Monthly Archives: December 2010’s Worst Christmas Gifts

Are you the kind of person who often ponders the immortal question, “WHY ISN’T ANYONE READING MY T-SHIRT!?” Do you reek of filthy bedsheets and household garbage that should have been cleared from the foot of your computer desk months ago? Can you name more actors that played Dr. Who than you can personal friends? If so, is the perfect destination for you and your unruly brood who have no doubt traded sex favors for Magic: The Gathering cards. Bad news: the Black Lotus might have been banned from tournament play, but those emotional scars will last forever.

Through copious amounts of research that basically boiled down to stealing a catalog from someone else’s mailbox, Garbage Duck has taken the liberty of highlighting the worst Christmas gifts from a site that dubiously claims to be for “smart” people. And we’ve posted it as close to the holiday as possible to prevent any more poor souls out there from having their remaining scraps of dignity ripped away through the simple act of opening a cardboard box. Enjoy!

Worst Use of Words on Fabric: The <sarcasm> T-Shirt

There’s no telling how these things are still being made. Did someone recently recover a sunken mall shipment vessel that originally launched from China in 1997? Whatever the case, this brand of geek apparel isn’t unique in its awfulness, but awful in its ubiquity. Who hasn’t dealt with someone whose shirt proudly snarked something their crippling social anxiety and self-loathing would never let them say? Bonus points if this happened before 2002.

Price: $18.99          Loss of Dignity: -10

Worst Use of Bacon: Every Goddamned Thing with Bacon in It

Unfunny people, did you get the memo? Bacon is the new thing you’re supposed to run into the fucking ground! Pirates, robots, and zombies had a good run, and for a while it looked like pimps were going to be the next big thing, but no; this specific pork product is beloved by everyone who lists The Big Bang Theory as one of their favorite shows. Clearly, the possession of bacon-themed items tells the world “I am a down-to-earth individual with a relaxed attitude about a delicious-yet-deadly food item. And if you use my bathroom your  hands are going to smell like a godforsaken Denny’s all day and stray dogs might attack you.”

Price(s): Various/Too Much          Loss of Dignity: -25

Worst Food-to-Mouth Delivery System: Marshmallow Guns (Various)

Be honest: how many marshmallows do you eat in a year? If you answered “more than one,” then you’ve just committed the socially-permissible act of lying to a blog. This is because marshmallows are a terrible turn-of-the century foodgoo that only serve a useful purpose as a binding agent in candy sandwiches. So why in the name of all things holy would you pay up to and including $34.99 for a device which fires this roofing industry byproduct into your mouth through what can only be described as the world’s most action-packed choking hazard? Even if you’re self-medicating with food, there has to be a better, more efficient way of doing so that doesn’t involve eating marshmallows. Garbage Duck recommends a gravy funnel or perhaps a cake tarp if Christmas ends up giving you a case of the Mondays.

Price: $19.99 – $34.99          Loss of Dignity: – 50

Worst Use of a Valuable Metal: Starfleet Academy Spork Combo

Nothing says “I will soon murder you in my personally built sex dungeon” than handing your guests Star Trek-branded sporks with their delicious pudding cup dinners. I once lived near a used bookstore that contained an entire bookcase shelved with hundreds of Star Trek novels undoubtedly obtained from the estate sales of dead shut-ins; maybe one of these tomes explains just how this KFC-popularized abomination became the standard eating utensil in Gene Roddenberry’s humanist future utopia? Finding out would cost upwards of 25 cents, which would be better spent paying the sales tax on something far more interesting, like shoe polish.

Price: $22.99 per Spork          Loss of Dignity: -100

Worst Repurposing of a Snuggie: The Slanket

I’m not quite sure how the Slanket differs from the Snuggie, except the former apparently comes with its own Suicide Girl? So you can enjoy your backwards robe together as you pretend to enjoy The Corpse Bride and later try to score some heroin or something. For some ThinkGeek customers, the slanket will be a comfortable winter retreat soon to be smeared with dust produced from the Frito-Lay company; for others, it will be the most form-fitting garment available on the market. In either case, they’re still paying three times the street value of a fucking Snuggie.

Price: $29.99          Loss of Dignity: – how do i make the infinity symbol on this


Marihuana: Buggerer of Youth!

"Either this wallpaper goes or I - excuse me. Either this wallpaper goes or the Irish do." - Finneus A. GarbageDuck, dying words.

Since our great-grandfathers founded this blog way back in 1910, GarbageDuck has been all about reaching out to the youth. We’re also all about the money, but that’s hard to come by in the Internet comedy writing business. My Pap-pap came up with the promotional idea of filming pie fights with X-10 spy cameras which he advertised, but those don’t always translate into banner ad clicks, no matter how many people viewed it at the arcade nickelodeons.

His other scheme to monetize the site was through fat, evil government contracts. His idea was to pen anti-Mexicandrug propaganda and circulate it to the impressionable youth through the malt shops of rural Ohio. Imagine our surprise last week when, due to a booking error, we found out one of his grant applications was approved some 60 years ago. So, in Pap’s beloved memory, we set down the piles of Confederate script he – for a good reason, we’re sure – requested in his application and present:


In which our impressionable and virginal narrator Billy meets a slicke, smoothe talking drug dealer and smokes drugges to his ruine.

Haw! Haw! Well golly! I had such a good time reading Shakespeare and blacking out all the unchaste parts that I must be late for dinner! Mom will sure as shooting throw a fit if I miss another one of her famous Milk Toast Jamborees. Maybe that gentleman in the pinstripe suit and greasy mustache can tell me what time it is.

Say, sir? Could you tell me what time – Oh my! You’re that 40-year-old man who’s always throwing parties for teenagers at your apartment downtown. How the heck have you been? Sure, I guess I have a minute or two to chat with you, but I’m mighty thirsty. Where do you want to go?

The malt shop? Soda Pop? Haw! Haw! You know I can’t touch that stuff, Mister.

Hey now! Don’t get snippy just because I can’t poison my body. I know a real thrill when I see one. My friends Skip, Jasper, Mordecai and myself have had our share of heck-raising in this ‘burg. Shucks, I’ll never forget Mordecai’s pantomime of Eleanor Roosevelt trying on blue jeans, clodhoppers and a strap-on. Oh Brother! Those weenie roasts we hosted were something out of Satyricon. Hah! I hope we don’t go to Heck for that one! Anyway, Mother only smacked me across the face with the Bible twice after that and I think that was mostly because I wasn’t home by 7:30.

So I’m up for whatever hijinks you can throw at me, sir. If you want to round up three immigrants from the other side of the tracks, label them 1, 2, and 4 and set them loose inside the next Chamber of Commerce meeting, I’m your guy.

But I can’t do soda pop. Mother told me a story about a kid who drank too much soda – he grew hair all over his hands and turned into a Papist. I’m not about to mess with that stuff! It’s horrible for you. Unhealthy.

What’s that? Sure I’d love a cigarette. Like my Dr. Johnson says, “You have to make sure your T-zone doesn’t turn into a lower-case ‘T’, Billy.” Hah! Great guy, Dr. Johnson. He can trace his lineage back to Cotton Mather.

Well, here we go!

Golly…. Golly this cigarette tastes funny.

Goddamn. Goddamn I’m horny! I could fuck an Encyclopedia Britannica right now I feel so fucking horny. Hey! Hey! I have an idea! Let’s take that nifty Packard you bought with your drug dealing money down to the grade school to find ourselves some strange, eh?

No? What are you? Mormon?! Come on, man, I’m BORED.

Screw this kiddie shit, Mister. I know a guy who can get us some sherm. I feel dangerous! I feel like whistling and making off-color comments at a pregnant lady until she miscarries. You know, ALIVE! Like a… Like a communist!

Saaaaay! That’s an idea! Why don’t I call a bunch of my confused young friends over to your place, throw a bundle of this stuff in a fire and talk politics, huh? Stuff about the divide between the rich and poor, about how private property is a lie, about how church is a lie, about how money and the church and the money you give to the church is a lie. That sort of thing, you know?

Say, I think my buddy Weed Farmer Topher would have a blast with this stuff. He just got a summer internship with the State Department. Let’s call him up and start some shit! Hee! Hee! This is gonna be wild!