on the street and a spare in case you accidentally use the disc as a coaster of put it in one of those machines that fires clay pigeons. Which sometimes happens with such examples of high quality modern cinema.

4. A Spongebob Squarepants Onesie.
LINK!
…for when you really, absolutely, definitely don’t want ladies to play with your penis.

5. A baked beans pan and spoon.
LINK!
…because you can’t use a normal pan for beans or bob them in a bowl in the microwave for two minutes. No, you need a Heinz Baked Beans branded Saucepan and spoon. But woe betide anyone who attempts to use the pan to cook anything other than Heinz baked beans in it. It probably explodes or something. Well, I say probably. It probably won’t. In fact, I’m pretty sure it definitely won’t. Still, I’m not brave enough to experiment.

6. A cat Scratching DJ Deck.
LINK!

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…well, nuff said.
Feel free to make cat based dj name puns in the comments. Or keep it to yourself. Actually, yeah. To yourself.

7. Bunting.
LINK!
…make your room into a recreation of a 1950s village fete with this handy bunting. Yes, you too could be the owner of a bunch of triangles on a string. Why I found this on site touting itself as a place to buy gifts is beyond me.
“Happy birthday nan, I bought you some bunting!”
“Fuck you Timothy and fuck your bunting. I tried to drown you at birth but the police stopped me.”

And so, yeah, that’s my fingers sore and my amazon search-based recommendations ruined for a good long while. Have fun spending your money on pointless stuff, and feel free to give your own suggestions and ideas in the comments below. But no cat dj puns. Glad we cleared that up.