Because of all the news stories about people throwing their babies into dumpsters, a lot of people think that a dumpster is a great place for a small child. At first, it makes sense. There’s a lot of stuff in a dumpster that a baby could play with, and heat from the rotting garbage would keep a baby warm.

But I’m here to tell you that throwing your baby into a dumpster is wrong. The infrastructure of an average township can’t handle a bunch of babies filling up all the dumpsters. Luckily, someone made a little advertisement that will hopefully put an end to people tossing their babies into dumpsters.

I don’t know — the baby looks pretty happy in the first picture. Sure, it’s upside down and streaking toward the mangled spokes of a deflated bike tire or a carpet of smashed Snapple bottles, but the risk of the ride is really half the fun.

Actually, the baby looks the same in the second picture. It’s happy no matter what. Maybe the lady is getting rid of the baby because its dopamine levels are all fucked up. It must be frustrating to beat a child over and over and over again while it giggles and makes funny faces.

The main problem I see with this ad is that the baby is missing the region of flesh that connects its legs to the rest of its body. Because of this, some people might think that this ad only applies to babies that got that little triangle of flesh cutout in a horrible Play-Doh accident. I’m not a doctor, but that seems like a pretty legitimate reason to throw a baby in the trash. I don’t think that nurse in the second picture has the medical skill to re-attach that area. Besides, once the flesh gets mixed with the other Play-Doh colors, it’s really impossible to get the correct skin-tone back.

~Thanks Buzz Feed

post image flickred by MarmotChaser

The dating scene is hard. We can’t all be “funny” or “interesting” or “holding down a steady job.” And even if you somehow manage to convince someone that the blood on your jacket is from when you cut your hand opening cans of food for the homeless, how can you be sure that that person shares your interests?

People have tried inventing solutions to this problem for years. This is why people hang out in groups. If you’re in the emo group and you meet a girl who’s also in the emo group, there’s a good chance both of you can connect over bad poetry. If you’re a jock and you meet another jock, you can safely assume that you both enjoy having sex surrounded by mirrors.

But what happens if your tastes run a little strange? Say, for example, you’re really fond of baby-skeletons. How do you let suitors know that you enjoy getting pregnant and then filming the abortion for your followers on YouTube?

If this is how Superman sees the world, who would want that fucking job?

For starters, you get an insanely creepy tattoo of a baby’s skeleton on your stomach. I guess the next step is buying a lot of belly-shirts and then hitting the clubs. Anthropologists probably love this tattoo because it finally answers the long debated question of whether or not crazy people wear a lot of belly-shirts.

Maybe this tattoo is just a really misguided attempt to get attention away from that birth mark. Or maybe she went to the tattoo shop to get a tattoo of her newborn baby’s face, but then she found out that the only tattoo artist she could afford was “Jimmy Blade” who only tattoos skulls, skeletons, and anarchy signs. But I don’t see an anarchy sign anywhere, so that story doesn’t work.

I think we’re back to the “crazy lady looking for equally crazy guy” theory. Maybe she’s hoping there’s a guy walking around with a tattoo of a baby’s skin on his testicles. Wouldn’t that be a match made in heaven? Talk about winning the game of life.

As ridiculous as the tattoo is, I think she’s found a way to beat the system. She no longer has to sit at bars and hope that one of the guys in the room is crazy enough to appreciate her collection of baby rattles found within 50 yards crime scenes. Now she can just walk into a bar, spin around in a circle a couple times with her stomach exposed, and gauge the overall feeling of the room based on how many beer bottles hit her in the face.

Please don’t email me asking for this lady’s contact information. The “skeleton baby” section of my Rolodex was too full. That Rolodex joke was for my elderly readers.

~Thanks Your Tattoo Sucks