knuts for knitting.

through a series of incidents and image searches, i've found knitters to be completely insane, and knit products to be essentially creative excrement of these people.

REALLY.

..REALLY??!


srsly?


ugh. knitted pacman is unfortunately pretty cute. fuck. but imagine how painstakingly retarded it was to actually knit these lil nubs.

UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH.

so much stupid stupid stupid useless knitting wasted on a motorcycle. the motorcycle fanatic in question probably wears a matching hot pink riding ensemble.

COME ONNNNNN.


i feel as though this one completely defies what beer drinkers are looking for...


alright, not knitted. but pretty funny in the same vein. such a big fuck you in a very 'go big or go home' manner. i remember reading about this in a swedish magazine or something last year and forget all the details, regardless, although very ridiculous, pretty great. one of my more favoured world records, as opposed to the old man with the sack made for his long fingernails, i hope he dies.
i can even appreciate weird tedious repetitive things when the end product is useful, practical, or at least very aesthetically pleasing. a sweater, a waterbottle holder, mittens. why not painting? or drawing, to really tap into that right brained crazy
freespirited side of you when you wanna let loose after work. i feel knitting is generally a useless, irritating, stupid craft along the lines of when old people papermache fabric to those plastic swans resembling watering cans and then are faced with the equally troubling question 'wait, what am i putting in this again.' toilet paper or more yarn are usually stored in these elderly eyesores.


kill yourself.


you'll never, ever, ever have the urgent need for knitted reproductive organs. ever. you could mop up a spill with the real thing rather than this, always.


what the fuck get out of here.

what actually spawned this i guess was stumbling upon the knitted apple jacket last night and having too much time to think about it. And tonight rekindling those hates when right before dinner when meeting my roomate at the starbucks he works at, witnessing a small child of indistinguishable gender dressed to the nines in a goofy strawberry knit toque no older than 3. from him to my roomate emits in a raspy demon night terror type child scream while waiting for his hot chocolate; "cooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOMEEEEE OOOONNNNNNNNNnnnnnn".