22 Awesomely Terrible Valentine's Day Gifts

We now interrupt our regular Manny Diaries programming for our annual Valentine's special, in which we showcase a series of unfortunate Valentine's Day gifts that will make your loved one run screaming into the nearest snowbank.

1. Giant Meat Heart

$8.57 for all that meat? I tried to enlarge the image to reveal the text, which no doubt read "Turkey Scrotums and Pork Spleens," but the resolution is poor.

 2. Brief Jerky

Discomfort factor: Quite high.

3. His and Her Tongue Scrapers 

Because there is no way you want to share such an item with your spouse or anyone else. Ick! Tongue fur...tongue fur.  I'm going to keep saying that until you FREAK OUT. Tongue fur.

 4. Chocolate Heads

Before you decide to commission your love's face in chocolate, try to find a photograph of said love taken right before he bites into a big hoagie or right after releasing gas. The results will be so much better! YUM.

 5. Faceless Snuggly Thing

This faceless snuggie will comfort you when you are lonely and sad. Then it will heartlessly strangle you. Best avoided.

 6. Fundies!

No Valentine's Day list would be complete without these. Even more fun when worn by
religious fundamentalists with opposing views!

7. Big Phallic Rose

I cling to my fading manhood much as this small, frightened bear clings to this giant, phallic rose. 

8. Giant Purple Gorilla

Apparently there are lots and lots of giant plushies for sale, and all of them feature besotted adult females clinging to them. There's something somewhat unsavory about this. 

9. Valentine Punkin

Found it in the Halloween remainders bin, put a fresh onesie on the item to repurpose it for Val's Day. Fail. 

10. Disapproving Lovey

"I am deeply disappointed in you and will sit here in judgement until you wither before me" did not fit on the heart.

11. Giant Plush...Oh My God What IS That?

Whoa, is that thing to scale? How many acres of Saran wrap did it take to package it? When I "dream big," will you console me when I awaken? That delivery man (or is he a guard?) sure seems anxious.

12. Unidentifiable Pile of Something

Nothing says "I love you" like a pile of hot buttered yak wool with eyes.

13. Long Dog With Fleshy Tongue

It would have been pretty bad as it was, but they had to add that awful, fleshy tongue
that looks somehow real and vaguely human. I made this photo extra-large so you could see
the detail...the taste buds. I suspect tongue trafficking!

14. Fairy Turdlets

When I saw this I couldn't help but think of the phrase "fairy turdlets." There is something potty-esque about her seat, and the brown matter that's piling up around her ankles is just...well, blergh. Plus she has the vacant expression of the perennially constipated. 

15. Valentine's Day Luxury Kit

With this luxury kit, you can watch yourself making love in the bath via a two-way mirror while you simultaneously hug and make up after the big blowout that happens when you discover your creepy "Peeping Tom" Doppelgangers spying on you and blame it on each other. Wait, what?  

16. Milk Chocolate Heart

A one-pound, anatomically correct chocolate heart. VEINS. It has veins. 

17. Sleeping Bag With Teeth 

This really cute sleeping bag zips your loved one (nearly comatose with fright) into a life-size bear pelt! You can then act out your weird animal molestation fantasy while her tears drizzle down the bear's "gullet." What fun! 

 18. Cupid Sweater

Everything about this Etsy sweater would have been JUST ADORABLE until I enlarged the image and spotted the heart poking out from the nude cupid's rear. This begs the questions: "Does he poo hearts? Or are his buttocks red and heart-shaped, to attract other suitable cupids? Or did he have an unfortunate accident in a kindergarten classroom?" Also, this sweater's 3-D attributes make it unsuitable for most dry cleaners and crowded public gatherings. 

 19. Bobblehead Lovers

Customized bobbleheads simultaneously rape an innocent Valentine's heart,
revealing the dark side of this cruel holiday. 

 20. Winkie Warmer

Hand-knit winkie warmer! With scrotal flaps. I think it's supposed to be an elephant.
I actually think this is pretty awesome. 

 21. One-Armed Replacement Wife

Lonely men need look no further than the one-armed Replacement Wife. Lovingly hand-stitched by grannies in the Ukraine. Comes with rubber glove to avoid those "dishpan hands." Please specify boobie size: Ping-Pong Balls, Bocce Balls, Croquet Balls, Dodgeballs.

 22. Some Scary Thing From Etsy

Handmade with terror. Please do not purchase this for me.

Franken-Meatballs and Disembodied Iguana Tails

This is a story of the perils of working at home, as the mother of three young sons. This was my afternoon, and I have lived to tell the tale.

At around 4:30 Middle Son (age 8) came bouncing into my home office like a miniature Tigger, chanting in his inexorable way: "Hey mom mom I wanna icicle there's this big icicle outside a my window and I want it mom I want it I want that icicle will you get it for me mom huh huh? Will you get me that icicle mom huh huh?"

"I'm working right now. Can you please wait?"

"I want this one big icicle can I have it now huh huh mom? Can I have it now? Itsa really big icicle and I need to have it I want it I need to have it it's an awesome icicle and I want it now mom so can you get it for me now huh huh?"

My mind nearly snapping like a dry twig, I agreed to acquire the icicle so that the kid would bounce away somewhere else. I opened the window and leaned way out. The icicle was a lot further than it looked. The screen, open above me, suddenly slipped from its frame and banged me on the head and sproinged out onto the rooftop. I yanked it back inside and threw it into the room. I reached way out, hoping I wouldn't slip out onto the rooftop. Success! I got the icicle and snapped it off and handed it proudly to my son. He looked at it and hurled it away into the yard.

"What did you go and do THAT for?"

"That way I can grab it easy from the yard when I go outside! It'll be all nice and cold out there and stuff and won't melt nor anything!"

I was just getting back to work, where one of those painfully cryptic and pithy emails awaited me (you know, the ones that say something like "plz call me!!!!" or "what's ur #????"). I began to hear a soft wailing from Eldest Son, my fifth grader, downstairs, a low moan that devolved into racking sobs. When I came down he was slumped over his math homework and begged me for a calculator.

"I'd give you one, really I would," I said. "But it won't do you any good. You have to show your work. Common Core, you know, and all."

He collapsed in a fresh wave of tears. "These problems are stupid!" he cried. "I know how to do them. They are just a waste of my time. My time! When can I PLAY? Mom, when can I PLAY?" And he looked at me with a hunted look of a trapped animal. He had, by the way, already attended an hour-long "Math Olympiad" enrichment program after school, for students who are advanced in math. It wasn't that he couldn't do the problems. It's that, for him, they were dull. He wanted them over with and gone.

I maybe did one of his 867 math problems for him. Yeah, one. It actually invigorated me as I haven't done paper-and-pencil math in years, so there's that. I destroyed the evidence so you can't prove it on me, you can't PROVE that I did it so, yeah...he did his own work, all of it, sir.

Then he announced that he had a science project due, and it was due tomorrow. We had to get teaspoonfuls of flour on dump them on sheets of black construction paper, and then drip water on the piles of flour from varying heights with an eyedropper. Except I couldn't find an eyedropper. Not only that, it was gluten-free flour and I don't think it reacted the way most flour does. Most flour is light and fluffy; gluten-free flour is stodgy and Lumpen. It just kinda sat there when most flour would have reacted in a more scientific and buoyant manner.

We tried drizzling the water from our fingers, pouring it off a spoon, etc., but it was impossible to aim it right for the little piles of flour. Finally I thought the most effective method might be if I spit the water at the mound of flour. I missed as well. The floor was sodden in water and spattered with flour (gluten-free, of course). Goopy piles of black construction paper lay about. I suggested to my son that he might piddle on the flour. At least then he would have something surefire to aim with.

"I don't care if I fail! This is the stupidest thing I have ever seen!" cried Eldest Son. "And, I'm even supposed to take a PHOTO of this."

It looks like a bird exploded on its way to the potty.

Littlest One, in the meantime (age 5), was swinging around his lovey, Iggy. Iggy is a Beanie Baby iguana. He looks like this but more threadbare:

My tail will be torn off by a vengeful elder brother.

Iggy has grown from being a bedtime snuggle-chum to a completely sentient being with mystical, magical powers who needs to be kissed goodnight and goes everywhere with the Littlest One.

(His other favorite "loveys" are turtles and snakes. Should I be concerned about the reptilian theme?)

So it was quite horrifying when Littlest Son and Eldest Son got in a tussle over Iggy and—the horror!—his tail came quite unattached from his body and lots of little "beads" poured out. The screams were astounding.

"He BROKE Iggy! He BROKE Iggy!" It was like the next 18 years of therapy in one terrifying session.

"Iggy is real hurt," sobbed Littlest One, as I stitched him up with my poor 4-H sewing skills so that his tail looked like a Frankenstein monster. He then quickly proceeded to accidentally drop Iggy into the toilet post-pee, such that Iggy needed to be bathed and laid upon a towel for recuperation. The screams, then, were also terrible.

Meanwhile, our houseguest, who will merit a few blog entries of his own, was serving meatballs and pasta for the boys' dinner. He is an exceptional cook and very gifted in the kitchen, which was welcome help at this time. Unfortunately, he is not as gifted with cleaning as he is with cooking. It looked like a meatball explosion. And these meatballs were GINORMOUS. There were meatballs dangling from every surface and a thick crust of detritus under the kitchen table. A meatball rolled from the counter into the leftover "gluten-free" flour from the science experiment. Fettucine noodles were adhered to the table. Little bits of cheese floated in the air like motes in God's eye. A smoke alarm was wanly beeping, and needed new batteries.

I heard an ominous "ding" from my work computer and shuddered. There was no doubt another cryptic email, this time saying something like "u have been gone for 45 minutes, where r u???!!!"

Eldest Son saw weakness, and he made his move like an adder.

"Can we watch one of those shows Mom, can we can we? Can we watch just one of those shows? Y'know just one? Just one?" and he smoothed his new, long, girl-magnet hair and added, "So you can get your work done, you know."

"Yes," I said, giving him a bit of the grateful stink-eye. "By all means, yes!"

Haikus for Strange Abandoned Items

Lashed to a tree branch
The abandoned lovey waits.
Days pass, and seasons.

Cruelly shorn of clothes.
Are those her pants in the weeds?
Ah! How the world is weeping!

Cry havoc, gummies!
When the grenade exploded
A part of me died.

Lone chicken nugget.
Once crisp, now not fit for man.
You rest on rough stone.

The jalapeño!
Wedged with such ferocity.
May buttocks meet you.

The humanity!
Who would unleash such terror
Into a calm dawn?

Night of the Lovies: A Graphic Novel (Chapter Two)

When we last left our hero, Little Pushkin, he had fallen into the clutches of the evil Schtinky Teddy and his band of foul cutthroats, and was sold into slavery on the docks.

To think that, I, Little Pushkin, would sink to such despair. Sold into bondage at the dark and hideous Lovey Work Camp, I was forced to sort nubby plastic pieces by color while the snarling guards watched my every move. Corpses of other workers lay about like disregarded offal. Oh, pity! Oh, terror!

Just as I had suspected, the overseer was none other than the nefarious Schtinky Teddy, who had had his nose repaired by a coquettish seamstress, no doubt. He lurched up over the walls, sauced on Bourbon, and laughed cruelly at my plight. His eyes were battered from a life spent bouncing down stairs and being flung at walls for no reason, and the light of ursine kindness was not to be found there. He had a fine new ribbon about his neck—surely bought from the spoils of his slave trade!

I knew then I must flee. I escaped by cart under cover of night, while terrible slavering hounds pursued me.

I escaped the hideous canine beasts and hid in the jungle, my heart pounding. I was but a wee little creature, and who knew what fiends hid here in this wildness? My withered leg hurt me a bit, but I am made of stern stuff. I, Little Pushkin, would survive!

Good God! He lurched out of the fronds like a fiend from a nightmare, part of his gnawed-upon and licked-upon face dangling down and tickling my neck and filling me with a nauseated loathing. Schtinky Teddy, doth Hell have such devils as ye in it?

He was done with me. "No good as a slave, me poppet!" he shouted. "Your kind are more trouble than they are worth in hoisting bricks and blocks, for you will drive the others into revolt. Prepare to greet your maker!" I was tossed in a chariot filled with rubbish, bricks, and used cars.

He tossed me into the junkheap, where I fell atop a pile of horrid cars due to be crushed later that day. "This is so derivative of Toy Story 3!" I screamed, but his ears were closed to my pleas.

Help was at hand! Three little mice threw me down a rope and rescued me just in time. Their maniacal giggling was unpleasant, but Little Pushkin was in a bind. Now, I simply had to gather a band of allies, defeat Schtinky Teddy at his cruel game, and break up his Work Camp. To be continued!

Apples! Apples! Eat them night and day!

I have had a couple of phone calls lately from those of you who read the non-comedic horrors of Document 12 and are worried I am lying out on the cold ice like a haddock, gazing sightlessly at the forbidding sky. Nay, friends, I am alive!

In fact, the revelation that I am about to share with you is that I feel weird almost ALL THE TIME. At least during the month of February. I just don't talk about it much. So you needn't worry; I'm just as mentally savaged by the cruelties of waking life as I ever was. I still want to be in the Little Crawl Hole under the basement stairs, stroking the last remnants of fur off Fuzzy Bunny. Yet you see me walking about, wearing this nice frock and with my hair all brushed and such. (Well, since I had that Brazilian Blowout treatment it seems like I brushed it, even though I sat and stared listlessly into the mirror, the brush lying in my slack hand.)

I even eat food and go about my business and have conference calls with important people. I still know how to tie my shoes. I can uncork a bottle of wine with all the pep and verve of a mentally well individual! And when I play Checkers or Chess with my seven-year-old, I scheme endlessly as to how I will defeat the evil child at his own game. So do not worry a lick about me.

I recently had a talk with a nice and marvelous doctor who explained that my dizziness and shakiness were caused by some problems with blood sugar, and a few simple imbalances that can be corrected by supplements...and the right foods.

"What kind of foods?" says I. "I need more pork products, perhaps?"

"No, vegetable products."

"Not bacon? I do not feel I get enough bacon, and I might be suffering as a result."

"I mean Swiss Chard, Kale, those kind of things. Veggies that are dark and rich in color."

And then he told me to eat a lot of apples. Apples! Those damned things are supposed to keep the doctor away! Or so I have been informed over the years.

Night of the Lovies: A Graphic Novel

Night of the Lovies: Chapter One

My name is Little Pushkin. Having very little in the way of fortunes or relations, I set out in the world to make my way. I had been born with a withered left leg, but this did not impede my spirit and pluck. Nay, I was more determined than my able-bodied brethren to make something of myself in the wide world!

No sooner had I left the bucolic land of my birth when a hirsute stranger happened upon me on the road, and whispered of sweet temptations and evil things. His words were like honey dipped in butter, soaked in whiskey and topped with brandied cherries. He called himself Lambie. He led me to his lair.

There we met Mousie, a swollen and grotesque beast with a penchant for picking pockets...and a murderous skill at knifeplay. "Little Pushkin," said he. "Join us. You'll make a fine and merry cutpurse, as your little stature will be your asset!" He laughed, a trace maniacally.

Lo! From the rafters, like a fragrant leopard, dropped a rapscallion by the name of Schtinky Teddy. I blanched when I saw him, fair reader, for his face was gnawed and tattered, and he bore the faint stench of old saliva about his limbs. Human teeth had been upon him, and he had been roughly handled and tossed about. His eyes were devoid of human emotion.

Oh, depravity! I feared for my soul.

Lambie and Mousie slept the drugged sleep of the damned. Before I knew it, the villainous teddy had clutched me up and bore me away, to a ship docked in the harbor. "Har har, poppet!" said he. "I'll fetch a pretty price for you in the slave markets. Even with that bum leg o' yourn. "

"Don't leave me here!" I cried. Schtinky Teddy, remorseless, left me on the quay in the settling darkness, the fee he had received for me rattling in his paw. Soon, the others would come. The unknowns. I was alone. But I would fight on. Little Pushkin would not perish!

To be continued. Chapter Two here.