This particular anthropomorphized dessert treat strikes me as decidedly untrustworthy. There is something about his shifty look, his leering lean, and his perverse, lecherous moustache that is off-putting. Needless to say, I would not trust the cone around my children, unless I was hoping to be rid of them, in which case he seems like an ideal candidate for a babysitter.

ice cream cone [Flickr] uploaded by whizchickenonabun

YOUR THROBBING MULTIFARIOUS LUSTFUL DESIRES ARE COMPLETED N YOUR HYPER-ORANGE SELF, YOU MAKE ME LOVE AGAIN, YOU’VE CHANGED MY HEART, MY MELANCHOLIA DISAPPEARS WHEN YOU ARE INSIDE OF ME, MY HUMAN RAGE IS TEMPERED WHEN I AM INSIDE YOU, THE SECRET IS COMMUNICATION, LONGEVITY, STAMINA, REPETITION, FURY, SOULFUL KISSING, EARPLUGS. YOU FUCKING CORPORATE COCKS AND CUNTS.

So begins the rant that accompanies this video on YouTube. Let me be perfectly clear: there is nothing redeeming about this video. No, this is a test of fortitude or, perhaps, a measure of your masochistic tendencies. Here for your own edification then is nigh on nine minutes of torturous inanity in the form of a man — clad in a Speedo and purple socks, his face hidden by a bag forged from the brightest Day-Glo so as to protect himself from reprisal — caressing, fondling, and humping a giant phallus comprised of Cheetos.

The masked man — should you be interested in demanding those 8+ minutes of your life back — is one Jeff Ostergan, an artist who in addition to the aforementioned inappropriate snack touching, also claims an impressive portfolio of objects and canvasses he has dripped paint on; and by “impressive” I mean that it is impressive that one would wish to drip paint on so many things or that one could convince others to spend time and money displaying all the things you have dripped paint on.

I LOVE YOU CHEETOS [YouTube] : Thanks, August Moon!

As this ad from 1944 so astutely points out, there was a halcyon era when a man whose domestic servant wife presented him with a less than satisfactory meal, could lay into her with his ring hand with zeal of a bare-knuckle prize fighter at a Clown Punching club. Those days are gone, however, and the young people with their absurd, namby-pamby, “feminist” ideas have cast a bad light on what is now known as “domestic abuse” but was once more commonly known as “constructive corporal criticism” (CCC).

Indeed, in the absence of physical punishment husbands are left with few ways to voice their displeasure with the culinary talents of their private cooks wives. As Heinz is well aware, boredom expressed through yawning — or, perhaps, terrible halitosis; the illustration leaves room for either — is, at the current juncture, one of the few, fool-proof means to impress upon these women that their dishes are not up to par. Never mind the fact that one would assume that these women wouldn’t have to be reminded of the fact that their husbands did them a favor by marrying them in the first place, providing them with money and a home, allowing them to birth and rear their children, thereby saving them from a sad, empty life as a common prostitute or a frigid, spinster librarian.

So it’s a good fucking thing for them that the happy Heinz Chef is there to save their asses with his delicious soups, for how else would these “sensitive souls” be able to deal with ignominy of a man struck dumb with ennui at dinnertime. It’s almost too painful to imagine.

Vintage Toronto Ads: How to Prevent a Domestic Disturbance [Torontoist] : Vintage Ads

Some pieces from Rika Eguchi’s The Last Supper featured in the “How To Cook Docomodake?” exhibition in New York held in October of last year.

Photos tagged Docomodake [Flickr] uploaded by watz : Pink Tentacle : ectochat : Thanks, Mable!

BLU’s Muto: animation on a public wall. Beautiful surely, but I couldn’t help but think about all the artwork he covered up to make it (I know, it’s a public wall, it comes with the territory.) Thanks to Ry-Tron and everyone else who sent this in!

The Octo-Dog Frankfurter Converter. It turns your hot-dogs into octopuses. The Ectomo hive-mind cries out in ecstasy for such a device.

From the artist who brought you Elder Clean Soap comes Shoggoth Jasmine Tea. Thanks, Jezcabelle!

Don’t you fucking dare post knitting patterns for Dr. Who characters. So sayeth the BBC, though most likely it was worded in a far more politely threatening manner filled with words contain superfluous “u”s. Thanks, August Moon!

Alas, poor Yorick. Thanks, Tim McElwee!

Inky hard at work. Or is he? Alt+Tab Command+Tab, Inky, COMMAND+TAB! Thanks, Scott!

A huge photo collection of miniature junk-bots. Thanks, Bela!

Krazmo attempts to dispel any attempt to discern an over-arching narrative for Don’t Cry sweet potatoes:

I don’t think the theme of the label really has much to do with the type of produce inside. As evidence, I cite the following gallery full of such lovely, obsolete art.

Comment by Krazmo — May 1, 2008 @ 12:55 pm

However, based on the image above it would seem that not all produce imagery is without cohesive thematic intentions. Less can be said for the likes of, say, Gay Johnny Texas Vegetables.

I admit to being properly confused by this image for Don’t Cry Brand sweet potatoes. What is going on here? Is it the story of one man losing a game of dice to a sugary tuber, or maybe the other way around? Is the gentleman rolling dice in order to procure said tuber? Are they comparing the consumption of sweet potatoes to illicit gambling? If anyone can definitively explain the imagery here please, leave a comment. Any illumination would be most appreciated.

Don’t Cry sweet potatoes [Vintage Ads]

“The Korova milkbar sold milk-plus, milk plus vellocet or synthemesc or drencrom, which is what we were drinking. This would sharpen you up and make you ready for a bit of the old ultraviolence.”

A Clockwork Potato: Milk-Plus [Mr. PotatoMash] : Toycutter

Steve points out that horrible, horrible things take place backstage at Nine Inch Nails concerts.

Phraust sends us cephalopod daisy chain art.

When life throws you a terrible curse in which you vomit squid, make calamari. Thanks, Michael!

Yeesh, lady, don’t play with your food. Set is NSFW. Thanks, Karenw!

The beautiful Anna Lucylle sent us a photo of her fantastic, Lovecraftian tattoo; as well as photos of it in its various stages. The ModBlog post contains a wonderfully heated, pedantic discussion on the correct pluralization of “octopus” as well.

Image by Paul Robertson, creator of the extraordinary Kings of Power 4 Billion %. Full image is NSFW. Sent in by Niero, mechanized pimp; prince among robots.

I can’t wait for lab grown meat. The possibilities that industrialized in vitro meat production brings are not only ecologically and socially conscious, but potentially deviant as the day is long. The long march of science nearly vibrates with the science community’s eagerness to make human hocks, chimp scampi, rhino roasts, and sure, ethically obtained beef. Yet while supermarkets lined with freezers full of laboratory delights have been the stuff of science fiction for some time; the hour of orgiastic over-indulgence in SmartFlesh is nigh.

Recently, at the In Vitro Meat Symposium in Ås, Norway, an economic analysis was presented that indicates meat grown in tanks would be cost competitive with European beef prices. So while the benefits of lab grown food are blatantly obvious to anyone that stops to think about it for more than a minute, it’s a similarly obvious fact that the almighty dollar (or euro as the case may be) is what really speaks, and the sweet, sweet song of bio-science gone oh so right is tickling my tympanics.

But doubt runs rampant among freak meat elite, with experts revealing skepticism as to whether “there is a large market of early adopters who want to eat test tube meat for environmental, health or ethical reasons.” I am here to calm your quaking. Not only is there a market for it, but if the readership of any number of blogs in my feed reader is an indication, the market is not only large but eager and deeply, deeply disturbed.

With a little luck — and a basement full of “missing” puritanical no-fun-niks — the first Ectomo barbecue will be vegan friendly.

Tube Meat [grinding.be : Wired]

Ah, the bento, pride of Japanese mothers and envy of the West; a lunchtime concoction in the form of art. Obacchi Jacket Lunch Box has a massive collection of these wonderful little meals made up in order to resemble album covers. Who knew that the cover of The Downward Spiral could seem appetizing?

Bento Box Album Covers [Obacchi Jacket Lunch Box] : Pink Tentacle : Zaeega

While the Japanese Giant Hornet is certainly a horrifying affirmation of nature’s twisted, murderous intent it’s also a fascinating creature cautiously adored by the many warped freaks we call our friends. Apparently this fascination isn’t limited to the aforementioned bosom-dregs of society, extending to the Japanese, who treasure the enzyme rich honey created by the brutal beasts, believing it to have an invigorating effect.

The honey is collected by questionably sane apiarists on a small island in Japan who fortify the treat with methods intended to increase the enzyme levels of the honey, all so you can get the most venomous bang for your buck.

Being something of a tea zealot — and thus obsessed with constant experimentation in the field of tea accessorizing — I can ignore the hefty dosh needed to pick up a measly 4.5 ounces of this odd treat. Have a peek at the hornet honey dispensary, while currently fresh out of virulent hornet heavings they’ve got a wide array of insect-centric delectables sure to please even the most discerning adventurer’s palette.

Hornet Honey [cribcandy]