Do you want wealth and success beyond your stupidest dreams? Are you so consumed with unertia that you’d rather invent a whale than get off your coach and make your wishes do your bidding? Are you free next St. Sprinkles Day? Then, may we suggest Pander Bears? The only Panda Bear Impersonators in America who will pass their whoring money on to you? For no charge? Why? Because they’re bears! They have no use for money, but they just love to supply willing clients to their stables of healthy, clean prostitutes, and Wrestling Team can only get so rich! Get in on the ground floor, grubman!

4/$10

Remember that time you got Punk’d on national television and Kelso jumped out and revealed that the graffiti on your Porsche was really just lentil soup and that your starring role in Von Helsing II was similarly just a josh and that Josh Weinstien never called a meeting with you because it was the night before Nachas, the Jewish holiday of joy, and then he jumped out of Weinstein’s schul and revealed to the assembled congregation that Nachas was a made-up holiday and that their religion was atavism that will be destroyed by the coming war when the Anti-Beings invade from the meta-realm beyond ours? Well, now you can relive that phenomenological feeling of shame and hatred yourself, but by inflicting it on other peoples with Wrestling Team’s Patton Ted Turd Hors D’Ouevres, a 10-course meal of coprophagia that looks just like the false thing: real hors d’ouevres! Bottoms up, as this nearly-food is ejected from the bottom of our genetically engineered Beast of Defecation. Stanks, Monsanto!

$35.99

Who knew America’s favorite grandparent was... from SPACE?!?! Starring Phlegmmy Award-winning performance artist Yazbrook as Lonulon, the expatriate from Grandpa 14, these 22 episodes will make you laugh in your pants! Will the straight-laced Roger Sokdrar and his average nuclear family be able to be straight-faced when they move into Area 51 with the out-of-this-world Lonulon? The comedic possibilities are as delicious as one of That Darn Grandfather’s Space Ribbon Candy Capsule Treatz!

$0.19 x10^2

THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE

With an atomic weight of 286 and an atomic number of Number One Element in the World, the element of surprise is the latest man-made element, made by Manmade Ganymede, the world’s phoniest physicist and the tallest occupant of France, Texas, a small scientific outpost on the outskirts of Paris Hilton, Texas, which if you’re lucky, you can see its most private of vaginal areas as the paparazzo snap pictures of its snatch as it leaves the car on a shopping trip. Yes, the entire fucking city has a giant fucking car. Get off my back already. Ganymede, on lone from the Chicago Institute for New Physics, has been sequestered away in France, TX with the promise of a Noble Prize and a large paycheck which Wrestling Team, and our parent corporation, Ma Barker and Her Fictional Beagle Boys, never intend to give him. And what has the result of his twelves labours been? Why the birth of this new element which keeps surpassing all of our expectations. That is to say, we have no fucking clue what it does. Caveat emptor, shitwits!

2/$3.99 on Tues.

This novelty T-shirt will impress all of your friends, and even make you some new ones! Just don’t wear it to a gathering that calls for formal attire. Sure, the comedy is golden, but you understand, these kinds of occasions require a certain level of taste and discretion. This is probably common sense, but I want to make sure any possible faux pas can be avoided. Don’t embarrass me!

$85.00

Sick of the back of your car not expressing your individuality? Well, then wake the fuck up and head back to the 15th century before there was such a thing as a separate ego that functioned as a singular individual. I’m not saying there weren’t particular people with particular personalities back then, but I am saying that they didn’t need to put shitty stickers on the backs of their carts or whatever else they drove to show what unique and special humans they were. In fact, if your shitty ass ever traveled back in time and had to live like those dolts did, you probably wouldn’t be able to survive without your Yaris and your 60 gig iPods and the technoscience that created the nanotech that fixed your blindness and that used the power inherent in the fictional world to fuel our rotting civilization by creating an engine that siphons off the energy in made-up realms and uses it to power a nuclear furnace at the center of the Earth. Please, if you travel back in time, please take me with you. This dystopian future we live in has blackened my very being, and I cannot survive our times. I beg you, take me with you. TAKE ME WITH YOU!

5 new sheqels

Is your Passover celebration in need of some levity? Well, as we all know, laughs are a mitzvah, and our patented Matzo Balls are guaranteed to get a rise out of even the most unleavened shmura! Don’t tell Bubbe!

$1.99/2

I just got back from playing a game of stickball with my chums and while I am thirsty, I am not thirsty enough. I do not deserve to have my what little thirst I have scrounged up slaked. I am bad. I must be punished. I must taste the feeling of dehydration, of desiccation, I must learn to feel the utter horror as my body dies before me…my flesh flaking off a bit at a time as I become drier and drier, as the bone-texture washes over my flesh, as I become chalk. To live no more. To have the light of life within me spark out and collapse into the Dionysian oneness of the darkness, the eternal rhythm of unity beating, beating, beating in my ears, my heart. I must let it stop. I must let the world survive this husk. I must become as one with the manifold of reality whirring behind the scenes. And only Gatorade’s new Thirst Balls will steal this life from my very waking soul. Raspberry-Limon, Cherryade, Strawtastic Orange, and Topical Punch are the new names of the four horsemen. Let their reign be brief, and let our civilization crumble quickly.

$6.62

Mick Jagger got no satisfaction as the chicken-walking frontman of the Rolling Stones. Pete Townsend could see for miles as the windmilling axe-man for The Who. What do these men have in common? They both look like a glove full of relish when compared to Toady Dale, the atom-smashing physicist of rock! Backed by the Bitch Flock, a near-feral gang of thrashing monsters and tortured ghouls, Toady Dale was poised to murder everyone in his path. But alas, his demon seed found no purchase in the barren earth of the 1940s metal scene. When he lost the Best Metal Album Ouncey Award to Eli Whitney in 1876, he decided to throw the towel into the fire. As the flames danced in his eyes, we knew he would be back...

$35.99 each

Although season one never aired, and season two was never filmed, here for the first time, Wrestling Team presents the DVD collection of the World’s Most Non-Existent Sitcom, as it was awarded at the Emmys* last year. Blooper Reel is a hilarious look at the world of Kryg Hollaback, the lowly president of a Corpor-Nation, the next step in the evolution of our political world. As the head of The GESA (The General Electric States of America), Hollaback has to put up with the woes of a collapsing nation, the cries of a mostly poor populace as they lay dying, the screams of his board of trustees demanding that 100% tax break, and the nagging of his mecha-wife Roberta, his android daughter Small Wonder, and his talking turtle Rex. How does he juggle all his responsibilities? Why by being a raging alcoholic high on LSD! However, you would never be able to figure all this out if I didn’t tell you because the show is completely made up of bloopers and any semblance of a narrative has been erased by the constant bungling and incoherent nature of the concept of the show. Included are commentaries on select episodes by people who have never seen the show and who barely speak English as well as featurettes stolen from other DVD sets to pad out the six discs contained within.

*This is short for the Emmanuels, a TV award given out by the spirit of Immanuel Kant and named for the spirit of Emmanuel Lewis, the son of TV’s Webster.

$78 trillium

Behold, NASA’s latest groundbreaking step into the Space! Acting on results from a Fun! Magazine poll that found the Average American thinks the sun is “sillier than a wretched horse,” the geniuses at NASA’s Smarty Hutch (tm) have undergone an awe-glutted procedure to give the Sun the Nards we always knew it had figuratively… but literally. In a delicate tango, Space Explorers will lasso a man-made satellite and the useless planet Mercury with a Golden Lariat that was funded by reclusive billionaire Arthur C. Schmarthur. They will wrangle these massive orbs into a glorious sack for a Dying Star. The tears of a pride-swollen nation are payment enough, but don’t forget to check the “Sun Nuts” box on your ’08 tax return, so your mandatory contribution can be deducted from your adjusted gross income!

$9.11

Those medical-themed joke-smiths are back and they’ll send you to the ER after your sides split…with laughter! Hombry Clauswitz and Ferdinand Flowers are two doctors whose paths you don’t want to cross. They are angry, and though their anger is funny when you hear it on a CD, for example, this one, in reality their bitterness over the loss of their private practices thanks to malpractice suits over banal details like negligence and insurance fraud is metaphorically as powerful as the sun. However, don’t give up “Chicago Hope” for these two for the “General Hospital” of this album will get you out of the “House” and then “Gray’s Anatomy”. Forget McDreamy and McStreamy though. The Hippocratic Oafs are two real Irishmen with drinking problems and tiny penises which they use unoften and with lackluster effect. Howl with laughter at the existential torment captured on these twelve wonderful tracks. With gems like “Stethoscope City” and “Surgery? I Thought You Said Sugary…”, Y’All a Bunch of Caduceus will cure any psychosomatic disease you have. After all, laughter is the breast medicine if you have breast cancer.

$00.85 each

What is the taste of suicide? Now you too can catch Werther-Fieber as you chow down on Goethe’s very own recipe for success by manufacturing the taste of tragedy via caramel candies. As you bite into each morsel, feel the innocence sucked out of you through your mouth-hole. What…you don’t bite into hard candies? You just suck on them? But my Death-Magic won’t work if you do that. No! You must crack open it’s toffee shell. Only then can I steal your soul and use it to power my Infernal Furnace, a death machine that will collapse the universe into a black hole, and thus allow me to reign over a silent sky, free of the nattering of a universe of sapient beings. Oh, what a bitter day it is. My plans have run afoul of the human design. I might as well eat my own candies and die in a fit of sad delight. Oh, Goethe, why have you created me, Mephostopheles, only to deny my schemes?