Alright, I'm not saying that this baby is going down on a goat, but I'm not NOT saying it, either.
Listen, Rembrandt, I love you and all, but uh... that hand, man. That hand.
Master of Light and Shadow, sure. Master of Anatomy? Fuck no.
And lo, the God Child did turn his gaze upward, his neck craning, turning, rotating – the sound of dry twigs snapping, leathery skin pulled taunt around an unnatural, boney fulcrum — one rotation, two, three. A wheezing, short breath. Then nothing.
That moment when you realize the baby swaddled next to you has most definitely pooped himself. We've all been there.
Whoa there, Mary, you might want to stick that Christ Cake back in the proverbial oven. I don't think he's quite finished yet.
Dear tiny Jesus in your golden-fleece diapers, with your tiny, little, fat, balled-up fists pawing at the air...
Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow. A rock-hard, aureola-less, pimple-nipple sandbag of a bosom, but still.
(submitted by Carmen)
Don't worry, guys, I was a Caesarean section baby, and this is actually totally accurate.
(via discardingimages)
Alright, the Madonna definitely made that apple into a bong.
Virgin Mary, Patron Saint of the Itty-Bitty Titty Committee.
Sorry about that, Baby J. I'd suggest formula.
Listen guys, this really isn't that weird. Osteoporosis is a very real danger, and this man is simply taking proactive steps to avoid it. Geez.
Silly baby, vertebrae don't work that way.