Product licensing is big business. If Disney couldn't put every single princess they have on paper plates, party hats and topical ointment, how would any little girl have a birthday party ever again and how would Robert Iger afford another layer of solid gold on his lawn? Lord only knows. But sometimes, in the fervor to give the average consumer what they want, you get that one marketing whiz kid who just figures any product can be made fun and two months later you've got a whole aisle in Wal-Mart full of Woody Woodpecker herpes medication.
For best results, apply directly to your crotch shoulder.Just to clarify though, pads are for when ladies drink too much and it makes their vaginas sweat, right?
Almost as popular his line of "raspberry beret" hemorrhoid pillows.
Fun Fact: Until the late 1800s, these could only be found under bridges.If I had to guess I'd say this was all designed by a well-meaning individual who slapped images whole hog across the entire Cafepress playbook, not particularly stopping to consider that thongs come along with the deal. Or they were well aware of it and figured the little Bishop already looks sort of Catholic, so why not deck him out in full regalia.
Look, it's autographed. Now jam your groin in there.You'll notice on the inside, the most crotch-saturated portion of the garment, is Baron Von SternBrow's surly mug. He's just sitting there on what us refined folk call the gusset, faintly lipglossed, waiting for some desperately lonely fan's undercarriage to settle in for the most disquieting round of CPR ever conceived. Why so glum? Possibly because he's aware that could potentially result in spending the rest of the week until laundry day sporting a most unfortunate goatee depending on the hygiene of the person wearing it. If anyone out there has actually purchased this product, then damn you. Damn your very soul you depraved, completely fucked individual. If you haven't fully appreciated the depths of "for fuck's sake" that this product plumbs, stop to appreciate the Twilight demographic, which seems to mostly be underage girls. That face you just made was your soul puking in its own mouth.
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.